By a worker in C. Asia
The Christmas season was upon us, and my teammate and I had decided to put on a special series of parties for our local neighbors and friends. The place where we lived was a very conservative area. The parties would be ladies only, as is the custom, and would include tea, snacks, and a careful telling of the Christmas story.
The parties would be ladies only, as is the custom, and would include tea, snacks, and a careful telling of the Christmas story.
Pants on Fire
The first of these parties was at my house. We were readying my hosting room by setting out tea cups and trays full of cakes, cookies, and nuts.
Stepping back to count dishes, my teammate stepped a bit too close to the propane heater and accidentally melted her (apparently) polyester pants to her wool socks.
I scoured my dresser drawers trying to find a pair of the local baggy pants that might fit my friend’s tall frame. She stands about 7 inches taller than I, so the pants, of course, looked a little on the ridiculous side.
Everything was set out and ready. The doorbell rang, and the ladies started pouring in.
We laughed and ate. We poured endless cups of green tea seasoned with fragrant cardamon. I handed out gifts of tiny bottles of perfume for the women, and small hair clips for the little girls.
The Reason for the Season
He was the gift the entire world had been waiting for, and He is the most perfect and precious gift the world has ever received.
We explained in our simple, broken language about how much God loved them, that he sent Jesus as a gift for them and for all the world.
He was the gift the entire world had been waiting for, and He is the most perfect and precious gift the world has ever received.
I realized that this household, the women alone numbering 23, had never heard this story before.
Their understanding of Christmas, in that very moment, was pure and simple: Christmas meant Jesus.
I felt a tinge of jealousy for a moment, knowing that my western mind had attached so much baggage to this sacred holiday. “God, forgive my materialistic heart,” I thought.
They raised some concerns they had about Jesus, as we had expected, but their appreciation for the celebration somehow outweighed their need to contest our views.
An Uninvited Guest
As we continued to chat and talk about Christmas, the women suddenly started screaming and cowering toward a wall. “Oh no,” I thought. “Some uncle is here to reprimand them.”
As we continued to chat and talk about Christmas, the women suddenly started screaming and cowering toward a wall.
Wrong. A gecko had fallen from the ceiling and through the propane heater flame. He was obviously injured, but not enough to keep him from spastically gimping around the room.
What ensued was unadulterated pandemonium.
My first instinct was to get my husband to kill it, but that would violate every cultural rule of gender decency in the book of our area. He was not allowed to see these women, so that was not an option.
I grabbed a shoe in attempt to coax it into another room, only to accidentally break the ugly thing’s tail off and watch it jump and seize while the actual gecko limped away for cover under a pile of burqas.
Nooriah, the strongest and toughest daughter in the bunch, grabbed my hand. “Go get a broom and dustpan. Now.”
I brought back her weapons of choice, and she quickly and swiftly killed and swept up the gecko and its twitching tail into the dustpan. “Go bury it,” she instructed. I obeyed.
Nooriah and her family talked about that party for months.
It was just an ordinary moment, full of everyday things in this area. Women get together. Geckos creep into our lives. We laugh and show courage and experience life together.
But God’s Word made our attempts extraordinary, and we know His Spirit continues to work in the hearts of those women who experienced Christmas for the first time in a truly memorable way.
(Original version published in the tell magazine, 2013)
