Dancing lights. Silver-lined trees. Roasted chestnuts. Glühwein. Snow-dusted pavements.

I have spent exactly ten Christmases abroad. The second year was the hardest and although the strength of difficulty has waned through time, it still doesn’t get easier year after year.

Christmas is almost synonymous to family get-togethers. I grew up and was raised in a culture which has esteemed it as THE MAJOR FAMILY GATHERING among all other family gatherings within the year. That fact doesn’t simplify things for me.

My first Christmas while living in Germany was spent in Nottingham where a close friend used to live. I had a grand time. It was an awesome time of catching up, exploring London, the outskirts of Nottingham and even Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare’s birthplace. I wouldn’t exchange it for anything! The next Christmases didn’t fly by just as easily though. 

The second Christmas hit me hard. You know, that moment when you’re surrounded by other families and you know they love you, but still you know you’re just “adopted”. Simply put, being around families at Christmas has almost always felt like applying vinegar on wound. I’ve spent a total of eight Christmases with my “adoptive” family in Germany. I love them deeply and I enjoy being with them and they don’t give me any reason to doubt that they love me as much. Still, every single time, there’s a hollow part inside of me that longed for something more familiar, something that felt safer, something that felt “home”.

I grew up having to sleep with my siblings on the living room floor so that we would not miss out on Christmas eve. When we were much younger, we would even sleep near the windows where we’d hang our stockings. Still, there was never a time we caught Santa. Mama would wake us up just an hour before the “Noche Buena” or Christmas Eve Dinner. Sweet ham, Gouda cheese and fruit salad are a part of the yearly staple. Sometimes there’d be Christmas fruit cake and roasted chestnuts. But whatever the food on the table might be, we would always end up having a wonderful time. Sometimes, our relatives from Manila would come over – uncles, aunts, cousins. That would always be grand. And more Christmas presents to open, of course.

Now that I’d been living abroad for 12 years altogether, many would think it’s something one would get accustomed to. Probably, for those who have established their own families, yes. But, it’s not the same case for single people. At least, not for me.

Being around families at this time of the year catches up with me big time. Therefore, two years ago, I spent Christmas out-of-town all by myself. It was fun and very relaxed. I’d do it over again, actually. However, this year, I’d been asked to deliver the message for the Sunday Worship service in our sister church on the day before Christmas. Single people happens to be sent where married ministers don’t have the “luxury” of being able to. So, for this year, my time alone probably just won’t happen.

Well, ten Christmases, and I’m still here…having the same indescribably “hollow” feelings during this time of the year.

There’s something that won’t ever change though. I know why I’m celebrating Christmas and if I take Him out of all these, everything would not only be meaningless, but the “hollow” feelings would be much harder to get by with.

I’m really glad He’s the one holding me. That baby in the Manger –  Christ Jesus is His name. He fills up all the “hollow” spaces in a most unexplainable way. Yes He does. Just like that.