Jiu Zhai Gou

 

Dear me, it's been nearly a week since we got back and I put up this pic as a preview of the review I planned to write about our trip. I should be on to other things by now. Instead I will just say that this week has been a very very good one and for all the time I could have been sitting and writing or uploading pictures, I am glad I was present elsewhere, even if it was merely talking with my Man or finishing a chapter of Pollyanna to the kids (she sure had that glad game down, she did).

This trip we took to the Min Shan mountains of Sichuan at a stunning and increasingly well known place called Jiu Zhai Gou, was every bit the winter wonderland retreat I was expecting it to be, with a few little hiccups and standard traveling-in-China mishaps.

I had hired a driver with his car to transport the kids and I on the 8 hour drive to the valley, with the plan to meet the Man there where he had been attending a conference for three days. I wasn't too nervous about the drive on my own with the three little ones and thought in passing that this strange calmness seemed somewhat uncharacteristic of me. Well, I certainly had no idea what was in store.

Forty five minutes into our drive, our poor middle guy unleashed all of his breakfast and dinner from the night before into his lap, my hands, and nearly all his half of the backseat. The driver was extremely magnanimous, and the other two children became half-angel for the remainder of the trip, which was almost entirely filled with a sick little boy dry heaving in the front seat. Yes, I considered turning around-- but not until the point when it would have taken us longer to return than to keep going. It was not an easy day, but somehow we made it through without losing our sanity or our spirits.

After a restful evening in a hotel bed, lots of water and some juice, the little man recovered nicely and was ready to dive into snow drifts and snowball fights the next day. We discovered our room did not come with breakfast as we had expected, and as you soon discover when you head to remote places in China (as in, any city with less than 10 million people), the food options for westerners and especially their children are very limited. We were also housed in a small mountain tourist village, that was entirely closed down for the season. Our breakfast came from a small corner grocery (imagine an unheated storage garage with utility shelves and a few plastic crates of apples) and consisted of crackers, imitation hostess cakes without the cream filling, and apples.

The park itself did not disappoint however. Breathtaking heights of snow-covered peaks, their harsh rocky pinnacles thrusting themselves into a pristine blue sky. The valleys were blanketed with tall, stately pines laced with piles of white that glistened in the sunlight (sunlight!!) and sent such a muted quiet over the landscape that you could hear the snowdrifts falling off heavy boughs, and the crunch underneath your feet, and sometimes the thoughts of the person next to you. I stood there, watching my kids melt snow down each others necks and peg their dad with balls formed in their increasingly frigid fingers, and imagined all our friends sunning themselves on the beaches in Thailand, and did not envy them one bit. I love the mountains, always have, and always will and even if my lifestyle and situation has changed and I can't explore them on a pair of skis, or hike them on the weekends, I will soak up their every gift without remorse. 

Gazing at aquamarine waters and frozen waterfalls, Tibetan villages and prayer wheels nestled in the banks of the cold, clear river, is not always easy for children. They were troopers for the most part, but the misshappen bus schedule that left us stranded high in the park one day and required a several kilometer hike along the road with cold hands and wet feet was a trying moment for everyone. It was nothing that hot chocolate packs and the reward of a hotel pool (even if it was barely tepid temperatures) couldn't fix however, and for me, even these small inconveniences, along with losing a cell phone and the unpleasant breakfast situation, couldn't outdo the goodness this beautiful place was doing for our nature-sore eyes.

One of the best surprises and provisions of the trip was a local Tibetan restaurant recommended by a contact at the hotel. At first the doors were locked, and I was nearly ready to wring the taxi drivers neck thinking he had dropped us off in the wrong spot, but we soon found the lights were on and we merely had to knock on the door (our cell phone, with the owners number on it, had been lost). The atmosphere was absolutely charming and delightful with a large woodburning stove in the center where you gather to drink hot barley tea and warm your fingers and toes. The food was outstanding and some of the best we have had here to date. The children, even the picky ones, all found several things to love and devour, and no one was disappointed when we returned for a second round the following night.

After the debacle of a road trip that got us to the Park, we decided to change plans and fly everyone home, even though the cost made us dig deeper than we had originally planned. Overall, we were still grateful for the option and arrived home intact, with everyone healthy and happy and with another long, many-legged trip under their belts. I was proud of our little guys and the way they have learned to be flexible with food and travel, accomodations and circumstances, even more-so than their parents sometimes, though I was reminded that often their reactions are grounded in those they see in us.

Back home in the gray, damp, cold weather of the city I am still living a little off of the respite of those beauty-filled days. I am seeing the goodness in our choice to stay in country for this long break though. It has been good for our family, for our marriage, for our rest and need to regroup and gather ourselves for the next few months ahead.

A Preview

 

We are back. It was breathtaking. And mind numbing. Traveling in China... always an adventure.

What We've Been Up To

Did I mention we are on a five week holiday? This time of year is always a bit funny for us and our work because of the two major holidays represented by both East and West that must be celebrated and given the appropriate time off.

There is Christmas, which the Chinese barely turn a head to celebrate, but for us westerners requires a 2 week break from school, and then there is Chinese New Year which is like the mother of all holidays for the Chinese, and which we politely nod our heads to, but for them requires a 2 week break from school as well. Because the Chinese New Year is based on a lunar calendar, it's date fluctuates year to year, where Christmas remains fixed. Sometimes that means we have two weeks off, a month on, then two weeks off again! But this year, the two holidays were so close together that the break got lumped into one big, loooong stretch of time wherein most people returned to their home countries or fled south for warmer temperatures and tropical beaches. We stayed. Here.

Because of a lot of factors, the biggest one being we have usually had one or more kids the age of a traveling-with-you-is-no-fun toddler, we don't usually travel much over our breaks. We rest. We spend time together. We explore our surroundings, spend time with other non-traveling folks, and in general just take the opportunity to recuperate. It has always worked well for us. We have never regretted staying. We've come to really enjoy our breaks, and usually reach the end of them ready to head back into work and the routine of school days feeling refreshed. There was that one year we trekked via train and bus all the way to Inner Mongolia when our boys were 2 and 3.5 and I was 5 months pregnant with Scout. But it was still refreshing, if for no other reason than all that 25 hours of training and days of bumpy bus rides was so well worth the clearest blue skies and fresh, dry air of the Mongolian grasslands. It did us good to spend three weeks in our yurt after a year of concrete and city life.

So here we are, in the middle of our 5 week break, half way through our 5th year in China. Tomorrow the kids and I are leaving on an 8 hour drive to the mountains, a beautiful national park that is increasing every year in tourism and world wide renown. The Man is already there, waiting for us after attending a conference the last few days. He says it's breathtaking. I can't wait to take deep, cold breaths and to soak in what we can, maybe take it with us when we haul ourselves back a few days later to the grey world of our city. I think you can live in perpetual greyness, provided there are moments to stick your head above the clouds now and then.

The past few weeks we have been provided for in many ways, I am coming to see.
~We were invited to the zoo with some friends who used to work there. It provided a wonderful day out, with people, and our kids were enthralled the entire day by Siberian tigers and a Hippopotamus who let you feed him, strange monkeys and rolly polly Panda Bears.

~I was able to take my middle one to see an American doctor, who led us to a Chinese hospital where his hearing was tested and a specialist determined he needs a minor surgery which will very likely solve a longstanding hearing problem we have been unsure how to address. The surgery is scheduled for a few weeks from now, in another city at a hospital we feel much more comfortable with, and I am so excited at the prospect of seeing this little guy able to freely hear and communicate on a level he has struggled to for some time now.

~After a frustrating day at the post office, we received gracious news that a computer item we could not return to the States in time for a refund, was being credited in full to our account without ever having to give the item itself back! I don't mind telling you the excellent customer service award goes to Amazon.

~I've read some old books, some old favorites, and have found they fed my soul right where it was most needing it. It occurred to me today that in all my Advent reading and praying for a sense of His Coming, I have received it in a small and yet wonderfully large way.

Yes, it has been a good break thus far, and a good five and a half years on top of that. I always look forward to fleeing, but there is always goodness in coming back, and in being right here where we are.

All We Had Was Backpacks

 

The day after Christmas, we traveled down into the heart of the city to spend a couple hours assembly-line fashion, packing backpacks for a project undertaken by a local Relief Organization that was providing mittens, socks, hats, and school supplies to some of the poorest children in Sichuan province. The day after that, I was lovingly sent off by my husband and children to join a small group that would travel to two schools, and two registered churches in the province, where we would distribute the bags and see some of these communities firsthand.

There were many things about this trip that I was thankful for. The opportunity alone to get out of the city and see the mountain towns and people was enough on its own. Added to that the chance to talk with workers (like our leader, Joy) who are on the ground full time with these people and hear about the issues, concerns, victories, and struggles they are dealing with, as well as hearing the needs and hopes of the local leaders in their cities was something I am rarely able to do, but so thankful for and inspired by.

It was also eye opening on many levels. China is vast and complicated. Many things you hear are true in one place, but not another. So to hear how things are being done, and what the true needs are, was in some ways different than the way things are often presented in media or from decades old realities that are not always the case anymore.

Mostly though, I was just humbled to be in the presence of so many children who treated us as though we were offering them the moon, when all we had brought was simple backpacks with a few necessary items. They lined up to greet us, three thousand strong, and stood in the bitter cold as we bundled out of the bus and were offered hot tea and seats at a long, red table high up on stage. It is the standard practice in China, to do things with grandness and formality far beyond what the occasion may call for, even at a poor school in a rural town. And it is our duty to accept it all with graciousness, and allow them to treat us as honored guests, though I felt more like a sham who should have brought far more to deserve all this attention.

The backpacks mostly went to the poorest of students, and to those who are labeled as China's Left Behind children. These are children who are the victims of a cultural phenomenon of migration by working adults to the cities, where they go from poor rural areas with little opportunity, to be able to provide for their children and parents. Studies estimate that there are about 58 million of these children in China, living with aging grandparents or any family that is able to care for them, and often even being left to board at the schools they attend.

I went into the dorms of some of these children. Plain, unpainted concrete walls, black with mold, and long narrow rooms with no electricity lined on both sides with rustic metal bunkbeds, a simple slab of wood for a mattress and a quilt or two for bedding. This is all they own, besides the pencil and notebook and schoolbooks in their backpack down in the classroom.

 

We also visited a small woman and her fellowship. The small room, open to the outside was half filled with mostly old men and women, and she cried grateful tears as she told of their Christmas service which had gone so well, and had allowed them to go out on the streets. They sang, offered us more hot water for our freezing hands to hold, and shared with us their burdens and needs that they asked us to join them in remembering. It is remote there. Not many workers want to come. It is hard work, and slow- lonely at times.

The aging group is without a generation to follow it, and the young children are without a generation to parent them. It is a burdensome thing to see.

The church calendar traditionally celebrates Christmas for 12 days. On the fourth day, December 28th, we celebrate the Commemoration of the Holy Innocents, which is to remember the atrocity of Herod as he slaughtered all the two year old's in Bethlehem in an attempt to destroy the threat of the Messiah he had heard about. As I hugged these children who smile at me so willingly, but whose lives I can't imagine, the words of Bobby Gross, as he described the significance of remembering Herod's evil act, came to mind.

" To remember Herod's atrocity is to strip sentimentality from the birth of Christ. On this day we confront the evil in our world, the violence of the powerful against the weak, the sorrow of those who suffer injustice and the very real darkness into which the light shines."

Yes, Christmas is far more than just remembering it as Jesus' Birthday. There are real powers of darkness and suffering going on here. And there is a very real light that has come into the world and is coming again. It is not just a nice analogy.

Just as we shouldn't look at the manger with sentimentality, so we shouldn't view these children in that way either. There are many things about their lives that I am too far away from to understand or make conjectures about. But I am thankful to follow in footsteps of those who are far closer, and do what I can to be a hand or a foot or even just a big stubby toe.

The Unlikely Gift :: Part IV

Part IV

copyright © Christine Keegan 2011

It was true, the storms were arriving. Gray clouds blanketed every stretch of sky you could see, and the sleet began mid morning, then turned quickly to a driving snow that made driving almost dangerous. Maggie had worked in the morning, and Warren and Bud both had Christmas Eve off, so they were all at home by the time the afternoon rolled around and the snow was really coming down in earnest. It seemed to cheer everyone up, almost making them giddy in a way that rarely happened in their patched together little family.

Maggie had turned on some holiday music, and they sat around half smiling at each other, offering tidbits of conversation while munching pizza Hanna had picked up on the way home from the salon. “Should I make some hot chocolate? Maybe see if there is a Christmas Movie on tonight?” She asked, not quite sure if there would be takers but feeling like she might even be up for it herself. Everyone either nodded or offered to do something and before she knew it, they were laughing over how many scoops made an “adult” hot chocolate, remembering how Hanna used to always try to lessen the kids sugar intake by making something a little more like glorified cocoa water than hot chocolate. As they settled into the living room, Warren with remote in hand, Terry walked in with a big smile on his face.

“Are we… ready to… read?” he asked, his voice halting as he worked to get the words out, and all of them louder than was necessary for their close proximity. A little spittle of drool flowed down his stubbly chin. Warren blinked up at him, “read, Terry?” and suddenly Hanna remembered one of the few small things Mary Ellen had asked her to make sure to do. One was to set a chair in the shower for Terry to use while washing, the other was to take him to his co op if possible, and the third was to do what he had always done with his mother since a little boy, and then with Mary Ellen and Bruce the last couple years, and that was reading the Christmas story straight from the book of Luke.

…………………………………..

The IV drip gave out a rhythmic beep next to Eliza’s bed. It was the only sound in the hospital room where Mary Ellen sat beside her mother in law, gazing at the sleeping woman and out the window, where a steady snowfall blurred the images of streetlights and Christmas Eve traffic, giving them a soft glow of twinkling lights that seemed to Mary Ellen, almost beautiful from where she sat.

Bruce had gone to his sister’s to shower and grab some coffee. He was planning to return around lunch time and said he would pick up something for Mary Ellen to eat.

 So far, the morning had been slow and quiet, giving Mary Ellen a lot of time to think. Her mind strayed from all the things she had left undone, or in others hands while they were away, and settled on her children scattered and wandering each in their own way. Their lives weighed on her always, and she felt like the years of hope and prayers on their behalf had grown in her like a lifelong period of gestation, one which she felt should be nearly to the point of a delivery- a giving birth of all that waiting and patience she had borne.

At midmorning, just after the ten o’clock rounds, Eliza woke up. She smiled at Mary Ellen, her eyes moist and breathing shallow. Their hands rested, entwined together on the bed, Mary Ellen’s wrapped around Eliza’s cool, limp fingers in an almost prayerful posture.

“I’m so glad you came,” Eliza spoke softly; her voice had grown weaker in the past 24 hours. The doctors did not think she had too much time left. “My heart is so full of joy when I see you, and I am so thankful for you and Bruce.” Mary Ellen could tell Eliza wanted to say things, even though it labored her, and so she remained quiet to give the woman space for her words.

“I have known you since you were a little girl, and I see you now, a woman who lives to serve and carry the burdens of others. I know you hurt and that you want to see God do something great. I want to tell you that I have seen him work a wonderful thing in your life.” Here she paused for several moments. Eliza’s eyes filled and spilled over, and Mary Ellen felt the surge of emotion well up from deep inside. She wanted a miracle. This was her year. But perhaps she had gripped so fiercely to the present and future that she had forgotten to remember the past, and the scope of all the wonder was woven through her life.

Eliza smiled through her tears, and began again. “I have come to the end of my journey. You know the many things I too have waited for in my life. You have your own waiting to do, and while you do it, don’t lose heart. There is a blessing that comes to she who looks to the hand of her master, and waits upon it for whatever he gives. You have a lot to bear, but like the mother whose name you share, you are highly blessed among women. I hope you can know and believe that. I love you my daughter.”

Later, Mary Ellen sat again in the silent room, with Eliza sleeping and Bruce snoring in a vinyl chair at her side. The sky outside had cleared. Snow covered the sidewalks and rooftops outside, blanketing every surface for a few night hours with its heaven like cleansing. She could see stars blinking in the dark sky, and she felt as though she were nearly being lifted to its heights, as she thought on the words Eliza had spoken over her.

Was this how that young, virgin woman had felt so many centuries ago, bearing the weight of the salvation of the world in her womb, knowing it would both pierce and wash over her life with a wonder she could not fathom. And she had believed. She had waited; for nine months, for thirty-three years, and then until her death when she would have finally seen the face of her Lord in the face of her Son. And she had said, what Mary Ellen knew she too must whisper now with all her heart, leaving it and the timing of miracles all to Him, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be unto me according to your word.”

………………………………………

The words of Luke filled the small family room as Maggie read according to Terry’s instructions and a soft light from the fake fireplace flickered from the center of a faux brick hearth. The snow outside had stopped, and Hanna slipped quietly from her chair near the entryway, slipping out the door to look up at the sky, it’s clearing revealing a blanket of bright stars that couldn’t help but make you feel small and grand all at the same time.

She couldn’t shake the feeling of tingling had settled over her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to cry or scream, hug someone or be alone in her room. This place under the stars, with the snow sparkling like a sea of diamonds at her feet, stretching out across the lawns and down the still untouched streets, seemed somehow the most appropriate. She looked up and wanted to spread her arms out and be transported high into the heavens, like one of those angels in the story just now.

It had struck her like a moment of clarity never before, all of them sitting there listening as Maggie’s voice wandered over the room with a story that was centuries old, yet had always seemed rote and too familiar, but somehow removed to Hanna, that the people in those pages were not very much different than those listening to their story just now. Those shepherds, not the smartest or wealthiest or most sought after in society, were the ones to whom the very servants of the Heavenly King had come to speak to. They were given a place at the manger, when the powerful and wise and learned had all been denied.

And Jesus, the baby who the angel had told Mary would be called the Son of the Most High, and holy… holy, something she had always felt was a word spoken in condescension, in rebuke, and in guilt—as something she couldn’t attain,  that Jesus came to a poor little couple, in a dirty little feeding trough. He was holy, but he didn’t care if the place or people he came to were wrecked right through with dirt. He seemed drawn to it, as though he wanted to give them his holiness and not just rub their grime in their faces. She thought of all the dirt in her own life, the weight of worries and failures and mistakes she was always carrying around, and she wanted more than ever to be like one of those shepherds, invited to the manger, spoken to by angels, filled with joy and running through the streets to tell of it.

Merry Christmas Pictures

We pause now for a commercial break. Tomorrow I'll be back with the fourth and final installment of my little Christmas short story, The Unlikely Gift. 

In lieu of Christmas cards (if I had my overseas act together), and even facebook (which I am currently having trouble getting on), we are posting our quick little Shotgun-photo-right-after-church-and-while-everyone-is-hungry-and-self-conscious-of-being-stared-at for a Merry Christmas greeting to all our loved ones.

 

 

I still can't believe next year, there will be four of them!!

From our family to yours, we wish you blessings and joy this Christmas

The Unlikely Gift :: Part III

Part III

copyright © Christine Keegan 2011

The steering wheel was ice cold against Hanna’s bare fingers. Yesterday the temperature had taken yet another dive, but the sky remained as blue as sea of sapphires, and the sunlight glared intensely through the windshield, making her reach for the heat switch and sun visor simultaneously. Terry had been with them three days now, and she was getting used to loading him into the van in the mornings and dropping him off at his co-op where he stayed until a bus brought him home at 4 pm. Mary Ellen had left the van for their use on the day she brought Terry over, saying it was easier for him to get in and out of and they wouldn’t need it while they were gone anyway. The only problem with it was the tape deck, which unlike most vehicles those days, was still installed per Mary Ellen’s usually unusual and antiquated request. She had even paid extra to locate it and have it installed, claiming that her whole listening life was on her tapes, and she wasn’t about to change over to CD’s now or she’d lose 95 percent of her mind. Hanna just shook her head, imagining the car salesman thinking to himself that he was sure she already had.

The radio was broken of course, and so rather than sit in silence for the twenty five minutes to and from the co-op, Hanna resorted to the pile of tapes in the consul. It held the typical Mary Ellen fare: loads of sermons from her favorite preachers, book review sessions from the radio programs she loved, and a few worship tapes. There were two Christmas Music selections and Hanna flipped one of them in, letting the carols and orchestra music fill the van with their timeless sounds, willing them to bring some level of comfort rather than the cynical weariness that so often plagued her.

So far, having Terry had gone okay. Maggie had sounded a little put out when Hanna explained the situation to her, but she had been working extra holiday shifts at the mall where her latest job at a clothing boutique had landed her and hadn’t been around too much to complain. Warren of course, was accommodating. He didn’t like the drooling at the table, or the nonstop chattering that flowed from Terry’s moth regardless of how much food was in it, and he usually left the table early, finishing dinner as quickly as he could, which left Hanna and Bud meandering through their food as Terry talked.  Bud had always been slow at meals, and more quiet than most. So Hanna nodded to Terry intermittently and tried not to be discouraged by the situation. Only a week she reminded herself, and if this was the worst of it then she really couldn’t complain.

Warren shooing himself out and Bud mutely chewing his food reminded her a little of dinner at home growing up. Her mother had still felt it her duty to get a meal on the table, never mind who was there or who happened to stay around to eat it together. There was always the feeling of tension, and sullenness, which just made the presence of a “family style” meal and the half empty table seem pathetic and lonely to Hanna. She had always wanted different for her own kids someday. Now sometimes she wondered, if regardless of all her improvements and efforts, the sins of past generations would just keep repeating themselves in some form or another. Her own patched together family rarely ate together, and when they did it was with little conversation and everyone seemed ready to flee off in their own direction.

One time, about a year after she had started attending the Nazarene Church, a mother of one of the AWANA kids had asked if Hanna and the kids wanted to come over for dinner that week. Hanna cringed inwardly at the memory. Nothing had gone wrong, it was just that nothing was wrong, and she had felt messy and sad in the midst of it. Donna was a good mother-- that was easy enough to see. She had four children and they all seemed interested in each other and their surroundings. They were friendly, outgoing, and really listened to their parents. Donna’s husband went to work every day and came home every night, while Donna ran the home. They looked like they cared about one another. Donna always said nice things about her husband, praising his abilities and how much of a godly leader he was. And Hanna was sure that he really was. She had felt light years away from their goodness. Maybe she didn’t want that kind of goodness anyway, she had told herself. But somewhere inside she felt a twinge of envy. Was it for a happy marriage? For children who glowed with potential and purity?

Hanna glanced at Terry in the rearview mirror. He was staring out the window, a slight smile sitting calmly on his face. Was it always there even when he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular? Or was he just more easily cheered by things that to Hanna, meant little and so escaped her notice? Hanna wondered what it had been like to raise a child like Terry, doing just what she was doing now, but with him as a five year old, a ten year old, a teenager. Surely Terry’s mother had endured challenges that Hanna knew nothing about, and surely the woman’s dinner table had looked far different from the one Hanna had visited during her church going years. Mary Ellen had always spoken so highly of Terry’s mother, but she had not made it sound as if it was a life without blemishes. Annie just knew where to turn to, when she was all a mess and at the end of her rope, Mary Ellen would say. Hanna certainly knew there had been countless times when she had felt a mess and at the end of herself. She usually just dusted herself off and picked it all up again, each time chipping a little more off her expectations of what life could be. Maybe you just couldn’t expect a lot of goodness when you had come from a family like hers. 

........................................

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve and the cheery radio man said storms were headed their way. The sky still looked clear and cold to Hanna, but inwardly she said a little prayer to no one in particular, asking for some blessed snow to whiten up their gray little town.  She had let Warren take Terry to the co op the last two days because she had the early shift at the salon. Today it was her turn again though, and the traffic seemed especially bad. Probably all the last minute holiday shopping that would only increase over the next 24 hours. She was getting a little tired of the same Westminster Choir Carols, so Hanna grabbed something from the top of the tape stack and flipped it in. The sound of a man’s voice, resonant and full but not overly powerful, spoke to her as though he were sitting directly across from where she sat driving.

It was a Christmas message of course, not surprising since Mary Ellen stocked her car full of all the seasonal messages she could find in her tape library during the month of December. Hanna wasn’t sure quite what it was that kept her from ejecting the soothing man’s voice from the deck and reverting back to the hundredth time through O Holy Night, but somehow his words caught her attention, and she leaned in as the blinking tail lights in front of her flashed a sea of red.

“The manger scene is no mere gentle picture of a sweet, idyllic memory for humanity to reminisce about. It is the most powerful place on this earth. For here, the King of all Creation stoops to share not just his presence, but his very life with the lowliest of society. Here, kings will fall on their faces and be shamed, beaten, judged. Here is where the powerful are stripped of their power, and the haughty of their pride. God is not too proud to take on our humility, and he does so point blank, with austere simplicity in the reality of the manger moment. He does so, not to bring God down to our level, but in order to ultimately raise a redeemed people back to their God.”

The words were hard to grasp in their entirety. Hanna wanted to push the rewind button and listen again, but instead she kept on. Those words, no mere sweet memory… stoops to share life with the lowliest of society… were not like anything she had ever heard about Christmas, even from Pastor Gordon. She felt some small feeling of hope trickle down inside her, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Whatever it was, the manger this man spoke of sounded more like one she would have liked to be around.