Christmas North African Style—A memory in the making ... by Jocelyn Faire

 I have traveled thousands of miles to be with my daughter and her family in North Africa for this Christmas season. There is a part of me that hungers for beauty, the fulfillment of a longing I cannot exactly put my finger on. I know that the bonds of love are a huge part of the craving, the desire to share the same air space with those I love, to rekindle memories and craft new ones. Here in a desert land of North Africa where Joy to the World is not sung and Peace on Earth/peace in their homes is often not a reality, I watch as my daughter intentionally celebrates both the season and the reason, and I see the grace that spills over to the neighbourhood. As my

grandchildren light the Advent candles I am reminded of the hope, the peace, the love and joy Jesus brings. Around the kitchen table small fingers glue tissue paper to make a lantern light craft. And a song plays in my head, from when my children were crafters at my own kitchen table, One small child in a land of a thousand, one small dream of a Saviour tonight.(Sung by Evie) A knock from the back door announces the neighbour and her thirteen year old daughter's arrival in the midst of glued tissue, and the speaking of light in the darkness ... the flow goes Arabic, and I step back to keep glue on paper. The girl joins in and the head-scarved mother asks the reason for what we are doing. More Arabic explains about the light of the world, and a fourth tissue lantern goes to another home.

This is the land where the homes look like the Bethlehem Christmas card ... and here I am closer to the bread and olive oil world that Jesus entered, than when I am in my snowy homeland ... yet, ninety-five percent of the people here know nothing about the Christmas story. I am delighted to participate in what has become my daughter's annual Share the Christmas Spirit community party. Trying to recreate Christmas baking from her childhood, we browse the church recipe books and laugh .... ingredient lists common in her growing up world, but not here: packaged cake mix, coconut, chocolate chips, marshmallows, oatmeal, glace cherries, brown sugar, molasses, baking soda. How can you not have baking soda? (That and coconut seem to be seasonal here.) We do borrow some from a friend. But I can find sweetened condensed milk and dream about the seven layer Magic Cookie bars. This recipe we improvise with chocolate chips from Canada. The guests may try new ways of baking, but are less likely to try new ways of thinking about life and its meaning.

I realize that on the day of the party (Dec 19), I act more like Martha than Mary, focused on tasks, thinking that the lopsided brownies should not be served, they would not pass the Martha (Stewart) test. To make matters worse I drop the large container of chick pea flour local cookies that a neighbour directed us for a five hour session to make. That's the way the chickpea cookie crumbles and my two year old grand son learns a new word or two, one of them being bummer, the other one he shouldn't know. My daughter remains calm. Many believers back home join to coat the event in prayer, for the right people to come, for wisdom with the games, with her words, above all that God be glorified in this event.The salon room is filled and the surprise hit event of the

evening is the crafting of a Christmas ornament. For twenty-five minutes conversation and laughter flow as all ages of women glitter glue and sequin foam ornaments together. The grandmother with the twinkly eyes and the white scarf is delighted her ornament is chosen for one of the prizes. Somehow I get elected as judge, thankfully no one contests the decisions. A short time later, in flawless Arabic my daughter shares her Christmas customs and the meaning of the story. A believer with a guitar accompanies as we sing three carols. The acoustics are wonderful, and somehow the Oh Come Let us Adore Him rings louder as I watch a dear 19 year old who is learning English, sing Christ the Lord. The others listen and applaud each song. Hark the Herald Angels Sing ... born to raise the Sons of earth, born to give them second birth. In that moment of singing I feel connected to the ancient Christmas story and the realization that this is what Christmas is all about—Good News that is for all peoples. Joy and peace fill the room as another candle of hope is lit in the neighbourhood.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned. Isaiah 9:2 NIV

Jocelyn blogs about hope in the hard places at her blog site: http://whoistalking.wordpress.com

The Stable Night by Ruth Ann Adams

 

 

 

Today we are pleased to welcome Ruth Ann Adams as our Guest Blogger.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned” ~ Isaiah 9:2 NIV

One late afternoon, I returned home from work, and walked into the laundry room on the main floor of our apartment building. My husband, Andrew, was busy sorting our laundry. He said, “Our power has been turned off. I have found a way to pay off the bill, but we won’t have it restored until tomorrow.” I had been dreading this inevitable event for the past month. Now it was late November, a month before Christmas, and a night of darkness faced us in our tiny, seventh floor apartment.

My husband’s job loss had thrown us into a grim period of financial uncertainty and at times, the inability to pay our bills. My job as a substitute teacher was sporadic. It wasn’t enough to support ourselves and our three younger daughters. There were times when the darkness in my heart was as black as the darkness in our apartment.

Andrew and the girls went out for part of the evening. Almost defiantly, I dusted our bedroom and living room by candlelight. It was one thing to be without power because of a local or widespread power outage. It was another thing to have it turned off, because there was no money to pay the bill. This was not the way I wanted to live, nor the way I wanted my children to experience their lives.

Here we were, in the days leading up to the most joyful time of the year, a time which should have been filled with excitement and anticipation. Signs of Christmas were everywhere: in the stores, in brightly lit decorations, in festivities, concerts and tightly stuffed mailboxes. The pace would only quicken over the next few weeks.

I had always loved Christmas. As a child, I could hardly sleep on Christmas Eve. We gathered at my grandparents’ house on Christmas Day, with my aunt, uncle and cousins and enjoyed opening parcels which were full of surprises, feasting on an abundant Christmas dinner, and experiencing lots of laughter and fun. My grandmother would preside at the dinner table, look at her family with pride and love, and say, “Is everybody happy?” Of course, we were.

Later, when I became a mother myself, my husband and I combined and created traditions of our own. I did special Christmas crafts with the children and they helped cut out and decorate cookies. On Christmas Eve, I dressed them up in special outfits to attend our Christmas Eve service. One particular tradition was opening an early present the day before Christmas, accompanied by reading Margaret Laurence’s classic tale, The Olden Day Coat. Christmas Day was again full of excitement as the children opened their stockings, spent time with grandparents and played with all the new toys that were under the tree.

I still loved Christmas but now there was the dark specter of financial anxiety to contend with. With the help of kind friends and our church, we still managed to have gifts under the tree and good food for Christmas Day. However, the extra financial demands and the prospects of entering yet another year in our present circumstances was daunting.

After dusting the apartment, I sat for a while in our living room, lit by the shadowy light of the candles. As I reflected quietly, it occurred to me that our dark surroundings were much closer to the first Christmas than the festivities we would later enjoy. The stable was not likely bright nor spacious. The circumstances were poor and humble. Mary and Joseph were facing uncertainty and perhaps fear. The angels would come in all their bright and holy splendour, but, for now, there was birth and pain and darkness.

The next day we celebrated our youngest daughter’s birthday. Not long after her friends arrived, the power was restored. The apartment was once more bright and cheerful. We never lost our power again and our circumstances gradually improved, as God worked a gracious act of restoration. However, I will never forget that night of darkness, flickering candles and my glimpse into the long ago darkness of the stable night.


Ruth Ann Adams is a free lance writer, high school English teacher, mother of five, and pastor’s wife. Her most recent publication is a story called 'Charles Holloway: Many of Mystery' in Promises of Home, Stories of Canada’s British Home Children, by Rose MacCormick Brandon (Magnolia Press, 2014). Ruth Ann is addicted to cats and British history. She would love to interview King Henry VIII. Ruth Ann’s passion is to bring God’s love and encouragement to others. She lives with her husband and several of their daughters in Nova Scotia. Her website is “Five X Mama”.