“Merry Christmas from a Friend”
By Kimberli Pelo Robison

It was a busy Saturday afternoon not long before Christmas, and I was working one of the registers in Deseret Book. I prided myself on being an efficient cashier. I tried to be helpful and friendly, but fast. I loved watching a long line dwindle down to one or two. No one was going to hang out in my line very long.

On this particular day, one of my co-workers came up with a pile of books and pointed out the woman they belonged to. She was a small, gray-haired elderly lady. When it was her turn, I quickly went through the stack and added up her total.

When I told her the amount, her face fell. She didn’t have that much to spend. She carefully went through the stack of books one at a time, selected one she thought she could do without and asked me to take it off the total. I removed the book and gave her the total again. No, it was still too much. Then she went through the same painstaking process of removing one of the books.

Over her bent head, I could see my line growing. Feelings of frustration mounted inside me. Why didn’t this woman take stock of what she had before she came to the counter? Didn’t she know she was holding everyone up?

Again and again, we went through the process of discarding a book and coming to a new total. Nearly half the stack was gone by the time we reached the right amount. I was courteous, but curt as I finished up her transaction. She asked if she could leave her purchases there while she did some other shopping. I told her yes and then sighed with relief as she left the store.

I quickly rang up the next customer and then a woman stepped up the counter, handed me her purchases and pointed behind me. “I’d like to pay for those with mine,” she simply said.

I didn’t have to turn to see what she was pointing at; I knew. It was the stack of books discarded by my frustrating customer. I felt cut to my heart. I grabbed the books and rang them up with hers and then asked her what I should tell the woman when she came back. “Oh, just tell her Merry Christmas from a friend,” she said with a smile.

As I watched her leave, I felt so ashamed for the way I had felt toward the other woman. I had only seen a frustrating, unprepared old lady. She had seen a grandmother and mother who wanted to give good gifts to her children; she had seen a sister and friend.

Two Benefactors

When my gray-haired customer returned, we both shed tears as I gave her the books and the message that went with them. Who was it? She wanted to know. I couldn’t tell her, but I knew her Christmas friend had made a difference in more than one life that day.

I don’t think I’ll ever know who that woman was, but her example lives in my memory. She gave a wonderful gift to the woman with the books, but I think she gave an even greater gift to me. Her simple act of kindness caused a dramatic shift in my thoughts and feelings. What had been true just moments before became false and foolish. She showed me what it is to see truly.

I’d like to say that from that day on I’ve seen things through the lens of the spirit, “as they really are and ... as they really will be.” Unfortunately, too often I am still that frustrated young woman trying to be efficient and productive.

Too often I am blind to the reality of people and events going on around me. It is a blindness that Jacob says comes from “looking beyond the mark.” That’s a phrase that depicts so perfectly what happens when I don’t see clearly.

Usually when I am blinded by my circumstances, it is because I am looking beyond the present. I have something yet to do, somewhere else to go, someone else to be with. I am so busy living in the future that I’m missing entirely what is happening that moment. I am looking beyond the mark. I am blind.

The Example of Bartimaeus

Is there hope for someone like me? I want to see clearly always, to see the goodness and nobility of people around me. I want to stop “looking beyond the mark” and start being present. My efforts in overcoming this blindness have yielded many sweet moments, but a permanent clarity of sight has eluded me. Still, I hope for a cure, a miracle and a healing like the one given Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus was a blind beggar who sat by the highway leading out of Jericho. One day a great number of people passed by and he heard that among them was Jesus of Nazareth.

“Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me,” he cried out. Many tried to quiet him, but he called out more, “Thou Son of David, have mercy on me.” Jesus stopped and called for him to come. “Be of good comfort,” the people told him “rise; he calleth thee.”

When Bartimaeus came to Jesus, He asked what Bartimaeus wanted Him to do for him. “Lord, that I might receive my sight,” was his simple yet astonishing request. “Go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole,” said Jesus. Immediately Bartimaeus received his sight and “followed Jesus in the way.”

Seeing Clearly through Christ

I may not be a beggar on the highway or have physical blindness, but I think I know in some measure the desire in Bartimaeus’ heart, the desire to stop sitting in the dust, to stand on his feet and clearly see the way before him. And like Bartimaeus, I know that the only way to see clearly is through Christ.

I wonder how many times Jesus had passed by Bartimaeus before. I wonder how many stories Bartimaeus had heard about blind men receiving sight before he began to hope for himself. This day he seized the opportunity before him and called out. His cries were met with commands to be quiet, but he called out all the more.

I love this part of the story, because it speaks to me of determination and faith. In my quest for sight, my cries for change are often met and beaten down by the cares and demands of my life. I become too busy and distracted to change. I’ll keep quiet. I’ll keep the status quo. Not Bartimaeus, he would not be quiet. He wanted to see.

I love next how the Savior calls for him and the people tell Bartimaeus to be comforted. As I call out for the Savior to change my heart I am sure that he calls out for me to come and be comforted. It is then that I must ask for what I want — new eyes and a new heart, a heart like the one spoken of by Ezekiel. “A new heart also will I give you ... and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you a heart of flesh (Ezekiel 36:26).” That is my wish, a heart of flesh instead of a heart of stone.

All those years ago in Deseret Book, I met a woman with a heart of flesh, a true disciple of Christ who could see things as they really are. I want to be like her. So this Christmas I look to the one who came as a babe on a starry night, a baby who grew to be a man who gave sight to the blind both physically and spiritually. I’ll give to him my stony heart and have the faith of Bartimaeus to receive my fleshy one. Then perhaps I’ll feel Him whisper, “Merry Christmas from your Friend.”