A Christmas Story From Cambodia
Stories
Sharing Visions
Divine Revelations, Angels, And Holy Coincidences
I wondered if the village folk ever had potlucks like the Methodists back home. So I asked Mara, "Do you ever have parties where everyone brings some food?"
"Oh, no, Madame," he said. "Maybe at Christmas we have party for Jesus." The next day, he brought me a picture of how the church was decorated for Christmas. The "Christmas Tree" was a kind of fern bush propped up against the corner of the church. I had seen the fern bushes growing about fifteen kilometers away, near the dam we had visited. They were odd-looking, prehistoric kinds of plants that vaguely resembled a white pine. The "needles" were the fronds of the palms.
"What is on the Christmas tree?" I asked my co-teacher.
"That snow, Madame." I recognized some stretched-out, pathetic looking cosmetic cotton balls.
"Cambodian Christmas different from United States," I thought.
Today I am overwhelmed with the possibilities of buying, looking, baking, eating, watching, and doing for Christmas. I can get tired just thinking about it. I remember a warmer place, where people have simple ideas about Christmas. My Cambodian friends won't shop. They won't have electric lights. They won't have cookies. No stockings to hang. It doesn't matter; there are no chimneys. Hardly anyone knows who Mickey Mouse is, so I am not sure they know about the Jolly Old Elf and his eight tiny reindeer. The Grinch has not been to the village.
When I find myself getting stressed out over the things I think I must do to "have" Christmas, I will try to remember there is another way. In Cambodia, Christmas will be like any other day, except for three percent of the population who are Christians. It will be okay if Christmas is not white. Somehow they will find a way to show their love for each other without presents. Rice will substitute for "Figgy Pudding." They will understand that the Savior has no place to live because that is their story, too. No one will have to wish them a "Merry Little Christmas." It will be little and merry, anyway.
"Oh, no, Madame," he said. "Maybe at Christmas we have party for Jesus." The next day, he brought me a picture of how the church was decorated for Christmas. The "Christmas Tree" was a kind of fern bush propped up against the corner of the church. I had seen the fern bushes growing about fifteen kilometers away, near the dam we had visited. They were odd-looking, prehistoric kinds of plants that vaguely resembled a white pine. The "needles" were the fronds of the palms.
"What is on the Christmas tree?" I asked my co-teacher.
"That snow, Madame." I recognized some stretched-out, pathetic looking cosmetic cotton balls.
"Cambodian Christmas different from United States," I thought.
Today I am overwhelmed with the possibilities of buying, looking, baking, eating, watching, and doing for Christmas. I can get tired just thinking about it. I remember a warmer place, where people have simple ideas about Christmas. My Cambodian friends won't shop. They won't have electric lights. They won't have cookies. No stockings to hang. It doesn't matter; there are no chimneys. Hardly anyone knows who Mickey Mouse is, so I am not sure they know about the Jolly Old Elf and his eight tiny reindeer. The Grinch has not been to the village.
When I find myself getting stressed out over the things I think I must do to "have" Christmas, I will try to remember there is another way. In Cambodia, Christmas will be like any other day, except for three percent of the population who are Christians. It will be okay if Christmas is not white. Somehow they will find a way to show their love for each other without presents. Rice will substitute for "Figgy Pudding." They will understand that the Savior has no place to live because that is their story, too. No one will have to wish them a "Merry Little Christmas." It will be little and merry, anyway.
