The season has come that is full of cheer, and well, it is actually still here. Christmas in Cambodia happens all month long or at least it did for us. Two weeks before Christmas day we were told that we would be doing two different Christmas programs. Well, as you might imagine two turned into four, then six. In the end, I am really not sure how many we actually did.
These programs consisted of us introducing ourselves in Khmei (Knohm chamoo Amy. Knohm mel p Americ…), singing some Christmas songs, and acting out the Christmas story. By program number three, we had become professionals. I had the opportunity to play Mary. You see, when I was in third grade I was going to play Mary in our Christmas program at church, but then….I broke my collar bone. None the less, my dream of playing Mary was fulfullied in those incredible villages.
One of the locations we went to was behind a high school. As the students were practicing their English with us, they decided to take us to their school. As we walked inside, I felt like I was famous. Heads popping out of classrooms, people emerging from the cracks to see all the white people. A teacher even videotapped us as we walked to the back of the school. Then there were the middle schoolers who were litteraly afraid of us. Every time we would draw near to them, they would edge away like a little toddler that was afraid of people. I did not know we were that scary. Turns out that we were the first white people to ever step foot in this school. We were the first to ever share the Christmas story with some of them. Once again, God chose us to pave the way for this place that He so desparetely longs for. I got to be a part of that!
After we read the Christmas story the first time, a revelation hit Katie which began to spread to all of us. Here we were in Cambodia engulfed with hot, humid weather. There was no snow, no heavy jackets, no decorations, no fancy clothes, simply surrounded by greens. Cows, water buffaloes, and horses roamed the dust filled roads. They plopped down where ever they pleased: the side of the road, under a rickety barn, a random field. Tan skinned people all around-we were the only whites. This was more like it. We were in a place very similar to where Jesus was born. He was not born in a palace, an American home, a clean, dust free place. No He was born right here, in a place much like this. The clutter, hussle and bussle of the Christmas season was not present in these villages.
As I held baby Jesus in my arms while covered in dirt, I was humbled. Every time. Simply humbled. Awestruck. I was a dusty mess, but I did not care. This is more like it.
Even though it is quite easy to get caught up in the chaos of the Christmas season, I am grateful to have had this experience. It is not about trees, hollies, elves, or bows (I enjoy these by all means), but about our Savior. This season, I experienced the true meaning. I relived Jesus’ birth day in and day out. No distractions. There were simply dirt roads, animals, and bamboo homes. This is one month that will forever me tatooed on my heart. Praise You Papa!
yes, professional balloon maker thanks to Kylee Larson
