“It’s Christmas, isn’t it? She answered, “Your custom?”
“Yes. Can I open it now?” I asked.
“Yes, please do.”
I unwrapped the small gift and hidden inside were two handmade white
doilies, one for a cup and the other for a plate, lined in green stitching
along the outside edges.
“Thank you; they are beautiful.”
“You are welcome,” she beamed back. It was a special moment in what
otherwise had seemed like a gloomy day.
“Merry Christmas,” I said. “I am sorry you have to work.” I knew she had
two kids at home, but I wasn’t sure if they celebrated Christmas.
“It’s okay,” she said.
We said good night, and Joy and I headed back up to our room. I thought
we would spend a quiet evening watching CNN and MTV, but as always, at least
for me, there is the rest of the story. After feeling sorry for myself and
moping around for an hour, I called the Murphys. It was late enough I hoped I
wouldn’t wake them up, but I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Merry Christmas!” I shouted excitedly into the phone. A lot of love can
be shared in a short amount of time. Manisha was happy to talk to me and told
me about all the things Santa had brought her.
“When are you coming home? I miss you,” she said.
“I miss you, too, Honey. I will be home soon.”
I thought in my heart, though, not soon enough. Tears welled up in my
eyes as I regretted that I couldn’t be with both my daughters for Christmas.
Jenni had shared the pictures of Joy with Manisha and I hoped she could focus
on meeting her new baby sister. It was a short conversation, but I felt better
having heard her sweet voice across the ocean, reminding me that although we
weren’t together in person, she was with me in spirit.
As I watched television feeling homesick, I heard noises outside, louder
than the usual honking of horns and vehicular traffic. I picked up Joy and we
walked back downstairs to the lobby. I felt excitement in the air with faint
Christmas music barely audible above the sporadic street noise.
“What’s going on?” I asked the young lady who had given me the gift
earlier.
“It’s the Christmas celebration,” she said.
What celebration? I thought to myself. Vietnam is a communist country and
they don’t celebrate Christmas, or so I thought.
I quickly ran back up to our room, grabbed our coats and stroller, and
carried Joy down the steps into the cool night air. I could see crowds up ahead
on Hue Street walking toward Hoan Kiem Lake.
We joined the crowd, and as we
approached, Hanoi’s version of Christmas spread out before us. The lake was
decorated with Christmas lights, and a large Christmas tree adorned with
presents took center stage. A cardboard Santa Claus was displayed near the tree.
A little baby swing decorated in a colorful leis was set up to take pictures.
Crowds gathered in the streets wearing red Santa stocking caps and
carrying balloons. I couldn’t decide if the “party” resembled a parade or
people gathering for a concert. A festive, family atmosphere filled the air,
and the lake was packed with Vietnamese families.
I was excited to have something to do. Uplifting, holiday music wafted
from the loud speakers over the noisy crowd. I wanted to know where the music
was coming from. It had a sweet-sounding familiarity, like a piece of chocolate
to a hungry soul. I wanted to grab it and not let go.
In such an anti-Christian country, I never thought I would hear Christmas
music broadcast in downtown Hanoi. Many of our Christmas songs have a message
of “tidings of great joy,” with Jesus as a baby in the manger. Even though the
celebration was steeped in commercialism, the familiar words from Christmas
carols filled the air, giving me hope that all was well with my soul. I pushed
Joy in her stroller to the nearby church a few hundred feet from where the
music came.
My soul was enraptured with joy, a balm for my homesick heart. I longed
to be with friends and family. Here I could sing in harmony, filled with the
Christmas spirit, enveloped in oneness with those around me who were here for a
different experience, but so far from home, I welcomed Christmas in another
culture.
For a brief moment, I understood Ephesians 4:5. There is unity in the
world, “one body, one hope, one baptism, one God and father of all.” I felt a
connection to the Vietnamese people. For some, this might be the only testimony
to the risen Savior they would ever witness, but as Isaiah 55:11 says, “My
word…will not return to me empty.”
God had given me a
taste of Christmas in Hanoi that I would always treasure. We returned to the
Lake and I took Joy over to the Christmas tree and swing. She was intrigued
with the bobbing balloons tied to the Santa and stared wide eyed at the
Christmas lights strung around.
I handed the camera to someone to take our
picture. Standing in front of a cardboard Santa Claus, the bittersweet moment
was captured, now kept in the scrapbook that I had won years earlier, a memoir
to the past I didn’t want to forget.
Today, as I remember that night, fifteen years later, I thank God for all the Christmases we have had since then. Jesus is the reason for the season. Let us be thankful for what He has done for us and praise Him with the heavenly hosts. Christmas is magical even for adults!
