I used to be so big on buying gifts, wrapping presents, writing letters, attending party after party, listening to carols and decorating the house. I used to be so big on the festivity of the occasion. After all, what's Christmas without lights, fun and presents?
Perhaps it's because my final exams are in early January, because my sister is back for only a short few days before she disappears for America again, and because I've grown up, that glitzy gatherings and gifts which nobody really needs no longer hold such a fascination for me. Perhaps, since knowing God, I've learnt to appreciate Christmas and comprehend its profound meaning. Perhaps, I've just become more pensive and less outgoing.
There is something about the extravagance of Christmas which used to disturb me. How can people celebrate and indulge in an atmosphere of hedonistic decadence when half the world is suffering? But I realised, I had missed the point. Some of us, myself included, are trapped by the traditional thinking that the poor always suffer more, and the rich ought to be ashamed for flaunting their riches in the face of the stark reality of poverty. I am beginning to realise, how rich and poor are both poor and suffer in their own ways, and neither may be better off than the other.
While the poor are cold and stricken by infection, poverty and hunger, the rich are lonely and stricken with illnesses of insecurity, surfeit and emptiness. Sadness, loneliness and emptiness respect no one, and strike hardest amidst festive cheer. The poor may be hungry but huddling with their families, while the rich may be drunk on indulgence but hurting inside. Suicide rates are highest in Christmas, did you know that?
And I started to miss you all because I realise that rich or poor, better or worse, each of us have a God-shaped hole that no food, water, possession or human love can fill.
Suddenly, as more of my closest friends started to fly off for their holidays and I felt more and more alone, I missed us washing clothes together on the grey slates of the orphanage, with you giggling and splashing, refusing to let me wash your petticoats because they were "too dirty for you to wash, didi (big sister) Wai Jia. Come, you wash our shirts only okay? Cleaner."
I thought of how so many of us have domestic help to do our washing and chores but are nonetheless busier, and less grateful.
Suddenly, I missed us running and shouting and screaming our lungs out, free in the fields, as we breathed hard against the wind in the cold wintry evening, losing ourselves in the game. Suddenly, I remembered how you all were in the fields playing and shared but one bicycle, but were happy and contented and grateful.
I thought of how grieved I was at losing the bicycle which I wanted, while all of you share one.
Suddenly, I missed us talking. Missed the way you made me feel like a child and a mother at the same time. Missed the way you all would come round and tell me story after story about your parents far back in the villages and how meeting them was a 5-day journey back on foot because no vehicle could go where you stayed.
I thought of the many of us who have parents we live with but sometimes don't even make time to talk to.
Suddenly, I missed being with the missionary couples in the freezing winter, listening to them tell me how each of you were so precious in their eyes. I missed the time I was so full of faith that I would find someone with a heart like mine to want to own an orphanage and adopt or foster children. I missed the time I was so certain I would find someone like that.
And I thought about the many of us who have children we feed, but don't take time to understand.
I realised, that rich or poor, emptiness can be a cruel equaliser. And no amount of financial disparity can separate the levels of loneliness each group feels.
This, must be the quietest and yet, most peaceful Christmas I've had. For I've finally learnt to take time off, to spend quality time with my family, to give thanks for the possessions I have, and to recharge my faith, eroded with time, in the calling I've felt called to. It's about time I went to visit the poor again. I miss you. In less than a month, after my final exams, I will be travelling to a jungle missions hospital in Kalimantan to learn a little more of what it means to be a missionary doctor.
I am learning, that the emptiness inside can only be filled by a God-shaped piece.
I am glad for Christmas, glad for today and the sulleness I feel, glad that I'm not at another party but home with my family, glad that J reminded me to be open-minded with regards to looking for a life partner, glad that I'm a little discouraged that I might never find someone who could love Godme&missionwork and promise to be with me 'for richer or poorer', glad that I miss you all this much...
... because it reminds me, that God's infinitude, and love and company is always with us. And that is what fills, and what satisfies, truly.
For richer or for poorer.
He was born on this day for the same reason called love.
But the angel said to them,
"Do not be afraid.
I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.
Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you;
he is Christ the Lord.
This will be a sign to you:
You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger."
-Luke 2:10-12
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