Saving the best for last: what’s been happening recently

A young friend dutifully praying on my guest room rug– “In the name of Allah, the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful…” –while above her were frames of Jesus’ words, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.”

Visitors from the U.S., the first in several years. I love cross-cultural work, but relating to those with whom I share both culture and faith is uplifting. And, Lord willing, more visitors arrive in a few days!

A Mediterranean baptism on a beautiful–albeit chilly– November day.

Uncontrollable evening laughter.

A bowlful of ripening avocados because I had mentioned to my student that if I had one food to live on, I would choose avocados. (She said she’d choose dates.)

A neighbor who asked for my tikka masala recipe.

Weather that begs for coffee.

A young mother who thought she knew me… and didn’t, but ended up asking for my phone number anyway.

A day trip to the mountains where I sat on a hill and talked on the phone like the un-hiker that I am. It was one of those hills with loose rocks and thorns that put “brickles in my britches. But I stayed there anyway.” (For that quote, you’ll have to read “What Was I Scared Of?” by Dr. Seuss.) Afterwards, my teammate and I unintentionally had tapas in a casino.

Storekeepers who drop the price without my even asking.

A climate where fruit is in season all year round. Right now it’s the mandarins that pop between teeth and turn to sweet puddles on tongues. And the fat persimmons. And rosy pomegranates. And even the chirimoyas, which I’m not particularly fond of but can appreciate in season.

Sunshiney Mondays that dry sheets and towels in a jiffy.

Unintentional late night discussions.

A landlady who opened the second bedroom of my apartment. (I rented the apartment as a one-bedroom flat, the second bedroom designated for the landlady’s storage.) With the prospect of multiple guests at once, I worked up the nerve and asked her if I might possibly please use the extra bedroom while my guests are around. She gave me an incredulous, “Mujer, it’s your house!” Nevermind the original agreement. I’ll nevermind anyway!

Workers at the print shop, startled to discover that they had indeed made my idea come true. And they ignored the customer behind me to admire their own handiwork.

A ticket quietly waiting for me to test negative for covid. And one suitcase bulging with eager Christmas gifts.

A birthday to celebrate this week. As I valiantly blaze through my 30s, I’m starting to wonder if it’s time to consider having a midlife crisis. Although, I’m not sure that’s really the sort of thing one plans for… Maybe next year…

And the very best thing of what has been happening recently? A new nephew, Zayne Davis born November 8 to two very proud parents. And no wonder they’re proud, because he’s terribly cute.

Zayne, as you start your life in this great big world, may you find the courage to be exactly who God created you to be, nothing more, nothing less.

Photo credit for last photo goes to my brother-in-law

A light has dawned

Merry Christmas, everyone! This year is different than most. A lot of traditions are mandated aside. As much as I love traditions and festivities–they make Christmas magical– celebration of Christmas goes far beyond “how.” It’s “why.”

I’m reading Hidden Christmas: The Surprising Truth Behind the Birth of Christ by Timothy Keller. (No, I won’t finish it by Christmas; therefore, I’m delighted that Spanish Christmas lasts until January 6!) Keller says,

“The Christmas message is that ‘on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.’ Notice that it doesn’t say from the world a light has sprung, but upon the world a light has dawned. It has come from the outside. There is light outside of this world, and Jesus has brought that light to save us; indeed, he is the Light (John 8:12).” (p.10)

Miserable mandates or no, that’s a reason to celebrate Christmas. 🙂

For some of you, this year the loss is more painful than breaking a tradition– during the biggest holiday of the year, you are staring at loneliness and grief and you can’t find the strength to stare either of them down. That hurts.

Another dear friend passed away this week. Right now, it feels like life is going on because it has to, not because we want it to. Could the world just pause as we all gather our bearings and sob our grief? Why does time march on, so unaffected?

But there is light, and it’s not at the end of the tunnel–somewhere beyond 2020 and covid and pain and death. The light is here because Immanuel is the Light.

Merry Christmas.

Why not the shepherds?

The shepherds–have you ever wondered why God chose them to rush to the mangerside of the newborn Savior? Why they were the ones entrusted to spread the news?

Maybe they were swapping stories out there in the fields as they tended their sheep by starlight. Maybe their minds were drifting to their families snuggled up in warm beds. Either way, they were still watching, alert. And that’s why they were stunned to see the glory of the Lord.

Wolves? Sure. Thieves? Yah. But an angel? The glory filled them with “great fear,” the kind of fear of fallen man at the feet of a holy God. Maybe their wonder mixed with disbelief. “Can this really be happening? Am I dreaming?”

The angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”

And then the sky was filled with angels who were praising God, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”

The light faded and the shepherds looked at each other, dazzled. Maybe they asked each other: “Did you just see what I saw?”

But soon: “Let’s go check out what God told us!” And “with haste” they clattered into town. (Did the sheep follow them? I wonder. And what a ruckus they would have caused at the feet of their newborn Savior!)

But their journey didn’t stop at the stable. After worshiping Jesus, they went out and “made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child.”

The initial fear out there in the fields was not a paralyzing fear–not the kind that mutes tongues to silently deny our Savior. Their fear opened the door for faith.

Sometimes I contemplate the shepherds, the humble set of messengers they were, and why God chose them to “make known the saying.” I mean, why not more wisemen or least the mayor of Bethlehem? I always thought that God was making a statement by having His birth announced by a herd of scruffy shepherds. Maybe He was.

But today I’m wondering, “Why not the shepherds? Why do we assume the sidelined of society were less qualified?”

Sharing the news of Jesus isn’t the work of an elite few, those with charisma, power, or 5 million Facebook followers. It’s also for the shepherds–for me, for you. Our testimonies are neither more nor less valuable because, although we messengers have a role to play, the message has never been about the messenger, but about the Message Himself.

(Luke 2:8-20)

Photo by Pawan Sharma on Unsplash

Recipe: Gingerbread cookies

Ever since North Africa, these cookies have been my Christmas tradition. Not only are they yummy, but they are also fun to make because they retain their shape. The original recipe can be found on thekitchenpaper.com. I’ve altered it very slightly and included some notes at the bottom. I’ve also included some of the weights in case you weigh your ingredients like I tend to.

3 c. (384 g) flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1+ tbsp. ground ginger (a smidgen more for a better kick)
2 tsp. ground cinnamon
1/4 tsp. ground cloves
6 tbsp. (85 g) butter
3/4 c. (150 g) brown sugar
1 large egg
1/2 c. (160 g) molasses
2 tsp. vanilla

Whisk the flour, salt, and spices together. Cream the butter and sugar until they’ve just come together. Add the egg, and mix until incorporated. Add molasses and vanilla. Mix. Slowly mix in the flour mixture until your dough forms. If your dough is crumbly, add 1 tsp. of milk at a time until it comes together. Roll out at room temperature on a lightly floured surface to 1/4″ thickness. Bake at 375° F. (190° C) for 8-9 minutes.

Note: You really don’t want your dough sticky. It’s a headache. The more flour you add to keep them from sticking to your rolling pin, the less flavorful they will be.

Also note: If you like your gingerbread cookies thin and crispy, by all means, roll them thin. But don’t forget to decrease the baking time like I forgot to do this year. 😦

Third note: These turn out best when you’re listening to Christmas music. 🙂

Memories, tears, and such

A great man passed away today. It shouldn’t have stunned me; we saw it far off. Yet, facing the world and knowing that he’s not here facing it with us…

I have so many memories tucked away, memories I pull up regularly. Words I use because he used them first. Foods I love because he introduced them to me.

No one who knew him can pretend they’re not mourning. He created community wherever he went. He gave and gave, not piles of dust-collecting trinkets, but himself. He was hospitality both at home and away from home.

And he’s gone.

I only had an hour before I left to visit a friend and her family. After five months of being apart, she and I had a lot of catching up to do. I even met the family’s feisty Siamese kitten.

The daughters were trying to get their 20,000 words in for the day and I learned all sorts of things. Oldest daughter said her classmates bought bags of suckers and sawed off the sticks. They could eat them behind their masks during class. “What happens if the teacher asks a question?” I asked. Younger daughter was feasting on my fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies when she announced that she didn’t really like chocolate. In fact, she preferred peas. Next time should I bring cookies with peas in them? She giggled.

The girls begged me to resume English class with them because of their “fatal” English grades this year.

We looked at pictures of my sister’s wedding. “And you? Did you find a husband in your country?” My friend leaned in close, wanting every juicy detail. But just then, her daughters noticed the Christmas tree of lights along the boulevard and called us to the patio door to see.

Slowly I walked home, winding my way up the flights of apartment stairs, smelling the aromas of the various apartments until I entered our quiet space that still smelled like biryani–the lunch I had made shortly before I heard the news and the food that will forever remind me of him. Unmopped floors and overflowing trash cans demanded attention, but I sat down with another round of tears.

Just this week, someone told me that when we reach eternity, we will look back at the gulf between missing a loved one and joining them. That gulf will be a tiny blip, inconsequential. I agree, but today feels bigger than that blip already.

Oh, God. What were You thinking?

It’s not a fair question, I know. But that’s where I am today: grateful God is big enough to listen to unfair questions.

Photo by Rafael Garcin on Unsplash

Spanish healthcare chronicles: the chiropractor

The chiropractor was next. I never would have looked for one if I hadn’t had a shooting pain in my hip with every step I took. I tried an exercise ball and alignment exercises before I decided that maybe I should get it checked out.

I found their office on google. The place had good reviews and seemed down to earth (more about adjustments and money than strange Eastern cures).

The first phone call was rough. Since I was expecting a package in the mail and when my phone rang, I assumed it was the delivery man, not the chiropractor owner responding to my request for information. There were several unforgettable moments of confusion before he suggested we speak in English.

Soon, I was on my way. Fearful. Imagining that my scoliosis had gone beyond repair and my spine would have to be fused.

I had to hunt down an x-ray clinic in the bowels of Almeria before the chiropractor was willing to touch my spine. I, of course, had a lot of problems, including a twisted pelvis. No wonder walking hurt. It was reversible, for the price of my firstborn. Since I didn’t have a firstborn they would accept a debit from my account. (I’m kidding about the firstborn.)

I came home, stressing over the diagnosis and trying to decide whether or not I should go ahead with the treatment plan. In the end, it occurred to me that my legs are my vehicle and vehicle upkeep is often more than what they were charging me. And besides that, I only have one back and it’s pretty irreplaceable. And besides that, my dad scared me with horror stories of how he waited too long and no longer has feeling in a few of his toes.

I used my Christmas money. (“All I want for Christmas is a brand new back!”) But within a week, I felt much better, even if my wallet didn’t. And you know what? When I go to the chiropractor for those occasional maintenance checkups, I’m not scared anymore.

Photo by CHUTTERSNAP on Unsplash

An Illinois New Year

I could rave about my wonderful time in the States. I could post oodles of pictures that prove I have the cutest nieces and nephews in the world. (And I do, by the way. Don’t try to argue.)

It was wonderful: a belated Christmas celebration, lots of food, church and friend fellowship, a helicopter ride, little people love, morning talks at the breakfast table, evening talks snuggled in fat couches, warmth, dryers, carpet, etc.

But the truth is, it’s also good to be back in Spain. It has taken a full week of not-so-good days to be able to say that.

I watched my friend frying donuts by the dying daylight. The banished cat made a puff of white against the patio door with each complaint. We ignored him. The air was heavy with the spitting oil when my friend asked about my trip to America.

“Wonderful” didn’t suffice. Both the warm fuzzies and tears were part of the wonderfulness.

So I told her and she listened.

In that sacred moment, my two worlds married, reminding me that who I am in America is who I am in Spain too.

Christmas comes to Almería

“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”
Luke 2:10

Good news.

Great joy.

All people.

Yes, that means you, my friend. Do you ever feel anxious when someone brings you news? Even if it’s “good” news from their perspective, it may not be what you wanted or had hoped for.

But in God’s good news, we can find rest, whether or not His news fits into our tidy (and narrow!) plans. Why? Not because He is predictable, easy-going, and safe, but because He is good.

This Christmas, may you find rest in God’s goodness and find great joy in the reality of Immanuel, God with us.

kings day light show — Unexpected light show with the 3 kings’ crowns.

A little of nothing

It’s one of those “Oh, it’s Thursday!” days.

“What should I write about on my blog?” I asked my roommate as I mopped the floor.

“I don’t know. Guys hitting on you? Buying fabric at the market today?”

Neither topic really inspires me to write. Although, please note, that when you’re trying to find good deals at the market, GO WHERE THE NORTH AFRICANS ARE. Not one or two, but LOTS. When they crowd around a booth, it’s bound to be a juicy find. Of course, you may have to elbow your way in to see what it is, elbow your way to the vendor to pay, and then elbow your way back out. You’ll have to decide whether or not it’s worth it.

I’ve almost finished Christmas shopping. I shouldn’t have bought much since our family has a simplified version of Christmas this year… but the babies! All seven of them! Nephews and nieces all need a little love from Spain.

Speaking of Christmas, my roommate is trying to turn my life into a Hallmark movie. I’ve assured her that whatever corny plot she dreams up has already been filmed. She says it doesn’t matter because repetition fits the Hallmark genre. Who am I to contend with truth?

Did I tell you that I have a ticket for a short trip back to Illinois over the New Year? If you want to see me, come find me. I’ll be holding a baby.

I guess I could write about how I bought three kilos of rice yesterday, or met four new ladies this week and ended up with three invitations, how I changed my diet in an attempt to battle fatigue, how I’m still wavering between chocolate chip cookies and cinnamon rolls to make for friends for Christmas, or who to share Christmas with this year.

But nah, that’s all for today. I’ll try to do better next week.

Christmas this year

Christmas this year looks different. There is a usual busyness, made busier by a short trip to Africa wedged in between full weeks (more on that later).

It’s my second year of celebrating Christmas in Spain. But unlike last year, this year I have the opportunity to be with friends that don’t celebrate Christmas.

I love Christmas: lights, carols, gifts, markets, chocolates, roasted chestnuts, scarves and winter coats. It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

This year I want to indulge in that warm, fuzzy feeling. I want to enjoy the celebration of Christmas. And primarily, not secondarily, I want to experience a fresh joy and excitement of the Messiah’s birth. A Savior, born into the world, a light born into thick darkness.

He’s still shining.

Sometimes, surrounded by people who know the Christmas story by heart and perform it every year, I forget to savor that first Christmas joy.

My sister has been telling my 1-year-old niece the Christmas story using a miniature nativity set (minus the minor character sheep which may have gone out with the trash).

Telling the story to someone who has never heard it makes the story exciting again. What would happen in my own heart this year if I could share the wonder of Christmas with those who have never heard?