If Cartoons Got Saved

The other day, Tim and I were laughing about something so simple and silly—one of those rare, lighthearted moments that somehow makes a heavy week feel just a little bit brighter. It started with a song that asked, “What if cartoons got saved?” and before we knew it, we were smiling from ear to ear, imagining Fred and Wilma Flintstone shouting “Yabba-dabba-lu-yah!” or Scooby-Doo and Shaggy chiming in with “Cowabunga-loo-yah, dude!” We laughed—really laughed—and it felt good. It felt good to picture a world where even the most unlikely voices were lifting up songs of praise.

And then, as it usually does, the laughter turned into something deeper. Because underneath the humor, there’s actually a beautiful truth hiding in that song: worship belongs to everyone and everything that was made by God. Imagine it for a second—Kermit the Frog singing “Hi-ho-lelujah,” Elmer Fudd trying his best at “Ha-wa-woo-yah,” or even Yogi Bear joining in with his famous “Hey Boo-boo-boo-loo-yah.” It’s silly, yes, but also strangely moving. Because joy, laughter, and praise—they all come from the same place. They come from the part of us that knows life is a gift, even when it’s hard.

Sometimes, in the seriousness of life, we forget that worship doesn’t have to be solemn all the time. God delights in our laughter. He delights in joy. He delights in the kind of moments that make us breathe again after too much heaviness. And maybe that’s what this song is really about—not cartoons themselves, but the idea that everything that breathes can find a way to praise. If Fred Flintstone could shout “Yabba-dabba-lu-yah,” he’d be doing what he was made to do—using his voice, however unique, to bring joy. If Scooby-Doo could turn his famous “Ruh-roh!” into “Ruh-roh-roo-rah,” even that would be a kind of worship. Because true praise doesn’t come from perfection; it comes from authenticity—from being fully who you are, exactly where you are, and pointing it all back to the One who made you.

And what if we lived like that? What if, instead of waiting for the right moment to be thankful, we found reasons to laugh, sing, and praise in the middle of our everyday chaos? What if our homes became places where gratitude echoed louder than stress? What if our voices—cracked, tired, or even off-key—still joined together to say, “Thank You, God, for the simple joy of being here”? Because honestly, life gives us enough reasons to be serious. Bills. Health. Responsibilities. The ache of watching someone you love suffer. The long stretches of uncertainty that test your faith. Those are real. But laughter—joy—praise—they’re real too. And they’re powerful.

Tim and I have learned that laughter has a way of breaking through the hard edges of pain. It doesn’t erase the hurt, but it brings light into the room. Sometimes we’ll be sitting together after a long day—when exhaustion or fear tries to creep in—and something small will make us laugh. Maybe it’s a memory. Maybe it’s just one of those “cartoon moments” that reminds us not to take ourselves so seriously. And in those moments, I swear heaven leans in a little closer. Because praise doesn’t always sound like a hymn—it sometimes sounds like laughter through tears. Sometimes it’s a “hallelujah” whispered through pain. Sometimes it’s a “thank You” when everything in you feels tired. And yes, sometimes it’s a “Yabba-dabba-lu-yah!” shouted in joy because you’ve survived another day.

That’s the beauty of praise—it’s not limited to a place or a people or a perfect circumstance. It’s woven into the DNA of creation itself. The Psalms say, “Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.” Everything. That means you, me, the birds outside, the crashing waves, even the wind that sings through the trees. All of it. If cartoons got saved, they’d sing in the way they were made to sing. And maybe that’s the point—so should we. Praise doesn’t have to look polished or sound impressive. It just has to be real. It can be whispered in the quiet or shouted in the chaos. It can sound like a Sunday morning choir—or like two people in a messy living room laughing at the idea of Yogi Bear saying, “Boo-boo-boo-loo-yah.” Because worship isn’t about performance—it’s about presence. It’s about remembering that even in the middle of our ordinary, imperfect lives, we have a reason to be thankful.

Maybe the world could use a little more of that kind of praise right now. The kind that’s joyful, unfiltered, human. The kind that makes room for silliness and laughter and grace. The kind that sees life not as something to endure, but something to celebrate—because every breath, every heartbeat, every moment is a gift. So yes, I was thinkin’ the other day—what if we all started singing praise in a whole new way? Not just in church, not just when things are good, but in the middle of life as it really is—same dirty laundry, same dirty dishes, same prayers whispered under our breath. What if our homes became places of joy again? What if our lives became songs that made heaven smile?

Maybe that’s what faith looks like in its purest form—when even the “cartoon” parts of life, the ones that seem silly or simple, become holy reminders that joy still exists. Because joy, laughter, and gratitude—they’re all ways of saying, “God, thank You for the breath in my lungs and the love in my life.” And maybe, just maybe, that’s all the hallelujah we ever need.

Let joy find you today. Let it sneak in through the cracks of your worry and remind you that God is still good, even here. Laugh when you can. Sing when you can’t. And remember, if even the cartoons could find a reason to praise, so can we. Go ahead—sing your own “hallelujah,” even if it sounds a little like Scooby-Doo.