We were back in the Congo for our second term of missionary service. Our kids were young: Bob was six, Dick was four, and Paul was just a few months old. Our Christmas in Africa was just around the corner.
Bob and Dick were old enough to remember their last Christmas in the States, and the memories of it danced in their heads...white snow, sledding, brightly-lit trees, programs, parties, and lots of gifts at both sets of grandparents' homes. Everyone had gone out of their way to make a special Christmas for two little boys who would soon be gone for what would be an eight-year stint in tropical Africa.
Now we were on that continent in the middle of the dry season with its intense heat. No "White Christmas"...rather only brown bare ground. All the dry grass had been burned off as protection from fires that could spread unhindered, in a land that had no fire departments.
While helping excited African children prepare their special program to celebrate Jesus' birthday, my mother-heart grew heavy because of my lack of traditional holiday preparations for my own boys, and the disappointment that might be theirs. God had called us, their parents, to that land, and we didn't mind the "things" left behind, but did that mean that our children should not have them? I decided to do the best I could to make it special for them, too.
Several weeks before Christmas, I had Bob and Dick make bright paper chains to wind around the tree that we would find somewhere. What fun they had doing that! Next they colored paper bells, stars, and ornaments with their crayons. Then we popped corn and made long strings of it as garlands for the tree. It made us think of the snow, with each kernel shaped a bit differently.
That day came to find a tree. A branch from a papaya tree with its green leaves would have to do. The boys enjoyed decorating the drooping branch and never had an "ever-green" looked so grand! There were no gifts, however, to put under the tree – again my heart ached.
Christmas Eve came. We all made our way over to the church to attend the program. Joseph stood so proudly watching over his little family. How serious was he as looked down at the tiny baby Jesus in the manger. Mary, in her pretty blue wrap-around, was beautiful, as is every new mother. The shepherd boys came all dressed up in Bob and Dick's bathrobes, dragging their live sheep and lambs with them. Last of all came the wisemen, following the star we had rigged up to lead their way, each one bringing his gift to the newborn King. This is what Christmas was all about – God's gift of love to us, and our gifts in return to Him. Our hearts were strangely warmed.
After the program one woman said to me, as her face beamed with joy, "This is the best Christmas we've ever had! Thank you for making it so wonderful! And so, with full hearts we made our way home to the drooping papaya branch. The kids thought it was beautiful! After all, they had made it all by themselves (no store-bought decorations here).
After dinner that evening, we heard the sound of a truck coming up the road to our house. Who could that be at this hour? Certainly not the mail truck, because this was not the day for mail. But there it was, lumbering up the road!
As the friendly African driver jumped down and greeted us, he tossed down a huge mail sack. Out of it tumbled letters, cards, and several packages that grandparents and friends had sent many, many weeks earlier! And the Lord, who knows a child's heart had somehow had them delivered at exactly the right time – beautifully wrapped gifts for each one! Excitedly, the boys hurried to arrange the packages under the papaya branch, to be opened the next morning.
Yes, God had sent not only the wonderful gift of His Son to give us life eternal, but also gifts to cheer the hearts of two little American boys in the very middle of Africa.
~ By Jean Robinson. Jean spent 42 years in Africa as a missionary.
