Rocky Road

by Mary Colleran

Whenever my brother Jim and I want to laugh hysterically, we play a cassette tape that we recorded when I was six and he was thirteen. Jim was interviewing me and asked in his squeaky pre-teen way, what I liked. I immediately and assertively answered with my New Jersey accent, “I like Christmas! And birthdays too! And I loooooooooove JEZIZ!”

When I was about eight years old, I had a dream that I’ll never forget. I was standing in the kitchen, on the phone with my mother, arguing about something mundane. After hanging up the phone, I sat at the kitchen table, frustrated and sad. My pity party was quickly interrupted by a rapping on the screen door. I went to the door and there was Jesus, with his scraggly brown beard and well-worn Birkenstocks, looking as dejected as I was.

“Hey, Mary. I’m so frustrated. I came back from the dead, and went to every house in your neighborhood, but no one believes that it’s really me.”

“Wow, that’s so annoying,” I said, “Ya wanna come in?”

So Jesus and I sat down and he immediately asked, “What’s wrong? You seem upset.” I filled him in on my third grade worries and he was refreshingly empathetic.

“Glad you came over, Jesus! Do you want some ice cream?”

“Sure!” he replied. I took a gallon of Breyer’s Rocky Road out of the freezer, removed the lid, and saw that there was only one tiny scoopful left.

I turned to Jesus and said, “Oh darn, there’s barely any left.”

Jesus said, “Yes there is.”

I looked down and there, before my very eyes, was a full gallon of ice cream. “How did that happen?” I joyfully yelled.

Jesus smirked at me and said, “I’m Jesus.”

Now, at age 36, I don’t have any Holy ice cream dreams and when I’m asked what I like, pumpkin spice lattes and Irish accents may beat out Jesus.

Advent is the time when I tend to reflect back on the year and think about how I changed, what I did, was I useful, what exactly transpired in the past 365 days.  This past year was a rough one for many people.  I spent a large part of it underemployed and looking for work, which–no matter how you slice it–is not all that fun.  But it did force me to simplify my life and make decisions about what I really want to do with my time, money, and energy.

At some point in the spring, a friend told me about Holy Covenant.  I was raised Catholic and had been church-shopping for years, and hadn’t found a place that felt like home.  It never even occurred to me to expand my shopping to another denomination!  Well, during this holiday season, I am so happy to report that I’m done shopping.  I’m not shopping for Christmas gifts because I plan to make gifts.  And I’m done shopping for a church because I found one that feels like home.

To me, Advent is hope.  And acceptance.  And giving what matters.  And healing. Where there is someone who is sick, there is a person from the Care Committee showing up with homemade soup.  Where there is someone who is cold, there is someone giving him his coat.  Where there is a community without clean water, there is a community contributing money so they can build a well.  Where there is someone fresh outta Breyer’s Rocky Road ice cream, there is someone mysteriously filling it right back up.

This entry was posted on Saturday, December 19th, 2009 at 8:47 am and is filed under Advent Devotional. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.