By Sharron Hawk

 

I have been so blessed to celebrate our Savior’s birth in many different places.  I thought I would share 3 of those locations with you.

 

I grew up in south Texas on a dairy farm.  My dad was a very fun loving man.  The night before Christmas “Santa” would always throw a coconut down the chimney to assure us that he knew where we lived and would be bringing gifts later that night.  Cows had to be milked at 4 am and 4 pm every day.  Christmas morning we knew that we didn’t dare move from our beds until Mother and Daddy returned from milking.  But the minute we heard the front door open we were on our way to the tree that decorated the front room to see what Santa had left for us…always a day of fun and family.  After I became an adult my parents would do all they could to make the holiday a fun time.  After attending seminary I received a call to ask if I would consider moving to San Antonio. I went from a supervisor position at a 538 bed hospital to being mother to 20+ pregnant teens.  One Christmas I had 9 girls due to deliver any minute.  I told my folks that I would miss Christmas with them.  Mom said just bring them here and she doubled the amount of food she prepared.  The girls seemed to enjoy being on the farm for the day as well as the feast mom had cooked.

 

Then came my move to Nigeria. I would call Ogbomoso my home for the next 10 years.  Christmas would start with me going out to Kersey home early in the morning to see the sick babies before our 10 am worship service.  The Nigerian workers would become actors and present the story of Christmas to all of the children and their mothers who were there with them.  They would find a baby that was sleeping and that baby would be taken from their mother and suddenly became baby Jesus.  Shepherds were dressed as the Fulanis. Fulani is the nomadic tribe that herds cattle around the country.  Any given Christmas worship was very animated and the air was filled with beating drums and much dancing.  The women, usually 60 percent of whom were Muslim, would hear and see a clear presentation of the gospel. Each child was given a new dress  made by women in churches back home …thank you Stitchers…for continuing to make those dresses.  In the mid afternoon the missionaries would gather for a pot luck meal of everyone’s favorite recipes.  Always a special time of eating and singing Christmas carols.

 

One of the most meaningful celebrations of our Savior’s birth was in a country where it is illegal to profess to be a Christian.  A friend and I were invited to join a wonderful young family with their 2 children as Christmas was celebrated.  The 6 year old little boy had left his list for Santa taped to the mantel alongside the stockings that decorated their home.  The parents were shocked to see that he had requested a ring from Santa.  The dad made a frantic trip into the village to see what he could find.  Shop after shop had shopkeepers that just shook their heads when he explained that he was looking for a child’s ring–unheard of in this country.  We were getting worried as the evening wore on and being a Christian out on Christmas eve was very dangerous.  Just as the young father decided to give up and head home a shopkeeper came running after him.  He had found a ring…but it had an “A”  on it.  Does it surprise you that the little boy was named Andrew?  

 

We drove to the home of a local believer to worship that Christmas.  It was a man with his brother, their wives, and their children.  As we traveled we saw security officers, with their guns drawn, who could have arrested any of us if they had they decided to follow us. As we sang praises to God for sending Jesus into our lives I realized that for many years to come the church in that country would look like what we were experiencing.  Join me in praying for protection for those whose belief in Jesus could cost them their freedom and even their lives.  We are so blessed in so many ways.  May you have a joy-filled Christmas…wherever you are!!