The one about Christmas

I have a “go-bag”. Like all spies, pregnant mothers, and boy scouts (I assume, I’ll have to ask my cousin) I keep a pack full of only essentials that I can take to leave at a moments notice. What does this have to do with Christmas? I’ll explain in a bit.

First, let me say that its not really a “bag”. Its more of a shoulder pack. A shoulder pack is halfway between a purse and a messenger bag, super manly in every respect, because otherwise there’s no way I’d ever be caught dead with it. The contents of the bag are as follows: Wallet, spare change, green-card, international drivers license, a pocket bible, and a 50 ounce water bottle. The first few items are pretty explanatory, the second are when it gets really boring and I’m stuck out in the heat for a long time.

Just why do I need this bag. Part of my responsibility is to be on-call 24/7. On call means something like this. Victor says, “TJ, you need to go the [place] to [do something / buy something / pick somebody up]. Hurry because you only have [very short amount of time] to get there before [something very bad happens].”

Recent examples just in the last week include:

• Picking up a friend after he got off work to he could give me the proper documents for applying for government grants.
• Taking him back home after we photocopied the documents.
• Driving out to a chicken farm to get chickens.
• Taking one of our staff to the hospital because he collapsed on Sunday after church (he recovered).
• Leaving to pick up people from the airport 10 minutes after their plane landed. The airport is 30 minutes away.
• Going out on Christmas eve to do last minute shopping for our Christmas feast.

A daily occurrence of me using my go-bag is getting bread. We eat tiny loaves everyday for breakfast, and it doesn’t keep more than a day, so I have to buy it daily. This involves waiting for the orphanage’s truck to gather a list of errands to run and going with it into town to get to the bakery. Once at the bakery, it means standing in the bread line for about 20-30 minutes. And yes, for people that aren’t old enough to remember the Depression, bread lines do exist. Except they’re not free here, you have to pay the same, but the supply is limited, which is why there’s only a few bakeries and everybody need to use the same three. Then, after waiting in line for thirty minutes, when I tell the bread lady that I need 54 loaves I have to hear everybody yell at me that, “You’re stealing the bread from us poor people.” and the ever popular, “Why don’t you take all your money and go buy a chicken.” and usually accompanied by, “Don’t sell it to him, he can’t eat 54 loaves.”

Sometimes, especially when it rains and not everybody can cook outside with fire (which is how everybody cooks here) the bread line is 45 minutes. Today, Christmas Eve, it was 90 minutes. Yep.

So what does this have to do with Christmas? Well, this post is all about my go-bag, which I said is also used by spies, pregnant mothers, and (I assume) boy scouts. All people who like to have everything set and packed read to leave at a moments notice when a foreign government topples, your water breaks, or wolves attack. Well, spies use go-bags, and one of my favorite Christmas movies is “The Battle of The Bulge”, a tale of war and espionage that takes place Christmas 1944. Pregnant mothers also have a go-bag, and you can’t get more Christmassy than a mother waiting to deliver (Mary birthing Jesus, for those of you who are a little slow). And lastly, what do you do in America after Christmas and you need to get rid of your tree? You give it to the Boy Scouts to shred up. Unless you have an awesome sparkly aluminum Christmas tree like in “Charlie Brown”.

Merry Christmas. And remember, Christmas is about Jesus.