Dear Rose Park,
When Sam and I first got married, I remember a wise mentor telling me, “I never knew how selfish I was until I got married.” A few years later, when Sam was first pregnant with Simon, that same wise mentor told me, “I never knew how selfish I still was until I had kids.” I’m still learning this lesson to be true, but this past Monday I replaced the word ‘selfish’ with ‘impatient’ and I learned a new lesson.
Monday morning, I had to have some routine bloodwork done in Zeeland. On the way, I dropped Simon off at school. If you drop off a child at school, then I imagine you know the pain I’m about to describe to you via the school drop-off line. In theory it is a relatively easy concept to understand. Each driver is to pull up as far as you can in the school turnaround, put your car in park, allow for your child to hop out, and then safely and slowly drive away. In practice though, it’s a nightmare. Drivers rarely pull up as far as they can, which means the line slows down and everyone has to wait. Drivers are supposed to wait in line and are never permitted to pass another car because of the risk involved with all the children walking into the building, however it’s almost a regular occurrence for someone to succumb to impatience and pull around another car. As I dropped Simon off on Monday morning, it was as if the school turnaround became turn four at Talladega. No one was pulling up as far as they could which resulted in a mob of cars passing each other and vying for position. My impatience and frustration were growing.
It didn’t get any better when I got to the clinic to have my blood drawn. I thought arriving a little later in the morning would mean a smaller line, I was wrong. The waiting room was packed. The receptionist, before I could even say good morning, said, “I hope you don’t have somewhere important to be.” I stood near the window for the first twenty minutes until a seat opened up. Finally, after an hour of waiting and hearing other names called, it was finally my turn. The blood draw itself takes all of ninety-seconds, so as I left the clinic and made my way toward church, I realized I was speeding along Chicago Drive and mumbling under my breath. I wasn’t practicing the peace of Advent, instead I was allowing myself to be held hostage by impatience and the rush to get to the next thing.
I took a deep breath at the stop light at the corner of Lakewood and 120th and said a simple prayer: God, may the peace of Advent fill my heart. I’d be lying to you if I said a rush of calmness flooded my body and the irritations of the morning simply melted way, but for the rest of the day I kept coming back to that simple prayer. When I was running late to my lunch appointment: God, may the peace of Advent fill my heart. When Winnie started running a fever in the afternoon: God, may the peace of Advent fill my heart. When I was struggling to finish the first draft of my next chapter for my doctorate: God, may the peace of Advent fill my heart.
As you continue in this busy season and as your calendar gets even busier, may God fill your heart with the peace of Advent so that our eyes, ears, hearts, and minds might be able to orient around the manger and the Christ-child.
Grace & Peace,
Pastor Mark
Photo by Robert Thiemann on Unsplash