Christmas Lessons

As the miraculous events of Jesus's birth unfolded, such as the angels' visit to the shepherds, his mother Mary "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). This Christmas season, more than any other I can remember, has brought many moments that I have treasured up in my heart, though there were other experiences that I would prefer to forget. 

It has been a season of firsts. For example, on the weekend after Thanksgiving, my heart was heavy because it was my first time to decorate the tree without both of my children present. In fact, neither one could be there; Ethan was working a 14-day shift in South Texas, and Allyson was finishing the semester at Western Washington University. 

My young neighbors, Ariana* and Safya*, were thrilled to help me out. It was their first time to decorate a tree, and they could not have been more excited. As they hung ornaments much older than they are, they peppered me with questions about the stories behind each one. I proudly identified the ornaments that had been made by Ethan and Allyson throughout their childhoods.

After the girls had left, Amy pointed out that most of the ornaments were clustered in the lower, front part of the tree. Our roommate and ministry partner, Moain, quickly redistributed the ornaments more evenly. If the girls noticed the change when they returned later that day, they didn't mention it. Their two-year-old sister Fawzia* noticed all the ornaments. She pulled glass balls, Santa Clauses, and school craft ornaments off the bottom branches, one by one. One by one, I moved the breakable ornaments to the top of the tree. Fawzia's play ended when she clapped her hands after dropping and shattering a glass ball. From that point, we had to herd her away from the tree each time she visited. 

The next day, I presented each sister with an ornament of her own to hang. Ariana got a cute cat in a pink and red dress, because she is crazy about my cats, especially naughty CiCi. Safya got a tiny pan of Christmas cookies, and Fawzia got an unbreakable cloth Santa Claus. "We will pack these away and use them every year, just like the others," I explained. "When we see them, we will always remember our first Christmas with you."

The Christmas Story through New Eyes

Another memory to treasure was visiting a different refugee family for the first time. My friend Rosalind and I delivered a big bag of groceries that a couple from our church had been unable to deliver the previous Sunday because the family had been attending a Christmas celebration at the park next to our complex. 

The mother and her four beautiful daughters welcomed us warmly. Although the mother spoke no English, the oldest daughter, Mya,* was surprisingly poised and articulate given that she mentioned being a student at the special newcomer school for non-English speakers. 

Mya excitedly described the live nativity scene from Sunday's Christmas program, where the Christmas story had been presented in five languages. "I said to myself, 'How can this be?'" she said. "I could not think that the angels would talk to Joseph and Mary!"

"Yes, that really is amazing!" I agreed. 

"I could not believe that God's son would get born in a... a place with animals," she went on.

"A stable?" I interjected.

"Yes! He was God, but he got born in a stable."

"That's not what anyone expected," I agreed. "They thought He would be a king, born in a palace. But He came to live among poor people. And the angels came to the people who were not respected, the men who took care of the sheep."

"Yes!" 

"Did you know that after Jesus died for us and came back to life again, He sent His Spirit to come live in our hearts?"

"Yes!" she said. "All we have to do is believe that Jesus is God, and His Spirit comes to live in us."

I thought about Mya's joy and wonder for days. I wanted to see the whole story through fresh eyes, to ponder the glory with a heart not dulled by familiarity.

A Lesson in Giving

About a week later, I returned to Mya's apartment with some glue traps and borax powder to help eradicate the ubiquitous cockroaches that I'd noted scurrying up the wall. While I was there, I prayed with Mya over a tough science test. "Lord, help Mya walk into the classroom in confidence, knowing that you will be with her to remind her of everything she has been studying so hard," I prayed. "And Lord, I'm asking that she will not only pass the test, but that she will make the highest score in her class." 

"Amen," Mya said emphatically. 

The next day, I returned with a giant frozen turkey that one of my English students had given me. Mya's mother clasped her hands in delight when she saw the turkey. Mya was delighted for another reason. "I could not believe it," she said. "Usually I have a lowest grade in my class, but this time my grade was the highest! I told myself, 'It is because the lady prayed,'" she concluded. 

I grinned from ear to ear. "My mother always taught me to pray boldly and to ask specifically for what I want," I said.

"Yes!" Mya agreed.

"The Bible says we do not have because we do not ask. Also, it says our Father delights in giving us good gifts," I said.

"Yes, I always pray for very good things," Mya said. "But also I know that sometimes God does not give us what we want. Because He knows what is best for us."

"Yes," I agreed. "His word says that He works in all things for the good of those who love Him. So even when things don't happen the way we want them to, we can be sure that everything will be good for us." 

Throughout this animated conversation, Mya's mother stood wordlessly, smiling and looking from me to her daughter and back again. I gestured to the brightly colored floral skirt draped gracefully around her slim waist. "Your skirt is beautiful!" I said. "I love the colors." 

Her smile broadened, and she spoke rapidly to her daughter. "She says thank you," Mya said. "And she asked if you would like a skirt like it."

"Oh, I couldn't-" I said.

"She wants to give it to you. She has many," Mya said.

"If you're sure it won't be a problem for her," I said.

The two of them disappeared into a bedroom and emerged with a beautiful blue floral skirt, very long and tube-shaped. There were no clasps of any kind, nor any elastic. "I love it!" I said.

"Do you know how to wear it?" She moved her hands toward the floor. "You step into it and then wrap it and tuck it in."

I stepped into the opening and pulled the skirt over my jeans and up past my waist. I pulled the extra fabric to my right, about six inches. Folding it over rather like the flap on the end of a Christmas package, I stuffed it firmly into the left side of the skirt's top edge. I wasn't sure how secure the skirt might be, but I thought it looked pretty decent. 

Mya and her mom looked at each other gravely and then burst into laughter. "Wait," Mya directed. A minute later, they emerged from the bedroom with another skirt in a different color. "This one is longer," Mya said.

I did the same thing with the second skirt. Again, I thought it looked fine, but they shook their heads in disappointment. 

The third skirt was a lovely purple, and I hoped it would pass their inspection, but again they shook their heads. "Maybe I could pin it?" I suggested. 

"No, we have another one that will be perfect," Mya said. "It's very special to me, and we want you to have it." 

"Are you sure?" I asked. "If it's special, I-"

"We want you to have it," she repeated. "It will make my mother very happy if you wear it." 

The fourth skirt was a different design. Constructed of a thick, embroidered fabric, it had much more structure. There wasn't nearly so much extra fabric, but I had no idea how I could fasten it. 

"My mother will show you the hook," Mya said.

The tiny woman pulled the left edge of the skirt and deftly hooked a tiny hook into an invisible closure on the inner right side of the waistband. Then she pulled a flap from the right side of the waist and hooked another tiny hook into an invisible closure on the outside left part of the waistband. I gasped in surprise. "It seems like the skirt was made for me! And purple is my favorite color!" 

Mya handed me a small blouse made of the same fabric, with the addition of old-fashioned puffed sleeves in a smooth purple fabric. I stared at the sleek design, clueless as to how I might pull it over my head and shoulders. Mya's mother pointed to a seam on the back of the blouse, which was made of the same satiny fabric as the sleeves. 

"It's a zipper," Mya said. Sure enough, the back seam actually held a perfectly concealed zipper that opened from the bottom. After I'd pulled the blouse over my head, her mother pulled the zipper closed. Then she patted my hips lightly, just below the waistband, and made a sound that was part clucking and part happy laughter. "We knew it," Mya said. "This dress looks perfect on you. Your people are taller than us. These dresses look very good on your people."

After she'd stepped back to get a better look, Mya's mother put a hand over her mouth in a joyous gesture that reminded me of Allyson when she was a little girl. 

Allyson's Gesture of Surprised Delight

"My mother is so happy to think of you wearing this dress," Mya said. "You look so beautiful in it. Come and see." 

I followed her to the restroom and surveyed my reflection. Like the skirt, the blouse seemed to have been tailored for my frame. "I love it!" I said. "I will definitely wear it. I'll wear it to church this Sunday." 

Speaking animatedly, the woman gestured to my chest and cupped her hands. "She says you need to wear a bra with this dress," Mya said.

"I am wearing a bra," I said. The two of them exchanged skeptical glances while Mya translated. 

"Well, it's a sports bra," I said. I cupped my own hands and lifted them up toward the ceiling. "Do you mean I should wear a good bra? Like, a push-up bra?"

"Yes," Mya said. Her mother nodded vigorously. "And she said be sure to wear underwear under the skirt."

I figured something must have been lost in the translation; why on earth would I not wear underwear? "Okay, I'll wear underwear," I replied obediently. 

I did wear the dress to church on Sunday. Although I did not wear a push-up bra because I no longer own one, Mya and her mother would have been pleased to know that I was wearing underwear. In any case, I think the dress looked beautiful. 

Our Charley Brown Tree, Me, and a Sweet Photo Bomber

When I put it on by myself, I was initially mystified as to how to fasten the hooks; there was no eye anywhere to put the hook into. On closer inspection, I discovered slots ingeniously cut across both the inside and the outside of the waistband, spaced about a centimeter apart, to accommodate the two hooks. My waist could have been several inches smaller or larger, and the skirt still would have fit me beautifully. Even though I was running late as usual, I took a few moments to admire the skillful stitching on this dress that looked as if it was handmade. 

As I completed my Christmas shopping, the memory of that beautiful dress humbled me. To be honest, I rarely enjoy shopping because I'm always afraid I will choose the wrong gifts. Thus, I often miss out on much of the joy of giving. Here was a woman who didn't have enough food to eat and surely must not have a closet stuffed with clothes, and yet the thought of a stranger wearing a beautiful dress from her country filled her with joy. I had thought I could teach this family about the meaning of Christmas, yet clearly I had a lot to learn from them about how Christmas gifts should be given. 

The Gift Is in the Receiving

A few days later, I drove 15 minutes to see a beautiful young woman, Rabiha,* one of my former English students who moved away from our complex not long after Amy and I moved in. Even though the trip is very easy for me, this young first-time mother is terribly isolated because neither she nor her friends drive, and her husband works long hours. The new complex is quite luxurious compared to ours, but she has met no one who speaks her first language and no one who looks like her and her infant son. 

As always, Rabiha greeted me with delight. "Hello, Teacher!" she said. "Please! Have some tea and cakes." 

Before I settled onto the thick floor cushion in her living room, I handed her a small gift bag and Christmas card. "I brought you a little gift," I said. "At Christmas, we like to give gifts because God gave us the greatest gift of all: His son Jesus. He gave us Jesus because He loves us so much, and His love inspires us to give gifts to the people we love. Do you know this word, inspire?" 

"I don't know, Teacher," she said. 

"Inspire means... A person does something good, and you want to do something good, too. Has anyone ever given you a Christmas present before?"

"No. But when I was a child, I saw a cartoon from America about Christmas. There was a gift behind a door. I always hoped I would find a present behind a door. Should I open it now?"

"Yes, I would love for you to open it."

"Thank you, Teacher!" 

Rabiha did not open the present, though. She turned the card over and over in her hand, and she gazed at the tiny gift bag and smiled. I realized that for her, what was inside the gift was not very important. What mattered to her was that someone wanted to give her a gift. 

Over the years, I have learned that it truly is more blessed to give than to receive (Acts 20:35). In this moment, I also learned that the act of receiving can also be a beautiful blessing. 

Rabina did love her shimmery scented body lotion and the shower tablets infused with essential oil, as well as the simple card, in which I had written that her friendship is a precious gift. I hope that when she wears this body lotion, she will perceive the beautiful fragrance of being loved.

A Bitter Lesson

Over the weeks leading to Christmas, my young neighbors examined the presents under the tree daily, consumed with curiosity over the boxes with their names. They also asked about who all the other gifts were for, and what was in those boxes. 

Ariana knew what was in many of the boxes because I had taught her how to wrap presents. That worked out well for me since I don't particularly enjoy gift wrapping, whereas she thinks it's great fun. As for the rest of the boxes, I drove Ariana crazy by telling her it really didn't matter what was inside because each gift had been bought with love.

Amy and I had purchased gifts for a few other children and their mothers, and we thought it wise to bring them in to open them in shifts so that we could prevent discontent from comparisons, and also so that we could enjoy seeing them open their gifts one by one. 

One family came on Christmas Eve, and the experience was everything I had hoped for. The girls loved their press-on nails and little gem kit for dressing up the nails. The boy loved his Spiderman pajama pants and has actually worn them every day thereafter.

On Christmas Day, we planned to open gifts with Ariana, Safya, and Fawzia around 10:00 and with Humasha* and Hadya,* two little girls whom we read to frequently, around 1:00. Somewhere in the middle, we would open gifts with our mother and Allyson, who was visiting from college. 

On a whim, I sent a photo to Humasha and Hadya's mom just before bed on Christmas Eve and asked her to show her girls the stockings we'd hung for them. "Santa Claus will put treats in the stockings. ;) " I said. 

First Stockings for Hadya, Humasha, Ariana, Fawzia, Safya

"I showed Humasha, she wants to come to your house now. She is very happy," Daniya* replied.

"Tell Humasha she has to wait for Santa Claus to come tonight and fill the socks," I answered, adding a smiley emoji.

The next morning brought back memories from my children's childhoods, when they awoke at dawn and asked over and over, "Now is it time to open presents?" 

Ariana and Safya only knocked once, and I reminded them that they couldn't come in until I'd opened the living room blinds. But Humasha and Hadya came over and over, starting around 8:00. "Not yet," I told them. "No, still not yet. You guys are coming at 1:00." 

I knew that they had very little concept of time, and I also remembered from my own childhood what an eternity it seemed when I was waiting to open presents. When I saw Humasha's disappointment for the third time, I relented. "If your mother can come, you can come at 10:00 with Ariana and Safya." 

"Okay, Sarah!" Humasha called over her shoulder; she was already running to the next building to get her mother.

The first two minutes after everyone arrived were wonderful. Each girl dumped out her stocking and exclaimed over the mandarin oranges, assorted chocolate candies, and peppermint Chapsticks. 

But Humasha's squeals of delight abruptly turned to wails of disappointment when she saw Ariana and Safya's press-on nails. "Where are my nails?" she asked. 

"I'm so sorry," I said. Forgetting that "Santa" had filled the stockings, I quickly explained that I hadn't realized that Humasha liked press-on nails. 

"But it's not fair," she cried. "I want nails, too." 

"I want nails, too," little Hadya said, bursting into sobs. 

"Wait, girls!" I said. "There are more gifts to open." I pulled their boxes out from under the tree. "See, Amy and I got you other gifts. Open them! I think you'll like them very much."

"But I want nails," Humasha repeated. I knew that her mild autism made her very sensitive to inconsistency, and I kicked myself for not sticking to my original plan. This was the very thing I had hoped to avoid. 

"Please, girls," Daniya said, patting her daughters' backs helplessly. "Open your gifts. Say thank you." The girls just continued sobbing. 

Meanwhile, the other sisters had already torn open their gifts and were exclaiming over the box of gems to embellish their fake nails. Their mother had not been able to come down with Fawzia, and now they were begging to open their toddler sister's gifts. 

"No," I said firmly. "You can carry her presents up and let her open them herself." 

In the middle of this bedlam, the little boy who had crashed Ariana's birthday party a few weeks before knocked on the door and pushed into the living room with his mother close behind. "Where are my presents?" he asked, heading for the tree. 

"Oh, Badhil!" I said, moving between him and the tree. "Not now! Come back tomorrow, please."

"We can open presents?" he asked. 

"Yes, tomorrow." After I run to the store, I added mentally. 

"Tomorrow," I repeated to his mother. "Come tomorrow, please."

"Class tomorrow?" she asked.

"No, no class tomorrow. Presents." 

She stared at me blankly.

I mimed talking on a phone. "I will call you," I said. 

She smiled. "Okay." 

After I'd closed the door behind Badhil, his two younger siblings, and his mother, I found that Humasha and Hadya were still crying despite the sing-along mics that Amy had bought them. I opened one of the boxes. "See?" I said. "There are 15 songs you can play. And you can download more songs. I hope you guys will sing for us. Aren't these cool?"

"No," Humasha said. 

I touched Daniya's shoulder. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I wish I had not brought the kids in all together. Humasha was so excited, and I didn't want to make her wait. But it was a mistake."

"It's okay," my friend said. "It was wonderful that you gave us presents. Girls, tell Miss Sarah thank you." 

"Thank you," Humasha said woodenly. 

"I will get you some nails soon," I promised. 

Humasha smiled through her tears. "Today?" 

"No, I can't today. The stores are all closed for Christmas. But I will get you some soon."

I scarcely waited for the door to close behind all of the children before I started to cry. Why, oh why had I not kept to the plan? What had possessed me to buy all of these presents, anyway? What about all the other children who would feel left out? And what message had I given them? How would this experience teach them the meaning of Christmas? And what was I trying to do, turn them into spoiled, materialistic American children? 

After several minutes of berating myself, I asked Amy to pray for me. She prayed that God would help me focus on the fact that I had tried to do a good thing, and that I had a big heart. She prayed that all of the children would enjoy their presents and know that they were loved. 

I told the whole story to a friend via text messages, and she gave similar comfort. She also offered some hilarious advice that made me smile: "Next year just have a big bowl of press on nails for everyone! Pass them out like candy at Halloween."

"Yep! Brilliant," I replied. 

"I wish I didn't always have such high expectations about things," I said. "My own disappointment was at least as big as theirs." 

"Omg such a big lesson in there for all of us. I struggle with that too," my friend replied. 

A few minutes later, I noticed Humasha huddled with her back against the wall just below our living room window. I went outside and put a hand on her shoulder. "You know, we like to give gifts to the people we love because God gave us the gift of Jesus. He loves us so much, and we want to show His love to other people. I was excited to give you presents, and I wanted you to be happy. It made me very sad when your feelings were hurt about not getting nails." Fresh tears rose in my eyes.

"It's okay, Miss Sarah," Humasha said, reaching up to pat my back awkwardly but gently. 

I smiled.

She went on, "You can get me nails next week!"

"Yes, I can!" I said. "You know I love you, Humasha?"

"Yes, Miss Sarah. I love you too." 

Despite all my blunders, I suppose Christmas wasn't ruined after all. I will always remember the lessons that I learned.

On Christmas Day, Wrapped in a Beautiful Scarf from Daniya

*Names changed to protect privacy