The three who came from the east, who were they after all? Some call them kings. Some call them Magi’s. Some call them wise men. There is enough ambiguity to their tale to make one wonder about their story. The stars had painted a map for them which led to Bethlehem. Perhaps they really were kings because they were regal enough to be received by Herod. Their intent for visiting his palace was to ascertain were the foretold child had been born. It must have been surprising to find that they who came from a distant land knew more about this strange birth than the local ruler.
_____
The Donkey was busy ferrying mothers to the hospital so Mom, Shepherd and I took the Rhino to Darjeeling. In the office I sat down with the Matri Yaan officer and the new doctor in charge of Maternal Child Health for the District. Not only has India guaranteed free care at the time of delivery to its mothers but also free transport to its institutions as well. With the giant satellite map ECTA/Dayasagar created hanging on the wall, I outlined all of the technical problems inhibiting the government from actually fulfilling its promises.
“We are covering this entire region which is no small task. Right now only a minority of women know about Matri Yaan and only a fraction of those are actually using their vouchers. As word spreads this is going to grow but that will create some BIG problems. We are already transporting about 20 cases a month and each one takes about 5-10 hours of total transport time depending on where they live and the road conditions. We are covering a large portion of Block I as well because the vehicle at the Samthar PHC is refusing to do its job. One of those areas is this enormous area around Nimbong. It hasn’t even received vouchers yet and once it does our work load is going to double. VERY soon we are going to have an impossible job. Even if the Samthar vehicle were to do its job it would be TOO much for two vehicles. There will have to be a vehicle at Tanyang/Sinji and Nimbong to provide this service to Block I region.”
There are just too many Mary’s, too many Bethlehem’s… and not enough Donkeys. I told them that I had talked to the Sisters in Tanyang and Nimbong and that we were planning to work together to get two more ambulances (plus Sister Miriam’s in Suruk) with trained drivers in place by next summer. We talked back and forth for a couple hours about the issues and recent maternal deaths (none of which had made it into the statistics). The new doctor in charge of MCH requested me, “You see we are here in the office, not working in the field. We actually don’t know anything about these births and deaths which are happening. Would you be willing to write up some reports describing this situation for us?”
It felt strange to be a foreigner from a distant land using a satellite map (in a sense painted by the stars) to inform the local powers about the births happening in the small villages of the district. Afterwards, we headed over to the Red Cross’s office. The Ambulance Dispatch for the Matri Yaan program is stationed there. I’d printed a map of the region for the Red Cross as well, so that when panicking husbands from all these remote villages call the young operators in the city… there would be some understanding as to where in the world the patient actually was. The in-charge perked up and asked, “Do you know where Ghanti Dara and Geyshok are? We’ve needed to distribute Earthquake relief supplies there for over a month… but I just didn’t know where they were at!”
Pointing them out on our map I said, “They are right here and we just happen to be doing two medical camps there next week. Perhaps we can work together?”
______
Jen Boyd (Doctor of Pharmacology), Laney Nash (Nurse Practitioner), Doug Graves (Mission Medic and EMT), Katie Livingston (Physiotherapist), Manaal Ibrahim (Mission Medic and EMT) and Marianne Heredge (long time friend running a charity in Nepal) arrived with most of their luggage. After a well appointed but jet lag tinged Thanksgiving Day we headed straight into a series of medical camps in remote villages. The Rhino really earned its name as we charged down an up some of the roughest roads in the area. During our two days of camps in Pemling, our health workers Reena and Lamit rose to the occasion in organizing and orchestrating things. Jen was pleased to see many of the patients from nearby Biga coming to say that they had been cured at last year’s camp or looking for a refill on the meds which had helped them out so much last time.
In Ghanti Dara, the camp was going well and the Red Cross came in the Elephant around mid-day to distribute relief supplies. It was a non-stop crush of patients but we tried our best to take our time giving a full assessment to each patient. Marianne and I finally got our turn, so we stepped out for lunch. Just as we were finishing a familiar face showed up outside the kitchen house. It was Ongmit’s father. The previous year his daughter had been brought to us at the camp in Biga. She had serious full thickness burns all over her torso which were turning gangrenous. Marianne had volunteered to accompany her to Gayaganga while the rest of the team hiked on to Lungsheol. The team scraped together some cash to get her treatment rolling. After 2 ½ months in the hospital and a skin graft, Ongmit was finally released. Her father had made the long hike up from Sungure just to see us.
“Sir, I wanted to come and say thank you. My daughter is all healed now and going to school. I just wanted and come to meet you all and give you this as a small token.”
In his hands there was a plastic bag stuffed full of black lentils which had just come into season. It was the produce of his land. It was a tithe of his first fruits. Even though I was, in reality, being given a bag of beans in exchange for his daughter’s healing… it felt as if I was being presented with frankincense, myrrh or gold. It was everything he had to give. He was thankful and so was I. The camps in Barbhot and Navgaon also went well. It will be interesting to see who turns up when we return next and what gifts they bare.
_____
After almost six years of humble, dedicated and self sacrificial service to the students of Red Star Academy, Ian Kile won’t be returning to Daragaon in 2012. Mom, Asher, the medic team and I travelled to the village in part to conduct 2 days of medical camps but also to figure out how to keep Daragaon’s school and clinic running for another year. It was good to catch up with all our friends and neighbors, to drink tea in Devi’s kitchen. It was also difficult to see Swasta Kendra in dilapidated condition and know that the school wouldn’t be full of Ian’s love and creativity in the year to come. Without bringing in new staff and a major overhaul of the way in which each of the facilities are run… neither will last very much longer. The guys and I talked late into the night trying to keep warm around a fire in the shed out back. We were trying to figure out how to keep the fire we’d started together alive in Daragaon. We decided to search for 3 staff for the school (one which was already needed and two to replace Ian) and I promised to get some money together for their pay. Then our attention turned to the Swasta Kendra. “Well, at least Anu will be done with her nurse’s training in January. Now that she’s seen how things are done at Gayaganga she will be able to whip things into shape. I was thinking about coming once a month to mentor her at the beginning.”
The guys stared silently into the fire. After rubbing his forehead Tilak looked up and said, “Ryan there’s been something I’ve needed to talk to you about… but have been putting it off. Several weeks after Anu left for training the girls in her Self Help Group got a letter from the bank. It said that Anu had taken out a loan for 85,000 rupees in the group’s name. It said that they had to pay it back soon or they were going to send the police. When Sharmila and the others went to the bank they found that she had absconded with 52,000 of their cash as well. Needless, to say she’s not welcome back in the village. The other ladies would kill her. We don’t really want someone like that in charge of the Swasta Kendra either. I’m sorry. There was no way we could have known that she’d done this when we sent her for training.”
Then I was the one silently staring into the fire. Like always, the road ahead would be more difficult than expected. If I were a Magi I’d conjure some answer or find the solution in the stars… but it is never quite so simple. We had to make it to Delhi in a single day, so the next morning we woke in the cold and dark to hike out of Daragaon. Later, while navigating the Elephant around the hairpin turns of Sikkim, I was thinking more about solutions than how to keep the vehicle on the road. Fortunately, before an accident there was an epiphany. Chandra was at the Gayaganga training as well. His wife Esther had taken part in the village health worker training in Buxa. Both were college graduates and speak English well. Both want to get out of Chandra’s father’s house and serve a needy community. Perhaps they’d be willing to live and work in Daragaon? We could kill several birds with one stone. Hope returned.
____
All the stars aligned and we made it to Delhi in time for dinner. The following morning at 10 am we applied for Cedar’s passport and late that evening mom headed back to the US at the end of her 6 month visa. It was hard to imagine how we would have done it without her. It is hard to imagine how we will in 2012.
A few days after our arrival in the capital Saran called. “Sir, you know that meeting we got called to at the last minute? The one which we couldn’t attend because of the medical camps? Well, the guy who organized the meeting gave me an earful in Kalimpong. They’ve formed a union since the Matri Yaan ambulance drivers haven’t been paid or reimbursed for their work. We had to sign up as well and there are monthly dues, etc. They’re threatening to strike starting in January if we don’t get our payments from the government by the end of the year.”
The operator’s complaints are justified. The drivers have been taking money out from loan sharks to keep the vehicles running and their families afloat. Out of six months of work, we’ve only been paid by the government for one. So far we’ve had nearly 100,000 rupees of expenses and only been compensated 23,800. We can somehow manage given that there are additional resources at our disposal. I can’t help but wonder how the simple local drivers are managing. But at the same time I think about the mother’s who won’t be serviced. I think about the damage this would do to the reputation of the program. I think about our Donkey sitting idle as the Mary’s are trying to get to Bethlehem. It always seems to be the mothers and children who have to pay the highest price. India guarantees them the right to free transport and free treatment but when you travel out to Bethlehem there’s still no room in the inn.
“Alright Saran, let’s see what happens. We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do about it. Keep me informed.”
_____
The broad avenues were hemmed in on both sides by large white walls topped with steel spikes, some straight, some curved. Unlike most of Delhi the sidewalks were even, trimmed with sod and completely devoid of bustling life. In fact, it was silent. Sure signs of being in the diplomatic district. We made a couple of wrong turns because all of the lanes looked so similar. The only people on the streets were heavily armed guards at each intersection and iron gate. A Caucasian man emerged from the American Embassy School and I asked him, “Umm… where is the British School at?”
“Oh, it is just down there. Take a right by those parked cars and then there is this…” his face crinkled up a bit and his eyes darted back and forth and he gave an small awkward laugh , “this… umm… slum there and uhh… it’s just across the street from that.”
After making the turn, the fortified walls retreated to only one side of the street and a bustling cacophony of Indian life inhabited the other. Half dressed children drifted like plastic bags out into the road. A large sign boldly stating, “Government Land No Trespassing” served as an anchor for the tarp roof of a ramshackle hovel. Our party of five turned right again, passed through the fortified walls and reentered the orderly silence. We had arrived at the International Church.
The British School was beautiful and decorated by the art of its creative students. In the auditorium, scores of nice and nicely dressed individuals (many of whom are helping India on national level) sat in their seats and thumbed through their bulletins. Children dressed as Mary, Joseph, various farm animals (including a pig wearing a Santa’s Cape dress) and an angelic host assembled outside the double doors. It was time to remember the reason for the season. After the service, people mingled in the lobby eating Danishes and sipping coffee like any other Western congregation. Stepping out the front doors and onto the lawn, I could just see the color and chaos of the slum across the street through the metal slats of the gate. A middle aged woman in a smart business suit remarked to her friend, “Alright, let’s go… I’m starving.”
_____
Most of the Penwell clan are in Delhi to celebrate Christmas. The Penwells are the family which runs Mercy In Action (where Amanda and I did our medical training). Their son Zak (who is working as a Strength and Conditioning Coach for the Basketball Federation of India) and his family have been living in Delhi for the last six months. That afternoon we all went together to one of the area’s posh malls and let the troop of monkeys play at wonderful enclosed park. It was nice to let the kids run wild why we ‘adults’ sat and swapped stories and shared experiences from this work. The Penwells are some of the only people we have to look to as mentors and the fact that their time and our time in Delhi overlapped has been an incredible blessing.
As we sped away from the mall with tired kids in tow, I noticed above the Christian Dior and Versace shops an enormous reclining reindeer, gilded bells and red bows. Candy canes and Santa Statues were erected amidst the palm trees. Jingle Bells had been pumping on the sound system and red sale signs were in every shop’s window. It seemed odd in a predominantly Hindu and Muslim city. It seems like the most popular reasons for the season, consumption and materialism, have filtered on down to the developing world. It’s sad because this is a place where a baby born in manger could still make sense. On the drive home we passed countless hospitals and private clinics, most of which had a high tech ambulance out front. They were not simply facilities addressing the population’s primary health needs but many focusing on the rare or elective. Privatization of health services has meant that there is always room at the inn, as long as there are coins in your purse. My mind flashed back to our region of service where there is one donkey for countless Mary’s, there is no inn… but only a very crowded stable.
_____
So here we are again with our feet in two worlds… one in Embassies, one in villages, one in Malls, one in markets, one with Claus and one with Christ… two worlds which seem so far apart but are actually across the street from each other. There is value and comfort in celebrating our own seasonal traditions (even if they are more rooted more in 70’s clay-mation children’s movies than they are the Bible). They draw us together as families and help us to share. But this year if we are to truly celebrate Christmas, then when we step out of the Sunday Christmas Pageant with our Danish and coffee in hand, instead saying, “Let’s go… I’m starving” perhaps we should say, “Let’s stay… they’re starving.” Instead of hoarding our gold, frankincense and myrrh in our stockings, perhaps we should gift them to the child of a mother so poor that she has no place to lay her sweet child. We call them wisemen but what kind of wisdom is it? In the era of investments, insurance, calculated risk and cost benefit ratios does it still make sense to… leave one’s palace? To follow a point of light in the darkness? To trust in a dream? To flee the halls and walls of power and return by a different route? To give our riches to a stranger’s child? To journey far to visit a dirty hovel? Wise men or foolish men, you can decide.
It often feels like this journey is a fool’s errand. A tiresome pilgrimage from which we’ll return empty handed. Sometimes I wonder if even with all of our planning, with all of our travels, with all of our efforts and consulting the powers that be… if we won’t just wind up at the stable again year after year. If so… I guess that’s not that bad. Some people would call that Christmas.
_____
The Donkey was busy ferrying mothers to the hospital so Mom, Shepherd and I took the Rhino to Darjeeling. In the office I sat down with the Matri Yaan officer and the new doctor in charge of Maternal Child Health for the District. Not only has India guaranteed free care at the time of delivery to its mothers but also free transport to its institutions as well. With the giant satellite map ECTA/Dayasagar created hanging on the wall, I outlined all of the technical problems inhibiting the government from actually fulfilling its promises.
“We are covering this entire region which is no small task. Right now only a minority of women know about Matri Yaan and only a fraction of those are actually using their vouchers. As word spreads this is going to grow but that will create some BIG problems. We are already transporting about 20 cases a month and each one takes about 5-10 hours of total transport time depending on where they live and the road conditions. We are covering a large portion of Block I as well because the vehicle at the Samthar PHC is refusing to do its job. One of those areas is this enormous area around Nimbong. It hasn’t even received vouchers yet and once it does our work load is going to double. VERY soon we are going to have an impossible job. Even if the Samthar vehicle were to do its job it would be TOO much for two vehicles. There will have to be a vehicle at Tanyang/Sinji and Nimbong to provide this service to Block I region.”
There are just too many Mary’s, too many Bethlehem’s… and not enough Donkeys. I told them that I had talked to the Sisters in Tanyang and Nimbong and that we were planning to work together to get two more ambulances (plus Sister Miriam’s in Suruk) with trained drivers in place by next summer. We talked back and forth for a couple hours about the issues and recent maternal deaths (none of which had made it into the statistics). The new doctor in charge of MCH requested me, “You see we are here in the office, not working in the field. We actually don’t know anything about these births and deaths which are happening. Would you be willing to write up some reports describing this situation for us?”
It felt strange to be a foreigner from a distant land using a satellite map (in a sense painted by the stars) to inform the local powers about the births happening in the small villages of the district. Afterwards, we headed over to the Red Cross’s office. The Ambulance Dispatch for the Matri Yaan program is stationed there. I’d printed a map of the region for the Red Cross as well, so that when panicking husbands from all these remote villages call the young operators in the city… there would be some understanding as to where in the world the patient actually was. The in-charge perked up and asked, “Do you know where Ghanti Dara and Geyshok are? We’ve needed to distribute Earthquake relief supplies there for over a month… but I just didn’t know where they were at!”
Pointing them out on our map I said, “They are right here and we just happen to be doing two medical camps there next week. Perhaps we can work together?”
______
Jen Boyd (Doctor of Pharmacology), Laney Nash (Nurse Practitioner), Doug Graves (Mission Medic and EMT), Katie Livingston (Physiotherapist), Manaal Ibrahim (Mission Medic and EMT) and Marianne Heredge (long time friend running a charity in Nepal) arrived with most of their luggage. After a well appointed but jet lag tinged Thanksgiving Day we headed straight into a series of medical camps in remote villages. The Rhino really earned its name as we charged down an up some of the roughest roads in the area. During our two days of camps in Pemling, our health workers Reena and Lamit rose to the occasion in organizing and orchestrating things. Jen was pleased to see many of the patients from nearby Biga coming to say that they had been cured at last year’s camp or looking for a refill on the meds which had helped them out so much last time.
In Ghanti Dara, the camp was going well and the Red Cross came in the Elephant around mid-day to distribute relief supplies. It was a non-stop crush of patients but we tried our best to take our time giving a full assessment to each patient. Marianne and I finally got our turn, so we stepped out for lunch. Just as we were finishing a familiar face showed up outside the kitchen house. It was Ongmit’s father. The previous year his daughter had been brought to us at the camp in Biga. She had serious full thickness burns all over her torso which were turning gangrenous. Marianne had volunteered to accompany her to Gayaganga while the rest of the team hiked on to Lungsheol. The team scraped together some cash to get her treatment rolling. After 2 ½ months in the hospital and a skin graft, Ongmit was finally released. Her father had made the long hike up from Sungure just to see us.
“Sir, I wanted to come and say thank you. My daughter is all healed now and going to school. I just wanted and come to meet you all and give you this as a small token.”
In his hands there was a plastic bag stuffed full of black lentils which had just come into season. It was the produce of his land. It was a tithe of his first fruits. Even though I was, in reality, being given a bag of beans in exchange for his daughter’s healing… it felt as if I was being presented with frankincense, myrrh or gold. It was everything he had to give. He was thankful and so was I. The camps in Barbhot and Navgaon also went well. It will be interesting to see who turns up when we return next and what gifts they bare.
_____
After almost six years of humble, dedicated and self sacrificial service to the students of Red Star Academy, Ian Kile won’t be returning to Daragaon in 2012. Mom, Asher, the medic team and I travelled to the village in part to conduct 2 days of medical camps but also to figure out how to keep Daragaon’s school and clinic running for another year. It was good to catch up with all our friends and neighbors, to drink tea in Devi’s kitchen. It was also difficult to see Swasta Kendra in dilapidated condition and know that the school wouldn’t be full of Ian’s love and creativity in the year to come. Without bringing in new staff and a major overhaul of the way in which each of the facilities are run… neither will last very much longer. The guys and I talked late into the night trying to keep warm around a fire in the shed out back. We were trying to figure out how to keep the fire we’d started together alive in Daragaon. We decided to search for 3 staff for the school (one which was already needed and two to replace Ian) and I promised to get some money together for their pay. Then our attention turned to the Swasta Kendra. “Well, at least Anu will be done with her nurse’s training in January. Now that she’s seen how things are done at Gayaganga she will be able to whip things into shape. I was thinking about coming once a month to mentor her at the beginning.”
The guys stared silently into the fire. After rubbing his forehead Tilak looked up and said, “Ryan there’s been something I’ve needed to talk to you about… but have been putting it off. Several weeks after Anu left for training the girls in her Self Help Group got a letter from the bank. It said that Anu had taken out a loan for 85,000 rupees in the group’s name. It said that they had to pay it back soon or they were going to send the police. When Sharmila and the others went to the bank they found that she had absconded with 52,000 of their cash as well. Needless, to say she’s not welcome back in the village. The other ladies would kill her. We don’t really want someone like that in charge of the Swasta Kendra either. I’m sorry. There was no way we could have known that she’d done this when we sent her for training.”
Then I was the one silently staring into the fire. Like always, the road ahead would be more difficult than expected. If I were a Magi I’d conjure some answer or find the solution in the stars… but it is never quite so simple. We had to make it to Delhi in a single day, so the next morning we woke in the cold and dark to hike out of Daragaon. Later, while navigating the Elephant around the hairpin turns of Sikkim, I was thinking more about solutions than how to keep the vehicle on the road. Fortunately, before an accident there was an epiphany. Chandra was at the Gayaganga training as well. His wife Esther had taken part in the village health worker training in Buxa. Both were college graduates and speak English well. Both want to get out of Chandra’s father’s house and serve a needy community. Perhaps they’d be willing to live and work in Daragaon? We could kill several birds with one stone. Hope returned.
____
All the stars aligned and we made it to Delhi in time for dinner. The following morning at 10 am we applied for Cedar’s passport and late that evening mom headed back to the US at the end of her 6 month visa. It was hard to imagine how we would have done it without her. It is hard to imagine how we will in 2012.
A few days after our arrival in the capital Saran called. “Sir, you know that meeting we got called to at the last minute? The one which we couldn’t attend because of the medical camps? Well, the guy who organized the meeting gave me an earful in Kalimpong. They’ve formed a union since the Matri Yaan ambulance drivers haven’t been paid or reimbursed for their work. We had to sign up as well and there are monthly dues, etc. They’re threatening to strike starting in January if we don’t get our payments from the government by the end of the year.”
The operator’s complaints are justified. The drivers have been taking money out from loan sharks to keep the vehicles running and their families afloat. Out of six months of work, we’ve only been paid by the government for one. So far we’ve had nearly 100,000 rupees of expenses and only been compensated 23,800. We can somehow manage given that there are additional resources at our disposal. I can’t help but wonder how the simple local drivers are managing. But at the same time I think about the mother’s who won’t be serviced. I think about the damage this would do to the reputation of the program. I think about our Donkey sitting idle as the Mary’s are trying to get to Bethlehem. It always seems to be the mothers and children who have to pay the highest price. India guarantees them the right to free transport and free treatment but when you travel out to Bethlehem there’s still no room in the inn.
“Alright Saran, let’s see what happens. We’ll have to decide what we’re going to do about it. Keep me informed.”
_____
The broad avenues were hemmed in on both sides by large white walls topped with steel spikes, some straight, some curved. Unlike most of Delhi the sidewalks were even, trimmed with sod and completely devoid of bustling life. In fact, it was silent. Sure signs of being in the diplomatic district. We made a couple of wrong turns because all of the lanes looked so similar. The only people on the streets were heavily armed guards at each intersection and iron gate. A Caucasian man emerged from the American Embassy School and I asked him, “Umm… where is the British School at?”
“Oh, it is just down there. Take a right by those parked cars and then there is this…” his face crinkled up a bit and his eyes darted back and forth and he gave an small awkward laugh , “this… umm… slum there and uhh… it’s just across the street from that.”
After making the turn, the fortified walls retreated to only one side of the street and a bustling cacophony of Indian life inhabited the other. Half dressed children drifted like plastic bags out into the road. A large sign boldly stating, “Government Land No Trespassing” served as an anchor for the tarp roof of a ramshackle hovel. Our party of five turned right again, passed through the fortified walls and reentered the orderly silence. We had arrived at the International Church.
The British School was beautiful and decorated by the art of its creative students. In the auditorium, scores of nice and nicely dressed individuals (many of whom are helping India on national level) sat in their seats and thumbed through their bulletins. Children dressed as Mary, Joseph, various farm animals (including a pig wearing a Santa’s Cape dress) and an angelic host assembled outside the double doors. It was time to remember the reason for the season. After the service, people mingled in the lobby eating Danishes and sipping coffee like any other Western congregation. Stepping out the front doors and onto the lawn, I could just see the color and chaos of the slum across the street through the metal slats of the gate. A middle aged woman in a smart business suit remarked to her friend, “Alright, let’s go… I’m starving.”
_____
Most of the Penwell clan are in Delhi to celebrate Christmas. The Penwells are the family which runs Mercy In Action (where Amanda and I did our medical training). Their son Zak (who is working as a Strength and Conditioning Coach for the Basketball Federation of India) and his family have been living in Delhi for the last six months. That afternoon we all went together to one of the area’s posh malls and let the troop of monkeys play at wonderful enclosed park. It was nice to let the kids run wild why we ‘adults’ sat and swapped stories and shared experiences from this work. The Penwells are some of the only people we have to look to as mentors and the fact that their time and our time in Delhi overlapped has been an incredible blessing.
As we sped away from the mall with tired kids in tow, I noticed above the Christian Dior and Versace shops an enormous reclining reindeer, gilded bells and red bows. Candy canes and Santa Statues were erected amidst the palm trees. Jingle Bells had been pumping on the sound system and red sale signs were in every shop’s window. It seemed odd in a predominantly Hindu and Muslim city. It seems like the most popular reasons for the season, consumption and materialism, have filtered on down to the developing world. It’s sad because this is a place where a baby born in manger could still make sense. On the drive home we passed countless hospitals and private clinics, most of which had a high tech ambulance out front. They were not simply facilities addressing the population’s primary health needs but many focusing on the rare or elective. Privatization of health services has meant that there is always room at the inn, as long as there are coins in your purse. My mind flashed back to our region of service where there is one donkey for countless Mary’s, there is no inn… but only a very crowded stable.
_____
So here we are again with our feet in two worlds… one in Embassies, one in villages, one in Malls, one in markets, one with Claus and one with Christ… two worlds which seem so far apart but are actually across the street from each other. There is value and comfort in celebrating our own seasonal traditions (even if they are more rooted more in 70’s clay-mation children’s movies than they are the Bible). They draw us together as families and help us to share. But this year if we are to truly celebrate Christmas, then when we step out of the Sunday Christmas Pageant with our Danish and coffee in hand, instead saying, “Let’s go… I’m starving” perhaps we should say, “Let’s stay… they’re starving.” Instead of hoarding our gold, frankincense and myrrh in our stockings, perhaps we should gift them to the child of a mother so poor that she has no place to lay her sweet child. We call them wisemen but what kind of wisdom is it? In the era of investments, insurance, calculated risk and cost benefit ratios does it still make sense to… leave one’s palace? To follow a point of light in the darkness? To trust in a dream? To flee the halls and walls of power and return by a different route? To give our riches to a stranger’s child? To journey far to visit a dirty hovel? Wise men or foolish men, you can decide.
It often feels like this journey is a fool’s errand. A tiresome pilgrimage from which we’ll return empty handed. Sometimes I wonder if even with all of our planning, with all of our travels, with all of our efforts and consulting the powers that be… if we won’t just wind up at the stable again year after year. If so… I guess that’s not that bad. Some people would call that Christmas.
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