Brown Eyes Hiding in the Car
By: Jack Wyman
It was as perfect a day as you could hope for. I breathed in the fresh, crisp air.
Early October. The foliage was nearing its vibrant peak. This Saturday morning was unusually clear and alive with the resplendent colors of my favorite season. Maine is beautiful everywhere, 24/7. But this day exceeded the exquisite norm.
I came inside and began stuffing my briefcase. The past week had been a blur and I hadn’t had time to prepare for two major public hearings coming up the following Tuesday at the Maine legislature.
As executive director of the Christian Civic League of Maine I was not only the statewide group’s chief fundraiser and public spokesman—I was also its only registered lobbyist. I never spoke off the cuff but carefully prepared written testimony which I delivered to the legislative committees.
The press often covered these hearings, especially the controversial ones, and there were plenty of those during a legislative session. I had to be fully prepared. I weighed every word. After all, this was for God. It’s also fair to say I loved every minute of this dream job.
I was obsessed and absorbed.
Dream jobs are dangerous. They can subtly draw in and constrict one’s life.
I wished I could have stayed home on this beautiful Saturday. But duty—of the most noble kind—called me to defend truth, justice, and the American way against the opposing interests that in Maine were close by, and always persuasive and well-organized. When you’re in the minority you must be constantly vigilant. I was a young man on the move, and proud of it.
As I grabbed my loaded briefcase and headed for the door, our four-year-old daughter Olivia came running up to me, nearly out of breath.
“Daddy, Daddy!” she exclaimed, “will you go for a walk with me on the trails? The leaves are so pretty!”
“I’m sorry sweetheart,” I gently explained, “Daddy can’t right now. I have to go to work. But when I get home, then we’ll go for a walk on the trails.”
I knew it would probably be dark before I got home. Olivia might be in bed. Dispensing such disappointment is easier if the recipient is forty rather than four. Livy sadly dropped her head and slowly walked away. I was sad too but knew that someday she would be proud of her dad standing athwart against the world, the defender of public righteousness.
What a dummy!
They work with a holy zeal, cutting down trees. One of the young men, especially ardent, wields his ax with focused determination. This was for God and nothing could be too good for the sovereign Creator. When the doors of this new chapel opened, he would be there—every single time.
He was obsessed and absorbed.
With each swing of his ax, unbeknown to this worker, the ax head loosened. It was an imperceptible dislocation. Everything seemed fine. Then suddenly, without warning, the ax head fell into the water.
The man was as alarmed as he was surprised. He had borrowed the ax. It wasn’t his and now what would he tell his neighbor?
The prophet walked up to the distraught laborer. “Where did it fall?” Elisha asked him (II Kings 6:6). When the man pointed to the place in the river, Elisha cut off a branch and threw it in the water at the very spot where the ax head had fallen.
While the men looked on in amazement, the water churned and there suddenly was the lost ax head, floating in the river. When Elisha told the worker to get the ax head, the man obeyed, waded into the muddy current of the mighty Jordan, and retrieved the most important part of the ax.
Never again would this godly man permit his zeal to cloud his careful observation of greater things.
When I finally made it out to the car and opened the door to get in, I was hit with a sight I’ll never forget. Trying to be as small as she could be, there was Olivia, hiding on the floor behind the front seat. Her big brown eyes were expectant through tears.
“Livy,” I asked, “what are you doing?”
“Daddy, I just want to be with you. I want to go with you. I’ll be good.”
I forced a smile, slowly helped her out of the car, and delivered her to her mother in the driveway. I told her I loved her and that we’d walk in the woods when I got back. I felt like the dad in Harry Chapin's ballad.
As I drove away, I noticed a lump in my throat. I sat at the light wondering what had just happened, what it meant, and what I was doing. My ax head had dropped off into the swirling muddy waters of duty, schedules, and pride.
I knew where it had fallen. I turned the car around and headed home.
Years later Olivia told me she never forgot the day I came back and the walk we took on those beautiful trails.
“I love you, Dad.”
I never forgot those big brown eyes—hiding in the car. Nor did I ever regret going back.
Hey Dad, keep that ax head tightened.
May God bless you and your family.
To order Jack Wyman’s book, “Everything Else: Stories of Life, Faith and Our World”, go to amazon.com, Christian Book Distributors or barnesandnoble.com. It is also available on Kindle and eBooks.
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