Merry Christmas!

December 23rd, 2005, we arrived at our very yellow cement Brasil home, to unpack our two suitcases each, and began living for the next 18 months. We spent the day buying our kitchen sink, our cupboard, our bed, a bright blue couch. Morning: December 24th, I spent an hour scrubbing the stove that we inherited from some of the elders that obviously had not had the time or inclination to clean it between their rice/bean preparations and appointments. Afternoon, we hung a long rope for a clothesline and began swishing our clothes in a bucket to be hung there. The air settled heavy on my skin, sounds resounded like the atmosphere was an upside-down bowl above us. I did not understand a word that the people said. Portuguese bouncing off my brain like marbles on a tile floor. Scattered, willing, but I was also a tiny bit homesick, as we shopped for food in the local store that evening to the chatter and smiles of beautiful Brasilian children and their moms placing Christmas bread in their carts.

We had a pewter Star that Momma had given me right before we left for our mission. The word: FAITH on it made me swallow my tears and try harder not to think of our children and theirs (in soft footie pajamas) sitting by the fireplace for the Christmas stories. That star, along with a Christmas postcard that we had received from Tiffany's parents while in the MTC, served as our decorations. But what about the missionaries that we had invited for Christmas dinner? And how could I make cinnamon rolls for them with ingredients that I didn't know about or how to pronounce.

And then the mailman arrived with a Christmas Eve package. It had pens, and gum, and spaghetti seasoning packages and white gravy mix and a tiny Scrabble game inside. It came from Brooke, which was extra poignant to me because of all of our missionaries, she is the only one who had not received her Christmas package from us when she was in New York. And I remembered her saying that it didn't even matter because maybe someone who needed it more, had stolen it from the porch or something? I tried to be like her, but I was thinking of home, and our children and grandchildren and I wondered why we couldn't just quickly be home for Christmas Day. And then hurry right back, when the people would allow us into their homes at our claps. ( But, there was another couple far away from home on that First Christmas day...) And so I got busy and unpacked our clothes and washed the floor (and REMEMBERED...)

We took our clothes from the line and I made some dinner. The heat was intense and mesquitos kept checking us newcomers. We put out the gifts from Brooke's surprise package on two chairs for the missionaries. I made signs with their names on them. (The markers and thin paper even different in our new place). And then it seemed that Christmas eve was over.

I must have been a bit quiet doing dishes, because Elder Benedito put a CD into our laptop and took me in his arms. We danced right there in our little kitchen to a song by Roberto Carlos and Stan whispered to me the meaning of the words. With his arms around me, I could do this. I wiped away the few tears that trickled out accidentally.

Christmas Day the elders came. Elder Valencia from Manaus, Brasil looked at the chair and his paper stocking filled with gum (which he had not had before) and a Bic pen, some toothpaste, a toothbruch, and a bottle of Guarana, and he was overcome with joy. I learned about Christmas from his grateful smile. I learned about gifts from the star, the postcard, the package, and the dance.