Something Old, Something New

Perhaps you will have a hard time believing this, but I have never roasted a turkey for a family dinner, neither for Christmas nor for Thanksgiving, until this year. We spent many years in Africa where there were no turkeys available, and we had free-range chickens for our festive dinners. When we returned to Canada we continued this tradition. We found chicken to be juicier and more flavorful. 

This Christmas, however, we had turkey. The reason for this change of family tradition was that one of my sisters received a free turkey for making a large purchase at a local grocery. She asked me if I wanted it since they already had turkey for Thanksgiving. I accepted it with thanks. The bird turned out to be quite delicious and we had enough left over to make a turkey noodle soup to share with friends over the holidays. 

That is my story about something new I did this Christmas. 
Now let me tell you about something old, which I consider to be my favorite Christmas present. It came unexpectedly and was actually regifted to me.

When we moved from Kitchener-Waterloo, Ontario to Winnipeg almost nine years ago, one of my biggest tasks was to go through all the books we had accumulated over the years and reduce their number. This was difficult for me, but I knew we simply owned too many. I managed to cull quite a few but we're still left with a good-sized library.

Among my books I found a selection of German titles I received from my grandmother for Christmas when I was a preteen. I had begun my schooling in German and became an avid reader as soon as I knew the alphabet. We emigrated to Canada when I was nine and I soon began to read English books. My grandmother knew that I would always be happy to receive a book as a Christmas present. She did not want me to forget the German language, so she supplied me with German books which she ordered directly from Germany. To me it did not matter whether I was reading English or German; I wasn't even aware which language I was reading!

When I looked through our books before we moved to Winnipeg, I once again felt that tug of home. The books took me back to Christmases past. I noticed there was a book missing from my collection. It was probably a favorite of mine, and I wondered what had happened to it. I could still recall the story and how much I enjoyed reading it. I even remembered the title: Luthers Singerlein ("Luther's Little Singer") and I felt sad that this book wasn't there. It was probably the first historical novel I ever read and one of the best, written especially for children. Its story takes place during the time of Martin Luther and the central character is a young girl who loves to sing and play her violin. She is not validated for her gifts because, according to her aunt who raises her, these are not suitable for a young girl who should be working on her home-making skills. Also, her hair is black and curly, not typical of a German girl. Martin Luther, who lives in the same city (Wittenberg) and notices her musical ability when he visits her school, affirms and validates her gifts. 

When I learned English I read Anne of Green Gables, another story about a girl who doesn't really meet the expectations of the people she lives with. The theme of this book is quite similar to that of the German book my grandmother gave me. The characters in both these books thrive when someone appreciates them for who they are and convinces their loved ones to do the same.

Recently my sister went through some boxes my parents had left in their garage. Several of them contained books, and she gave them to me to sort and dispose of. To my surprise and delight, when I opened one of the cartons, I discovered the book I had been missing all these years. The next Sunday afternoon I took time to read it again, and I must say I enjoyed it as much as I did when I was a child! I identified with the main character because I too had gifts that were not "productive" in the eyes of my Mennonite mother. She wanted a daughter who could stitch and sew and be her right hand in the house, taking care of the younger siblings. I just wanted to read and play with words. 

As an adult taking university courses, I finally felt validated for my love of reading and writing. One day, in a telephone conversation with my mother, I told her that I actually got paid for reading books and writing about them! She said she was proud of me because I had raised a family as well as pursued a career. In her eyes, I had gone about it the right way, by having my family first. I valued and appreciated my mother's words of affirmation (even though I didn't necessarily agree with her assessment about the order in which the events in my life took place.) Her words mitigated the childhood message I had internalized that the gifts I had been given were of less value than others. However, the fact that I can put a delicious turkey meal on the table as well as read a good book would make my mother happy. We won't talk about my sewing skills.

A Christmas Letter

Because it is the Christmas season, the thought of writing a Christmas letter came to mind. Not an electronic version, but one written by hand with pen and paper. Hardy and I discussed it. Most of our friends are on the internet, but we did come up with a list of about twenty-five names that would not be receiving anything unless we wrote a letter by hand and actually mailed it. Those people will be getting a handwritten greeting from us. Family will also receive a Christmas card at our family gathering. I decided my December blog post would be my Christmas greeting for those of you who follow it. I hope you don't feel somehow cheated!

Living in Zaïre/DRCongo, Africa for almost twenty years (1965-1984), letters were very important in our life. Hardy was there alone from 1965-1967 and our courtship was done by mail. 
After we got married in 1968, we lived in the provincial town of Kikwit for eight years. During those years we could not use the telephone to communicate except for emergencies. We did not have our own phones but had to go to the post office in the capital city, Kinshasa, and there we often had to wait close to ten hours before we had access to one. Never mind that it took us several days to travel to the capital city, some of it by road and some of it by cable ferry.

Computers were not yet in use. So we wrote letters, lots and lots of letters. Most of them were in the form of aerograms. One small sheet of thin light-blue paper, folded twice and then sealed along the sides. If you wrote very small you could get quite a lot of information on this piece of paper, and I usually poured my heart out.

                                                 

When we returned from Africa in 1984, Hardy continued working in Bible translation with the United Bible Societies and then with the Canadian Bible Society. This necessitated that our family settle in the Kitchener-Waterloo area of Ontario. Our extended families lived mostly in Manitoba and that meant we were only able to see them once a year, usually in summer. It was certainly easier to communicate with them from Ontario than from Africa. There was good phone service but I still wrote a lot of letters and sent birthday and Christmas cards. Our parents sent packages at Christmas.

About three years after we returned to Canada, on a snowy December afternoon, I was walking across an  empty lot when I saw something in the snow. I bent down and picked it up. It was a Christmas card. Inside the card was a letter. This is what it said:

There was no cheque, just the card. The letter made me sad. It sounded like a man who was lonely. It seemed to me that his children did not care much about him. They had taken the cheque and discarded this loving letter from their father. It was left lying in the snow. I decided to pick it up and bring it to them, since the address on the letter was not that far from where we lived. I was hoping they had dropped the card accidentally and would be happy to receive it from me. However, I received no warm reception and no thank-you for having retrieved the card. Although they didn't verbalize it, I felt like I was being told, MYOB.

Before I took the card to the family, I copied it as a reminder to myself that family is precious and that there are lonely people in the world especially at Christmas. I have discovered that sometimes, when I feel rejected or left out, it helps me to do something special for someone else who feels abandoned and is much worse off than I am.

Mary and Joseph, in the Bible narrative (Luke 2), must have felt lonely so far from home, particularly with a new baby. However, angels came to their rescue, and made sure they did not feel as if no one cared about them.

I leave you, my friends, with this Christmas greeting: 

May the beauty, joy and blessings of the Christmas season be yours to share with those you love!