Laugh and Sing

As I’ve thought about this blog, I feel a bit like I do on Thanksgiving when we go around the table to say what we are thankful for … Usually, I mutter something about health, and family.  You can hear (and it is just audio, even though it is a video) a sermon I preached once talking about this ritual here.

I don’t suppose I have anything much more original to say today.  It is always those intangibles that really make us happy and satisfied in life.  So to divert from the obvious, let me offer a few things that might bring a little variety to this topic.

Laughter – yes, laughter makes me happy.  I went through a period where I realized I hardly ever laughed.  I have found that over the years, because of circumstances and all the stuff life throws at you, that I had forgotten how to laugh.  Laughter is a gift.  It releases all sorts of happy stuff through your body.  Recently, on my trips back “home” to Brooklyn I have found myself and found my laugh. 

Singing – I love to sing.  I don’t have a bad voice but living in Music City I tend not to offer it as much as I did when I lived in the Northeast where not everyone was a would-be country star.  Singing makes me happy.  Singing lightens my seriousness.  Like laughter, I used to sing a lot. And like laughter, I sort of “lost” this along the way.  Singing also reminds me of my dad who would often break into song and sing about Jesus in our house.  Anything that reminds me of my dad makes me happy too.  

Brooklyn makes me happy.  Okay, so I have already mentioned Brooklyn.  Tt brings things out of me that I thought were lost.  Seriously, there is no place that makes me happier than Brooklyn.  Some internal switch comes on when I am there and I’m alive again!  And while we are talking about Brooklyn, everything about NYC makes me happy, riding the subway, walking through the crowds, street vendors, and don’t forget a Nathan’s Hot Dog bought at Coney Island!

Last but not least, being Norwegian makes me happy.  I just love to embrace my Norwegian heritage.  I love everything about being Norwegian.  Funny, all these go together – while the Norwegians are known for being “jovial”, they do have a strong wit about them, and do like to have a good time with laughter.  And sing? Oh yes, they love to sing!  I remember watching the Olympics when they were in Norway in the 90’s – every time you turned around some group of Norwegians were singing something.  And of course, for me, Brooklyn and Norwegian go together.  You can see a little clip of my recent trip to Brooklyn to celebrate the Syttende Mai (Norwegian constitution day) here.

Okay, maybe these seem trite and they are compared to my husband, kids, faith, health, etc.  But, if you want to see me really happy – come with me to Brooklyn and we’ll laugh and sing.

No Room for a Christmas Child

I am reposting this from last year.  It's been translated into Norwegian and is supposed to appear on a website in Norway this Christmas as well.  If you are interested in this theme, of Norwegian Christmases in Brooklyn, you can find more at Sounds of Hope.  Hope you enjoy!


I have many Christmas stories. I imagine everyone over the age of ten has at least a few Christmas stories. I always thought of myself as a bit of Christmas child. No my birthday isn’t in December or near Christmas. My birthday comes in early November. So why am I a Christmas child? Well I suppose everyone who knows Jesus is a Christmas child. So how is my story different? I think that my life in Christ started at Christmas.

My parents were born-again, spirit-filled people. My spiritual heritage runs very deep.  From what I understand, I was “unexpected.”  My father was already in his 50’s and my mother, 19 years younger than my dad was in her early 30’s. They had decided ten years before that their family was complete.

God evidently had something else in mind.  I came along. 

Our family traditions were all Norwegian. Christmas Eve was the start of Christmas in our Norwegian neighborhood in Brooklyn. We put up our tree and had our presents all on Christmas Eve.  We were still singing around a Christmas tree well into January.

Christmas day was for church.  We’d dress up in the morning and walk to church. It was just like Sunday minus Sunday School. Sometimes we would crunch in the snow or put on galoshes for the slush of a melting snow. There was a holy hush on Christmas morning.

Of course, I remember nothing of my first Christmas. I was seven weeks old. I would beg my mother to tell me the story though; I loved to hear it.  That first Christmas my parents walked to church on Christmas morning with me.  It was the first time I was carried to church. I imagine I was wrapped up in many blankets.

That Sunday morning, a white haired tall Norwegian Pastor with a strong accent asked the Yohannesen’s (Johannesen) to come to the front.  Something very special was going to happen that morning. The new baby girl in the Yohannesen family, Yoyce Ann Yohannesen was going to be dedicated to the Lord.

That morning, my parents passed their unexpected infant daughter over to Pastor Dahl. He prayed. I wonder if he had any prophetic sense when he prayed over me. In recent years, I’ve had a sense that my dad had some prophecies concerning me. Did any of them know or sense anything then?

It all started there… it all started in a little Norwegian Pentecostal church where everyone had an accent and sang about the Vonderful Grase of Ye-sus.  My life was given over to the Lord.  No, it didn’t assure my salvation, but it did start something.

Every Christmas as the annual church Christmas program would near, I would have to learn a long “piece.” A “piece” is your part of the Christmas program. It starts when you are barely old enough to talk and you get up and say “Welcome baby Jesus” and sing Away in a Manager complete with motions. The parents beam and pray you don’t cry or do something inappropriate like pick your nose,  wet your pants or worse.

 We had an old upright piano. My mother didn’t play well but she would look for a song for me to sing. A solo! In addition to the LONGEST piece or narration in the program.  Early in my life, she found a song for me. The words of the chorus have stayed with me all these years:

"No room for the Baby in Bethlehem's inn,

Only a cattle shed!

No room on this earth for the dear Son of God,

Nowhere to lay His head!

Only a cross did they give to my Lord,

Only a borrowed tomb!

Today He is seeking a place in your heart,

Will you still say to Him - no room?"

Year after year after year, I would stand with a new outfit on, in front of the congregation, and sing this song.  I always thought someone would come to the Lord, every time I sang that song.

My father was a janitor at a bank, my mother a homemaker. My father never went to High School and my mother didn’t finish it. They lived in a two-bedroom first floor railroad flat apartment. Times were hard for them. They had no room for the new baby that God gave them. Nevertheless, they made room for me.  And then, they dedicated me to the Lord.

Jesus came to earth as an unexpected child. There was no room for Him that night in Bethlehem.  That seems tragic. There is a greater tragedy. It is that we make so little room for Him in our hearts.

Today I ask you that question that I sang for many years. 
Today He IS seeking a PLACE in YOUR heart! 

Will you still say to Him - no room?