For half a second, I wanted to die.  I could not fathom why God would allow such a horrible day, and on that same horrible day, a rush-hour traffic soaking.

But then something in me broke, and I laughed instead.

I realized in some way that my life and its struggles just weren’t that important.  And everything that had seemed disastrous before had suddenly become inconsequential.

Seeing our struggles—and accomplishments—for what they are is freeing because it’s humble.  Thomas Aquinas, the “angelic doctor” of the Church, is said to have declared all of his writing “straw.” This kind of realistic humility leads to joy, which triumphs over all suffering.

Consequentially, I’m learning to laugh my way through a lot of heartbreak.   As a wonderful woman I know says often: we should take God seriously, but we really shouldn’t take ourselves so seriously.

It’s not about pretending things aren’t hard—it’s just trusting that what really matters will be taken care of because we have a God who both wants to save us from evil and also has a sense of humour.  When our plans fizzle, it’s a great opportunity to remember only His plans ever really work out anyway.

This is certainly not how secular culture operates.

Basically, it’s cool right now to be jaded—you know, never laugh too hard or say too much or let on that you actually care about anything that matters.

But whatever.

Really.

We all know what the death culture looks like.  Among other things more appropriate for a moral discussion, it’s also just boring.

Joy is heroic, counter-cultural, and holy: “Unless you become as children...”

For the sake of proving a point, I’m going to embarrass myself a bit.  This fall, upon hearing some unfortunate news with regard to my romantic aspirations, I started doing the Hokey Pokey in my apartment.  I don’t know why.  My roommate joined in.  We did the whole song.  We’re both 21.

I have a professor who says she’s a tap dancer at heart and will be one in Heaven.

I have a friend who rubs her stomach for no reason.

I post love hearts on my brother’s Facebook page.

I miss 90s dance remixes.

Honestly, I’m discovering that it’s actually a really bizarre sickness for us to be so busy and determined that we miss the richness of laughter.  The things that are really glorious, like laughing or praying or having a drink, don’t usually fit into a five-year plan.  Not everything can or should.  Heaven certainly doesn’t.

I also have a faint but particularly gruesome remembrance about Stalin and five-year plans in communist Soviet Russia.  But please don’t go research that.

Laugh at something today, okay?

(Wolfe, 21, is a Christianity & Culture student at Redeemer Pacific College in Langley, B.C.)