i scan the tiny books brought, searching for the most appropriate ones: the ones they can read, with smaller words, the ones that are relevant to what they can understand, considering their lifestyles. in the midst of this search, i pick up a tiny book, whimsically illustrated, and after only a few moments, i hurridly shove it to the side, “i definitely cannot take this one”. the book: “christmas”. is filled with illustrated pages of children, delightfully going through the motions most of us know as christmas traditions. the words tell the stories of the happy pictures: children decorating the christmas tree with mommy and daddy. mommy and daddy wrapping presents. children baking cookies with mommy and daddy and their smiles fill the pages as they eat the cookies shaped like santa claus, christmas trees, boxed presents, wreaths and bows, etc. the last few pages show pictures of the happy family gathered together by the fireplace with stockings hung, goodies from santa claus peaking out, and them ripping through the gifts under the tree. how can i possibly bring this book to read to them, to have them read, and then, (with my translator) explain that this, this is christmas in america. mommies in reindeer sweaters, daddies wearing red and green plaid button ups, with heinous ties (picked out by the children as a gift of course!), girls with tightly curled hair with pretty bows, the boys with mischievous grins on their face, in their neatly fitted red sweaters over tiny green button-ups. presents, so many, most children can’t even recall everything they received. mounds and mounds of trash from empty toy boxes, wrapping paper. and the food, oh, the food. a glutton’s paradise. tables and counters filled with dishes of food, and more food that is kept else where because there is simply not room for it. joyous singing, caroling, gathering together by the t.v. to watch “it’s wonderful life” for the umpteenth time. i think about where i will be this christmas, compared to where i am now. these are not just faces any longer to me, they are stories, lives, hearts, souls. i will be in the states for this christmas, and i think about the 8-hour time difference, and how when i settle to watch “it’s a wonderful life” by the fireplace, is just about when they will be waking up. i think about them waking up, and then i think about that morning when the young children i know will be waking up, and the difference. i think about mostly empty bellies, except for that day, a special day, when they get meat for their meal. i think about how commonplace it is for a meal to consist of meat where i used to live, and how spectacular it is when they receive it in a meal here. i think about their smiles. smiles that emerge at the most unlikely of times. eyes that shine brighter than the stars, just because. i think about a Jesus that weeps. for them. i look at tiny hands and i imagine them slipping into His. i think about his birth, in a manager, with animals-dirty animals, i think about how He had no “home”. i think about His life, and i think about theirs. there’s a remarkable resemblance. john said of Jesus “i am unworthy to even untie the thong of His sandal”. and i think about my own unworthiness, to be an heir, to have my heart called His home, to be a temple of His presence, even at the typing of that, surely it should be blasphemy--me, a temple for His dwelling. that’d be somewhat an equal of a pay-by-the-hour flea bag hotel proclaiming itself to be the rest place of choice for the royal family. surely i should go back and strike that sentence, delete it out--but i will leave it. because chances are, you are the same. you are a temple for His dwelling, and i want you to feel the magnitude of grace that that statement means, the implications of it all. surely i am so unworthy to serve and love those whose treasures He is storing up more greatly in heaven than even the treasures the most wealthy person on earth has now. i think about all this, from a christmas book. that shows everything of christmas in america tradition, and nothing of the meaning of Christmas. i think of the closeness, the resting of the Holy Spirit that must be upon them, that must hover over this place, on a day that marks the birth of our Savior, in a stable, in a manager, no home, no feast--because their Christmas day here looks much more like that than ours does.
i continually think about our charge: james 1:27 “....to visit widows and orphans in their distress”
and i think about:
1 john 3:17: “but whoever has the world’s good and beholds his brother in need and closes his heat against him, how does the love of God abide in him? little children, let us not love with word or with tongue, but in deed and truth”
when you feel you have nothing to give: give a smile--it may be God’s way of telling that person everything’s going to be okay. only have a dollar? give it to the salvation army bucket, and then read mark 12:41-44.
never question how God can use you, or how such a simple task can be God-moved. His ways are higher than our own and he uses the foolish things to shame the wise and the weak to shame the strong (1 corinithians 1:27)
despite poverty, war, illness, no (biological) parents to call your own, joy reigns. evident in the delight of playing with their "brothers and sisters" by jumping on mattresses. joy, pure joy.
the joy in new shoes. feet that one day will walk on streets of gold. :)
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