The warm tropical sun beat down on the tarmac of the playground outside the classroom window. I couldn’t seem to focus on my schoolwork. I wish I were outside playing in the sand under the shade of the big mango tree. December was the dry season in Nigeria.

The voice of my first-grade teacher in our boarding school for missionaries’ children jolted me out of my daydream. “This is the month we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus. Let’s end class by singing ‘Joy to the World’ one of my favorite Christmas carols.”

[This is a reprint of my post from December 2018. You can read it here including comments by readers.]

Singing the Christmas hymn made me feel happy and sad. I felt happy as I thought about sweet baby Jesus lying in the manger with his mommy and daddy taking care of him. But the song also reminded me of last year when our family was in America with my grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. I’d rather be in California or home on our mission station with Mom and Dad.

“Did you like the Candy Village that the kitchen staff baked and up last week?” The teacher asked. All the kids cheered, and she continued. “There’s one more surprise. The staff are preparing a party for you kids, to be held the last Saturday before you go home for the holidays. It’s called ‘Stocking Night.’ Each student gets a Christmas stocking filled with gifts.”

Preparing for Stocking Night

At lunchtime, as we walked into the entry hall, the lounge to the left was blocked off. We peered through the open doorway to see the room filled with the usual overstuffed chairs and padded benches, and at the far end, the familiar, massive stone fireplace.

Wreaths added to the walls and lights on the piano made the room look festive. Several aunties stood placing ornaments on the tree in the corner. In front of the fireplace, two uncles worked together looping a metal chain back and forth across the stonework face.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

A big girl explained, “They’re decorating for Stocking Night!” The next day, when we walked into the entry area for breakfast, rows upon rows of fire-engine red stockings with furry white fringes weighed down the ropes. Each stocking bulged with gifts, and my imagination soared.

“Can you count them all?” my friend asked. “They cover the whole fireplace, so there must be a hundred!”

“Good thing it’s dry season, and we don’t need a fire,” I said. “Everything would melt.”

Over the next few days, each time we entered the dining hall, we first turned left and stood in the lounge doorway to admire the tantalizing stockings across the room. However, it was a junior-high privilege to sit in the lounge while waiting for meals, so we couldn’t get a closer look just yet.

Surprises Galore

“Stocking Night’s finally here!” I said to my table mates, and we spent the mealtime trying to guess the gifts we would get.

After dinner, all 200 kids crowded over to the lounge where a tall uncle waved us forward. “First graders, come up front please.” Some of us sat cross-legged on the cool cement floor and others perched on chairs.

Opening a Bible, he read the story of Baby Jesus, then he talked about the words. I was counting the stockings, so I didn’t hear much.

After what seemed like forever, several aunts and uncles lifted the filled stockings off the rope and began handing them out. They all looked the same, but an auntie clasped a bunch in her arms and said, “Raise your hand if you’re a first-grade girl?”

“I am! I am!” my friends and I called out as a dozen hands shot into the air.

The soft, red bundle was as heavy as a baby hippo. I hugged it close.

At last, the uncle announced, “Everyone has a stocking. Now you can open them!”

Over and over, I dug my hand in and pulled out toys, trinkets, and candy. I turned to my roommate. “Look! A paper doll with dresses, hats, and shoes to cut out.”

She grinned and held up hers.

From the inside toe of the pack, I pulled out a tangerine and, finally, the most amazing treat: a large caramel popcorn ball in plastic wrap! I had never had such a special thing.

How do I get my mouth around this? After watching the other girls, I opened wide and sunk my teeth in. Kernels and caramel crumbled onto my lap. Closing my eyes, I savored the syrupy, sweet bite. Then I collected the crumbs and dropped them onto my tongue.

Best Gift of All

I put the rest of the sticky popcorn ball back into its wrap. Then I stood and searched through the lively crowd for my brother. Stepping around kids, over stockings, and through wrapping paper, I inhaled the fresh scent of tangerines that now filled the room.

Finally, I stood beside him. “What did you get in your stocking, Larry?”

He lifted a blue, wooden yo-yo. “All the second-grade boys got one. Let me show you how to do it.”

My big brother carefully shoved his middle finger through the loop at the end of the string that was tightly wound around the center. Gripping the thin rope between three fingers, he flung the yo-yo straight down.

Crack!

I grabbed my ears when the sturdy toy crashed to the floor. Luckily, it stayed intact.

Larry gave me a lopsided grin. “I’m not very good at this yet.”

“Maybe one of the big boys can show you how,” I said. “My favorite gift is the popcorn ball.”

“Do you know what I think is the best gift of all at Christmas?” Larry asked.

“Tell me! Tell me!” I tugged on his shirt collar as I searched his blue eyes.

He put his arm across my shoulders. “Next week we fly back home to Egbe.”

“Oh! I can hardly wait!” Clapping my hands, I hopped from one foot to the other and back again.

“I hope we’re on the first plane.” Larry raised his arms out to the side and spun around, humming to make a buzzing engine sound.

“I hope we are too!”

Looking Back

Stocking Night was the highlight of the year for staff, teachers, and students alike. The biggest excitement was perhaps the anticipation, as we gazed at the red stockings daily, imagining the surprises. The joy was heightened by the expectation of flying home for a month.

I love to stretch Christmas out, beginning the day after Thanksgiving. I do it all: baking, letter-writing, trimming the tree, singing carols, and decorating the yard. Perhaps that’s because as a child, the delight stretched out all month, beginning at KA, and then continuing after we arrived home for our school holidays.

Yet I also deal with Holiday Stress and high expectations. There’s a contrast between the built-up excitement of the season and what I’m really feeling. Sometimes I get melancholy. I think it stems from my childhood and the extreme joy of being able to live at home for a few weeks. But that was juxtaposed with the knowledge I would have to fly back to school at the end of the Christmas holiday.

I sometimes fall into the habit of self-criticism. I’m not good enough. My efforts don’t measure up. There’s not enough time to squeeze in as much as I want. However, I’m finally learning to lower my expectations and trim my to-do list.

Through the years, I’ve learned that we all experience some type of difficulty, disease, divorce, or death that all too often dampen the joy. Do you experience both merriment and melancholy during the holiday season? How do you usually navigate conflicting events and emotions? What one change can you make this month to bring a sense of joy into the holidays while still honoring your grief?

A Friend and Fellow Blogger

My friend and fellow blogger, Esther Maret Goetz from Bingham Academy, posted this for Advent: “What have I been waiting for all my life? … I know I am missing something, but what is it? I realized I had been focused on my waiting, MY waiting. But I was not the only one waiting. God was waiting for me. God had been, for a long time.” Read her full post here: https://thedollymamanj.wordpress.com/2018/12/09/what-if-god-is-waiting-for-me-holyadvent/

And 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. Luke 2:10,11 (ESV)