Trick-or-treating, a baptism, and...Christmas?

This Christmas season started differently than most years.  For one thing, the rainy season that usually brings cooler temperatures and snow to the mountains overlooking Cochabamba has yet to be seen, meaning during the day the intense, high-altitude sun beats down, making 90 degrees feel more like 100.  Two days before Christmas, we went to a mountain stream in 80 degree weather and two young people from church were baptized.  It felt odd to play in the water and have a picnic instead of sing Christmas carols and drink hot cocoa.

A few days before Christmas, I started seeing large groups of young indigenous children going around my neighborhood ringing doorbells.  A friend of mine explained that it's common for poor kids to go to wealthy homes and ask for handouts, hand-me-down toys and even fruitcake.  He said it's kind of like a Christmas trick-or-treat... the wealthy know to expect them and the kids get a few free toys for Christmas.

On Christmas Eve I went over to open presents with my nephew and his mom Brianna, the only real family I have here in Cochabamba.  We put on Christmas music that Collin, my brother, recorded for Matias, skyped my family in the middle of their journey across Colorado to meet up with the rest of my extended family, and Matias opened his presents.  Or more like I opened his presents and he chewed on the wrapping paper.

I think a 9 month old has trouble really understanding the magic of his first Christmas, but I sure felt a little more Christmasy after putting on a Santa hat with him and pulling shiny wrapping paper off his gifts.


Later on Christmas Eve, we had a service at our church, singing Christmas carols, a short message, and then I prepared a special end to the service.  During the whole evening, kids were running around the church, adults were filtering in and out, gathering outside to chat instead of listening to the message or singing.  I felt frustrated; all that work and no one seemed to care.  But by the end of the service, I was able to get everyone to sit down, the kids to be quiet, and we turned the lights off.

I read:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.  In him was life, and that life was the light of men.  The light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it.

I lit my candle. 

The true light that gives light to every man was coming into the world.

I shared my light with my neighbor and the flame bobbed down the pew rows.

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the One and Only, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.  

Despite all the commotion and lack of interest in the service, we all finished the evening together, singing Silent Night and smiling at each other in the soft glow of our lights.

The church service got over after midnight, which meant lots of sleepy little kids.

Maria- a neighbor kid

Almost all my little neighbor kids came and seemed pretty engaged with the service.  When the pastor asked what Christmas meant, Liz almost lept out of her seat to yell "Presents!"  Deyvi, her brother, corrected her and said, "The birth of Jesus".  I was really grateful they all got a chance to see the real reason we celebrate Christmas.

Advent has been the one glue that held the season together for me.  We celebrated advent the four Sundays before Christmas, and then once more on Christmas Eve.  I used the advent program we used to use growing up as kids, so old that it was originally typed out on a typewriter!  The Scripture, the carols, and the stillness that the services brought were a balm to my soul.

On actual Christmas Day, I baked a pumpkin pie and hiked up the hill to eat Christmas lunch with Humberto and his family.  I arrived sweaty and hot to a Christmas meal of oven-friend pig, potatoes, corn, oca and Sprite, and everyone eating in shorts and t-shirts.  Not exactly turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing, but it was special nonetheless.

Even though I was a guest, I immediately felt like part of the family.  It was hard to follow the conversation as most of it was in Quechua, but the smiles, laughter, and even the loud complaints of Humberto's toothless grandma were universal.  Despite the lack of Christmas-ness, it's the most at home I've felt in a long time.  It's amazing how much being with a happy family can lift the spirits.

And it's certainly not Christmas until you've made and flown a kite, right?  Humberto and I spent the afternoon fashioning a kite out of a plastic bag, thread and straw.  It flew beautifully when we took it out into his neighborhood, and I felt like a little kid again, running as fast as I could down the dirt road, pulling the string behind me until I felt the wind catch the kite and draw it upwards.