Letters from India

In case you are under the impression that I have it all together, I'm going to burst that bubble right now. I am very much a work in progress. I have a decent amount of baggage that hangs on Christmas, stemming mostly from a childhood spent at the bottom of the socio-economic ladder in suburban America. I relate the following as an illustration of how Christmas is changing me this year.

About three weeks ago, I shared with my husband that I really wanted to be surprised this Christmas by something special under the tree. I could see him groan inwardly. I thought, "Come on! I work hard all year, raising these boys, cooking your meals, doing most of your laundry and keeping this house moderately clean. I deserve something special." Seriously. I was thinking these thoughts and feeling pretty justified in having them. We never reached any conclusions about how my poor husband would accomplish this task, but we left the conversation committed to the idea that Amy should get a surprise.

Last Wednesday I rushed to get the mail, looking for Christmas cards, and found two letters from the girl we sponsor in India. Asha is twelve years old. We have only been sponsoring her for about six months through an organization called Compassion International. She writes to us more than we write to her. These letters are so honest and heartfelt. They are filled with unadulterated gratitude, and they make me cry every time I read them. More so today.

Her birthday was in September. We sent $20 so that adults who work in her village could buy her a gift from us. They purchased her some clothing. One of her letters was focused solely on thanking us for this gift. She begins each letter by greeting us in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, followed by words conveying that she and her family are all well by the grace of God and telling us she prays that we also are well. She prays for us. Then she goes on to tell us how happy she felt when she received our gift, a Salwar suit. She finishes by thanking us for our love and support.

Folding the letter, I looked across my living room at our Christmas tree, and my heart underwent a radical transformation. It was better than the Grinch. I no longer wanted a surprise under the tree. Instead I want to give away lots and lots of money, as much as we can stand. I want to sing the praises of Jesus on Christmas morning, read the account of His miraculous birth, eat homemade birthday cake, open homemade, slightly tacky gifts, and know that children like Asha have clean water, clothes, food, and education. I think that we will re-read her most recent letter that morning. I'll probably bawl like a baby, but I need the reminder. Christmas does NOT come from a store. Christmas is about the love of God come to earth in a place we wouldn't expect to give us a gift we don't deserve. Nothing embodies this more for me right now than the love of Christ seen in a twelve-year-old girl from India who prays for my family and gives thanks to God in all circumstances. I'm so grateful for her example.