clear eyes

This shot is taken outside of Union Church. Allen Danforth, blue shirt, was the founder of WGO.When December arrives, we moms shudder. We know what’s coming: parties, Black Friday (named by a mother), lists, decorating, traffic, and holiday melt-downs. It’s easy to lose the meaning in the blown fuses and traffic jams. Then put the aspect of family dynamics and broken relationships on top, and it’s enough to bend the knees of the strong.

Living in a third world country did not inoculate me from being infected by the busyness of the season. We lived there from 2002-2006. One Sunday I sat in the pew at our church and realized it was the first Sunday of Advent. I began to jot notes down on the bulletin. These notes would become my Christmas card. I wrote about the heaviness of my heart and how I could not digest another sermon on Romans. Our pastor, gifted and eloquent, preached through Romans over the course of two years. 

When I returned home, I looked everywhere for the notes. The next Sunday our large family lined the pew. Pastor Jeff began to describe a bulletin he had found with some disparaging notes about his sermon. I slumped in the pew nearly breathless from the realization that he had found my notes - my Christmas letter. I mouthed to Matt: “that was mine.” If only I could give you a snapshot of his face at that moment. Something between a cheshire cat grin and the satisfaction of James Bond when he frames the last bad guy in his sites. 

I fidgeted for the rest of the hour. 

When the service mercifully ended, I let Matt know that we were talking with the Pastor and that he would be coming with me. Pastor Jeff pulled the incriminating bulletin from a file. (I’m sure the label was “hell-bound.”) I shifted my weight between left and right - rocking like a toddler about to get a spanking. 

“Jeff, ah, that was my bulletin.”

And a very honest conversation began. I remember saying how, well, Romans is a heavy book. And, well, I am very tired. He graciously heard my heart and hopefully let my comments fall away like dead skin cells. I assured him my notes indicated the state of my own heart more than a commentary on his sermons. 

He asked if he could keep the bulletin. I regret to this day that I didn’t snatch it out of his hand and run. But how could I ask for it back? How could I ask for anything after such humiliation? 

That Christmas my priorities alined by the practical instruction of pride going before the fall. 

This Christmas I share it with you because I am still full of pride. As I ponder the incarnation, I grieve over broken relationships. As I bake and eat too much, may I remember the Word became flesh and grew under a mother’s heart.As I make my lists and face hell on Mallory Lane, may Christ come to dwell in each moment. 

“Let us ask for clear eyes that are able to see God’s messengers of annunciation; for awakened hearts with the wisdom to hear the words of promise.” Alfred Delp penned these words right before he was hanged as a traitor by Adolf Hitler. 

NOTE: Jeff Evans served us as our pastor while we lived in Honduras. He is a true shepherd of souls and the wisdom he lent us helped us more than I can explain. He now leads a church in Pennsylvania. He publishes thoughts and quotes at this blog site.