Baklava, shoeboxes, and all things Christmas

Christmas in Albania, wow, different. For one thing, it’s freezing. The first truly cold Christmas in my life. California isn’t exactly known for white Christmases. Secondly, baklava, lots and lots of baklava. I’ve tried like 12 different homemade baklavas now in just two short days. It was hard to not be home, not with my people, my culture, my traditions, but boy did God use it and boy am I grateful.

Let’s start with Christmas Eve. We knew that we would be busy all day on Christmas, so we decided to celebrate the day before. Money is tight for us missionary types, so each girl on my team simply bought one thing for each person from the dollar store and we filled stockings. Most of them were gag gifts, making it for a hilarious stocking opening experience. We danced around to my favorite Christmas album ever: Hilary Duff’s Christmas and baked cookies and treats. Then we watched National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, I tried to get them to watch Die Hard, but they said it wasn’t “Christmas-y enough”. I guess they forgot about the line “Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho”. It doesn’t get more Christmas-y than that. Lauren made us a lovely dinner and we all ate together at the table. 

Then it was time for church. The youth of the church handed out chocolate bars and hot tea to strangers in the city square. My group was specifically seeking out police officers and street cleaners, but also ended up going to the homeless and even a trans prostitute. Our group leader was young herself and the culture here is strongly Muslim, so she walked right past this person and stopped. She asked us, “Did you see what was just happening there?” I replied, “No, just a woman standing.” She replied, “But it was actually a man”. Me and my teammate looked at each other. We didn’t know how she would react, what she would say. She looked to me concerned, “So what do we do?” I replied simply, “We give her chocolate and hot tea.” 

She looked at me, confused as to why I wasn’t confused, “Her? But it’s a man? I don’t know what the church would say?” But I was already walking back, “Merry Christmas”, I said in my broken Albanian. Then the leader had to hop in to translate. My teammate and I started complimenting her makeup and outfit, the leader had to translate, looking at us strangely, but then starting in herself. We told her that Jesus loves her and that our goal was solely to tell her that and say Merry Christmas. She was so happy, she thanked us so much. She kept saying, “I love you, thank you, I love you.” As we walked away the group leader was so proud of herself. She told us, “The church and the culture can judge them a lot and I almost did, but then I talked to her anyways. You told her Jesus loves her. That’s important, I need to remember that.” It was as if her mindset shifted through the conversation. The leader realized that that was a human, regardless of preferences, or choices, that was a child of God, just like us. I pray that she remembers that day forever. 

We headed back to the church and played games with the whole congregation until midnight hit. We sang and danced at midnight, everyone was hugging and shaking hands. There was so much joy in the room. It was the most beautiful moment. Strangers running to hug us as if we were old friends. It was a moment that I will hold dear forever, like an old time movie. What a Christmas Eve! The next day, we had to run to make our bus since we were out so late and only woke up 20 minutes before it was time to go. I threw together a nativity skit on the bus and everyone went along with it. We arrived at the church, did the skit, sang Happy Birthday to Jesus, and played with the kids. 

Then the coolest thing happened. We were asked to help give out Operation Christmas Child boxes. Operation Christmas Child is an organization that is very dear to my heart. I remember as a kid packing the boxes full of dollar store toys, wanting to do more, dreaming of being used by God for more. My goal was to be the one delivering them, I wanted to be boots on the ground, going into the hardest places, bringing these boxes, bringing Jesus. And on this day, I finally got to. Six year old me would be so happy. Twenty four year old me was too. That’s an understatement, I was giddy. We gave them out at the church, then went into the neighborhoods to deliver them to the families that couldn’t make it that morning. We sat with families and heard their stories. We heard so many hard situations, families bordering on homelessness, families getting money for food by going through the garbage to find things to sell or begging in the street. Families that didn’t know where their next meal would come from. 

There was one kid specifically who I was obsessed with. We met him last week at a home visit and he was shy but so so sweet. He was wearing all girls clothing, which I just assumed was because they were hand-me-downs and they couldn’t afford anything else. But when he showed up to church carrying a bright pink purse, I realized quickly that it wasn’t a hand-me-downs thing. I was so excited to give him his box, I ran over to him with it. He smiled shyly and grabbed it from me. I went with him to the curb so he could open it. He was smiling so big when he took the lid off. I was oohing and ahhing over enthusiastically at each object, when I noticed his face drop. He seemed upset. He just stared at the box. I didn’t know why he wasn’t as excited as I was to see balls and trucks and all the things little boys love. 

I was called away to continue handing out boxes when I saw his mom drag him back to the line. He looked nervous, scared, hiding behind her leg, only 4 years old. She asked, “I know it’s against the rules, but is there any way he could have a girl box?” The Albanian teenagers running the table looked at each other awkwardly. They seemed so uncomfortable, I don’t blame them. Again, it’s a highly Muslim culture, they had not been taught to be open minded. I saw everyone being awkward and walked up to ask what was going on. They said almost disgustedly, “He wants a girl box, but he’s not a girl. What do we do?” I stated simply, “We give him a girl box”. I got down on my knees and held out a girl box. He shyly came out from behind his mother and grabbed it, still looking scared. So young, yet already taught the fear of judgement, already taught to feel ashamed. 

I didn’t try to change him or judge him or worry for his future in a culture like this. I simply handed him the box he wanted and said the same words I had said before with the other box, “Merry Christmas. Jesus loves you.” He smiled so big and ran off. My love and Jesus’ love didn’t change because of his preference, in box or whatever else in the future. He was little and probably did not understand in that moment the full capacity of the unconditional love of Jesus. But he felt something, I’m sure of it. It was written all over his face. I pray that he remembers that day forever. 

We continued giving out boxes at two other churches as well. I was able to see the extreme joy come from a simple toothbrush. I saw so many smiles from pairs of socks or gloves two sizes too small. The gratitude of these children was incredible. Even the pastor’s kids we have been staying with said that they got a box for Christmas as well. Krista, the 12 year old I spend most of our youth group time with, said, “I got a box for Christmas, it wasn’t what I would have wanted but it’s still cool. It had candy and journals and pens, I guess I like to draw, I can use them for that.” I asked if she got any gifts from her parents to which she replied, “They gave me the box from the church, why would I need another?” She was genuinely confused.

They were so happy with the little that they were given. It was a different Christmas indeed, nothing like Christmas in America. They were grateful and joyful and smiling ear to ear to even be given anything. They embodied contentment in a way that I have never seen before. It was the most absolutely breathtakingly beautiful experience. I am so glad that I was able to experience it. It was even better than six year old me could have dreamed. It taught me more than I ever could have imagined. What a Christmas! I pray that I remember that day forever.

Lord, continue growing me in this, in seeing Your children. Not how the church does or how the culture does, but how You do. Continue opening eyes to how big and unconditional Your love is. Continue opening mine too.

 -K