My Christmas story
I am not sure how many people in the world have to wipe their tears when the Christmas day is approaching.
A child, in a cold weather of Amsterdam, could wipe his tears when he realised that he would not get any Christmas present from his mom, a single-parent mom, who worked as a dish-washer in a Chinese Restaurant.
A Chinese single-parent woman would wipe her tears when she knew that this year she had to see her only child secretly crying because there was no present for him. Moreover, her so-called husband, who happened to be her child’s father, was nowhere to be found.
A beggar would wander around the Chinese restaurant, or sometimes a bakery, to adore the food they have in the display or just to see a family dining out together. He would wipe his tears and hold his stomach, which had not yet been filled since two days ago.
Two elderly people, man and woman, who were ever called ‘Grandpa’ and ‘Grandma,’ sitting near the Christmas tree, holding presents, would wipe their tears. They were wondering where their grandchildren, sons and daughters were. They were forgotten.
Two children in the hot weather of Africa would notice no different between Christmas and non-Christmas day. They were sitting in front of their refugee camp, wipping their tears, and saying to each other, “I am hungry.”
A baby, lied on the cold floor, in one of the barracks in the province of Aceh, was not only wiping its tears; it was crying out loud. He would even know what Christmas supposed to mean; neither would thousand other people in this province.
I wiped my tears this morning, after reading e-mail from a family the Netherlands. I miss this family very much. Actually, I also miss the cold weather of Amsterdam. I miss wearing lots clothes underneath my winter coat and walking on the snow. I miss spending my Christmas night in this family’s house, watching cartoon ‘Snowman’ and playing with Emily, Hannah, and Tim, their kids.
One man, an old, unnoticed man that might sit on the back row in the church would possibly wipe his tears. He was seeing all the crowd and busy activities in the church. Some groups were preparing the show: drama, choir, and the band. Some would sit and discuss about the food they were going to serve after the service. Some people would just sit, gossiping, while waiting for the service to begin. Some would be busy fixing the decoration. When the band played the first song, no one seemed noticing or even caring. This old man was still sitting at the back row. No one had greeted him. No one noticed him. No one would even care to say ‘Hello’ to him. No one.
He stood up.
He walked slowly to approach the main door.
He was about to go.
He walked slowly, passing all the people with fancy dress and suit.
He walked.
He might have hoped to be greeted; but, still, no one ignored him.
He was in front of the building, when he heard a little voice called him.
“Sir! Where are you going? The church is about to start. You have to go inside.”
A little boy.
He walked back to come near to this little boy.
“Merry Christmas” said this old man. He shook this little boy’s hand and turned around to get going.
“Sir! Sir! Why do you have holes in your palm? Does it hurt?”
This old man smiled, just smiled.
***
I am not sure how you are going to spend you Christmas, but Christmas is not about present. Nor is it about fancy dress, suit or accessories. It is not about celebrating it with partying and drinking champagne. It is about remembering, respecting, and having faith in what happened 2000 years ago, in a little town called Bethlehem, in an ugly, smelly manger, where a little baby boy slept peacefully.
Merry Christmas, friends.
A child, in a cold weather of Amsterdam, could wipe his tears when he realised that he would not get any Christmas present from his mom, a single-parent mom, who worked as a dish-washer in a Chinese Restaurant.
A Chinese single-parent woman would wipe her tears when she knew that this year she had to see her only child secretly crying because there was no present for him. Moreover, her so-called husband, who happened to be her child’s father, was nowhere to be found.
A beggar would wander around the Chinese restaurant, or sometimes a bakery, to adore the food they have in the display or just to see a family dining out together. He would wipe his tears and hold his stomach, which had not yet been filled since two days ago.
Two elderly people, man and woman, who were ever called ‘Grandpa’ and ‘Grandma,’ sitting near the Christmas tree, holding presents, would wipe their tears. They were wondering where their grandchildren, sons and daughters were. They were forgotten.
Two children in the hot weather of Africa would notice no different between Christmas and non-Christmas day. They were sitting in front of their refugee camp, wipping their tears, and saying to each other, “I am hungry.”
A baby, lied on the cold floor, in one of the barracks in the province of Aceh, was not only wiping its tears; it was crying out loud. He would even know what Christmas supposed to mean; neither would thousand other people in this province.
I wiped my tears this morning, after reading e-mail from a family the Netherlands. I miss this family very much. Actually, I also miss the cold weather of Amsterdam. I miss wearing lots clothes underneath my winter coat and walking on the snow. I miss spending my Christmas night in this family’s house, watching cartoon ‘Snowman’ and playing with Emily, Hannah, and Tim, their kids.
One man, an old, unnoticed man that might sit on the back row in the church would possibly wipe his tears. He was seeing all the crowd and busy activities in the church. Some groups were preparing the show: drama, choir, and the band. Some would sit and discuss about the food they were going to serve after the service. Some people would just sit, gossiping, while waiting for the service to begin. Some would be busy fixing the decoration. When the band played the first song, no one seemed noticing or even caring. This old man was still sitting at the back row. No one had greeted him. No one noticed him. No one would even care to say ‘Hello’ to him. No one.
He stood up.
He walked slowly to approach the main door.
He was about to go.
He walked slowly, passing all the people with fancy dress and suit.
He walked.
He might have hoped to be greeted; but, still, no one ignored him.
He was in front of the building, when he heard a little voice called him.
“Sir! Where are you going? The church is about to start. You have to go inside.”
A little boy.
He walked back to come near to this little boy.
“Merry Christmas” said this old man. He shook this little boy’s hand and turned around to get going.
“Sir! Sir! Why do you have holes in your palm? Does it hurt?”
This old man smiled, just smiled.
***
I am not sure how you are going to spend you Christmas, but Christmas is not about present. Nor is it about fancy dress, suit or accessories. It is not about celebrating it with partying and drinking champagne. It is about remembering, respecting, and having faith in what happened 2000 years ago, in a little town called Bethlehem, in an ugly, smelly manger, where a little baby boy slept peacefully.
Merry Christmas, friends.
Labels: Thought
posted by Oma Nia at
4:16 PM
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