Week #17 Christmas Day here in Tecamachalco Edo. de Mexico

A fellow named Jesús was baptised and confirmed a member of our church on Saturday afternoon in Palmas Ward, one of the two wards (congregations) we are associated with here. It was a bitter sweet experience for him, sweet with the respect to the happiness he has found within himself in striving to become like Jesus Christ and to prepare himself to claim the blessings of and eternal family. He is a soldier in Mexico's army and described himself as hardened and hard-hearted prior to learning about the Doctrine of Christ and prior to his baptism. Without the rule of law, the army is not a place where kindness and love are nurtured and flourish. His wife and their two daughters joined the church prior to him. Bitter, in that he expects his father to disown him and his family for taking this step of faith. 

I shared my experience with him of joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints over 35 years ago. I was almost 28 years old when I shared my decision with my parents and invited them to my baptism. My mother pleaded with me to first talk with our parish priest which I did to honour my parents. The priest expressed his disappointment that I hadn't found what I needed in his church and wished me well. Unlike Jesús, my parents were outwardly supportive. They came to my baptism, our wedding reception, the baby blessings and baptisms of each of our four children and the wedding reception of our eldest son but it took many years before talking about anything to do with our church was something they were comfortable with. 

My mother was a convert to the Roman Catholic faith. I had a close relationship with her and my maternal grandmother who told me she was quite happy that I was changing religions, so that her daughter could feel what it was like to have a child abandon the faith they had been raised in. I didn't and don't see my baptism as abandoning anything - rather, as building upon my previous spiritual experiences. 

My mother had been a mostly silent witness to some very difficult years of my life both as a child and as a young adult. It was a miracle that I was still alive. Many years after my baptism, my mother took me aside and told me how pleased she was that I had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints because she saw the positive, lasting changes my new faith had wrought in me and the direction it was giving to our children. My counsel to Jesús was to fear not, as it was my experience that things would work out in due time. My mother died in 2005 while I was on a business trip in Mexico City and unable to get a flight home at any price. I stepped out of a government meeting and stood in the quiet of a marble-clad bathroom as my eldest brother narrated her death to me over the phone. The only witness to my grief was a young boy tending the bathroom and he was frightened. I reassured him that things would be okay. When mom's final breath and the call ended, I went back to the meeting. I knew that I would not only see her again but that I could live with her and my own family throughout the eternities by continuing to strive to become like Jesus Christ and to accept his atoning sacrifice where and when I fall short. I was driving home in the dark on the number 3 Highway between Taber and Grassy Lake in May of 2000 when I felt my grandmother say goodbye to me and I was blessed with this same reassurance that she would continue to fuss, hug and delight over me in the world to come as she had here throughout my life.       

In Mexico, over 80% of the population identifies as Roman Catholic so it is not surprising that Christmas is popularly focused on the Saviour's birth with gatherings called posadas, including piñatas and re-enactments of the Biblical accounts, starting December 16 and culminating on Christmas eve (La Noche Buena), midnight mass, the placing of the Christ child in the crèche (nativity scene), fireworks and a family dinner in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Gift giving happens here on the Day of the Kings on January 6, not at Christmas. 

We are living in a very affluent and predominantly Jewish neighbourhood so there are not a lot of public signs of it being Christmas other than our hotel lobby being decorated with a Christmas tree with fake gifts under it. We had a bit of fun last week - while I chatted up the fellow at the desk, Wendy put real gifts under the tree for each of the people in the hotel that we interact with on a daily basis. The fellow that is at the front desk today, Carlos, is working a 72 hour shift and so he couldn't be with his family on Christmas eve. All of the suites in our hotel have a window that faces into the atrium of the hotel where the front desk is located. I asked Carlos if they let him sleep during his shift. He told me that when all the guests are back in the hotel for the night and he sees that all of the lights in their rooms are off, he locks the front door and sleeps on one of the couches in the atrium.

When we lived in Cholula 25+ years ago we were invited to go to a Christmas posada with our kids. The most memorable part for me was that the Christmas story included a devil with a red costume, horns and a tail that did a lot of running around until he was defeated and cast out. I don't remember how we reconciled this version with our kids but piñatas became a family tradition, not for Christmas but for birthdays. I still have the jingle memorized that everyone chants while the blindfolded child takes their turn trying to break the piñata, "dale dale, dale, no pierdas el tino, por que si lo pierdes pierdes el camino, ya le diste uno, ya le diste dos, ya le diste tres y tu tiempo se acabó (hit it, hit it hit it, don't miss the mark, because if you do you'll loose your way, now you've hit it once, now you've hit it twice, now you've hit it three times and your turn is over). The symbolism the people shared that we were with at the party is consistent with what is described in this article. A colourful piñata represents evil - when you destroy it by breaking it, good is showered out upon you and everyone.  The traditional piñatas are made with an unglazed low temperature fired earthen-ware jar covered with paper maché. In addition to a shower of goodness there is also a considerable amount of pot shards not to mention the hazards of an excited blindfolded child wielding a stick with everyone wanting to get to the candy first when it falls and even worse, when the stick breaks and pieces fly into the crowd. The piñatas we made over the years did not include an earthen-war jar - just paper maché over a ballon with many shapes (Super Beaver, our eldest son's imaginary friend, dinosaurs and animals of various types as well as traditional star).    

A memorable piñata experience was when our kids were invited to a birthday party at the Gonzalez' home in Zavaleta, a suburb of the City of Puebla. Like everyone else there, our kids were hyped when the piñata came out and even more so when it broke and the "goodness" pored out. In the frenzy they gathered their individual piles of goodies in between their knees but when everything had been scooped up and they looked at their treasure, they burst into tears. This was a traditional piñata filled with pieces of sugar cane, small jicamas and oranges - in our kid's eyes "vegetables" instead of candy. They were unconsolable and our hosts were puzzled by their tears. 

We spent our Noche Buena as guests of the Camejos, another senior missionary couple living here at Suites Teca Once. Sister Camejo prepared a traditional Noche Buena meal for all of us as if we were her family this Christmas. We were seated in the lounge area on the second floor that looks into the hotel's atrium.  We filled the space with Christmas carols, and other joyful noise as we dined on a Mexican version of macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes and roasted pork loin with mango sauce. For dessert she served "mosaic" jello and a fruit cocktail with marshmallows and sweetened cream. It was delicious and the company filled with love. Sister Camejo is the gal standing on the left, her husband is taking the selfie. He took quite the ribbing tonight for being the only one in focus in the photo.

Tonight we had a Christmas dinner at the Deavers (the couple at the far end of the table), this time American-style, with a turkey, dressing, ham, double-baked potatoes, green beans and a variety of potluck salads and desserts. We shared some of each of our family's Christmas traditions and experiences of giving and caring for others. For both dinners, plates of food were taken to Carlos and Sammaí working at the front desk of the hotel.  A family Christmas tradition that I enjoyed was preparing cookies and other treats to give to neighbours, people that would be spending Christmas alone and sometimes total strangers on Christmas Eve, accompanied by our singing Christmas carols acapella with "Feliz Navidad" being our kid's favourite, especially the line, "We wanna weeesh you a Meeeery Christmas".  

In my last blog I described our gift exchange. Last week Sister Schlachter and I took the gifts to the charity, Juguetón, here in Mexico City. The stuffed horse and other gifts will be given to needy children as part of their Day of the Kings celebrations on January 6th.    

On the way to the drop-off site we passed an amusement park. Sister Schlachter spotted the roller coaster tracks that end in mid-air on the far right side of the photo - an awful way to end an otherwise thrilling ride. Happily, the place is still under construction and isn't open yet.

Until next week - Merry Christmas!