More than we could dare to ask or Hope.
A Christmas story of Abundance.
Cindy and I have the privilege of traveling the world.
What we collect is stories. This story we heard from a missionary named Valerie
Kroeker we met in Budapest, Hungary.
A Christmas story of Abundance.
Vandimja and her family were celebrating Christmas for
the very first time and it seemed that for the very first time there was more
than enough. Even her children knew that this year was different. Food in
abundance graced her table, decorations glittered on the live tree with plenty
of wrapped gifts underneath. Warmth enveloped them all like a blanket. It was
more than they would ever dare to ask or hope.
Her father had named his seventh child Vendimja. In Armenian it meant “not enough.” It was supposed to be a joke of course, but for Vendimja it became a cruel one. In the disputed land of Kosovo where she grew up, shortage was a way of life. There was never enough. Never enough to eat, clothing was in short supply and by the time it was handed down to here it never fit.
Girls didn’t go to school in Kosovo. What they learned, was how to cook small amounts of food for too many mouths, sew clothes with insufficient fabric and collect bits of firewood for cooking and staying warm. Growing up in this kind of world made Vandimja a target for teasing. Little “not enough” always came up short. The only joy in her life was the little stars and doilies her grandmother taught her to crochet out of bits of string, but even in that Vendimja always seemed to run out of string before she could finish.
When she married, her husband Ishtvan was shorter than she was. Her sisters made jokes about him being a little short and not enough. They moved into a small hovel that soon had “not enough” room for their three children. Then the war came to Kosovo and her husband being Armenian had to take up arms to fight the Serbs. With bitterness Vandimja told about how Ishtvan never returned and how their life together had not been enough.
Now she was a widow. In Kosovo after the war, there was even less than before. Armenian widows with children found it almost impossible to survive. Widows had to wear black, they could not get jobs and when they introduced themselves they were required to say “I am a widow and my life is over.” For Vandimja her whole live had been “not enough”.
On a warm spring day a new woman came to the little village in the mountains of Kosovo. She was from America. All the world knew about America. It was a place where everybody had more than enough. Even widows, Vandimja was sure, had food to eat and clothing to wear and piles of firewood to stay warm.
It was rumored that this woman from America had come to Kosovo to help widows. What could one woman do when there was such a great lack? But Valerie Kroeker had a winning smile and learned their language easily. She too had no husband. Vandimja was attracted to her because she seemed to have all she needed. She lived simply but never complained about wanting more. The widows of Kosovo talked almost always about what they needed, what they didn’t have and how even what they did have was not enough. Vandimja could talk about it best. She had no shortage of words.
Spring had come to the village and on a day when Vandimja hoped it would be warm enough to open the windows of her dark, smoky little shack, Valerie Kroeker came to visit. Her smile overcame the awkwardness and soon the two single women were chatting over a cup of weak tea.
“Is it true that in America everyone has everything they need?” Valerie smiled and shook her head, “you have everything you need.” Vandimja murmured almost apologetically.
Val looked directly into the pale water eyes surrounded by millions of wrinkles.
“I was sent here by the God who provides all of my needs.”
This was something Vandimja had never heard before. She took a sip of tea hoping to hide the tiny flutter of excitement in her chest.
“Could this God of yours provide for the widows of Kosovo?” She dropped her eyes at the boldness of her remark. For the God of the Armenians was a harsh God.
Seriousness and compassion flooded Valerie’s face.
“Oh yes my God can supply all your needs.”
So began a friendship that
deepened as the days passed. Val came regularly to teach Vandimja about the God
who could supply all her needs. There was an abundant supply of questions. On a
comfortable day when questions and answers dwindled, Valerie noticed one of the
delicately crocheted stars hanging from a nail in a shaft of sunlight. It was a
marvelous intricate piece of handiwork.
“Did you make that Vandimja?” The widow nodded knowing she couldn’t make many because a shortage of string.
“People in America would like those, “ said Val, a small plan forming in her mind.
“Oh they could make their own, they have much string, I am sure.”
“They have plenty of string,” smiled Val, but they don’t have enough time.”
“They have as much time as every one,” puzzled Vandimja. “How could they not have enough time?”
“I think I could sell these in America,” eyes narrowed in thought, “if I brought you string, could you make more?”
Soon packages of stars, angels
and interlocking rings from the widows in Kosovo began to arrive in America.
And yes the people liked them and bought them and marveled that anyone had the
time to do such meticulous, precise handiwork. Money began to trickle back to
Kosovo. The day came when Valerie came to Vandimja’s little hovel and placed a
stack of bills on her rough kitchen table. There was more in the pile than she
had ever seen, money for food to eat, clothing to wear and firewood to keep
them warm. It was true. The God of Valerie Kroeker, was the God of Heaven and
Earth. He could supply all of her needs!
That was the year Vandimja and
her children celebrated Christmas for the very first time. Perhaps for the very
first time she believed that they really had enough. The pot on over the fire
bubbled with stew that had a piece of real meat in it, enough for her and her
whole family to eat and be full. She had purchased enough wood to keep them
warm during the cold winter nights, to last through the end of the month. One
gift for each of her wide eyed children lay wrapped at the foot of the small
table top tree. A handful of shiny Christmas tinsel sparkled in the light of
the two candles that lit up the room and twinkled in the tears of joy that
filled her eyes. “Not enough” had become more than she could have dared ask or
even hope.
When is enough, enough? In a
time when darkness blanketed the land, the God who is enough, sent a star, a light
to guide the way. Mary, his chosen and her faithful groom were told there was
not enough room, so he provided a warm stable and sweet smelling hay. When fear
and confusion gripped every heart, He sent thousands upon thousands of angels
to sing a message of peace on earth and good will for all people. Not enough
wine for the feast, soon overflowed with the best. Too little bread and few
fish satisfied the hunger of a multitude. Eyes that could barely see, saw
clearly. Ears that strained to hear, pricked up at a whisper, feet that dragged
behind began to dance. It was more than enough.
In the end when even life is but a breath that passes away, the giver of every good gift, the Father of lights will exchange our too short lives for eternity. It is more than we could ever dare to ask or hope.
Her father had named his seventh child Vendimja. In Armenian it meant “not enough.” It was supposed to be a joke of course, but for Vendimja it became a cruel one. In the disputed land of Kosovo where she grew up, shortage was a way of life. There was never enough. Never enough to eat, clothing was in short supply and by the time it was handed down to here it never fit.
Girls didn’t go to school in Kosovo. What they learned, was how to cook small amounts of food for too many mouths, sew clothes with insufficient fabric and collect bits of firewood for cooking and staying warm. Growing up in this kind of world made Vandimja a target for teasing. Little “not enough” always came up short. The only joy in her life was the little stars and doilies her grandmother taught her to crochet out of bits of string, but even in that Vendimja always seemed to run out of string before she could finish.
When she married, her husband Ishtvan was shorter than she was. Her sisters made jokes about him being a little short and not enough. They moved into a small hovel that soon had “not enough” room for their three children. Then the war came to Kosovo and her husband being Armenian had to take up arms to fight the Serbs. With bitterness Vandimja told about how Ishtvan never returned and how their life together had not been enough.
Now she was a widow. In Kosovo after the war, there was even less than before. Armenian widows with children found it almost impossible to survive. Widows had to wear black, they could not get jobs and when they introduced themselves they were required to say “I am a widow and my life is over.” For Vandimja her whole live had been “not enough”.
On a warm spring day a new woman came to the little village in the mountains of Kosovo. She was from America. All the world knew about America. It was a place where everybody had more than enough. Even widows, Vandimja was sure, had food to eat and clothing to wear and piles of firewood to stay warm.
It was rumored that this woman from America had come to Kosovo to help widows. What could one woman do when there was such a great lack? But Valerie Kroeker had a winning smile and learned their language easily. She too had no husband. Vandimja was attracted to her because she seemed to have all she needed. She lived simply but never complained about wanting more. The widows of Kosovo talked almost always about what they needed, what they didn’t have and how even what they did have was not enough. Vandimja could talk about it best. She had no shortage of words.
Spring had come to the village and on a day when Vandimja hoped it would be warm enough to open the windows of her dark, smoky little shack, Valerie Kroeker came to visit. Her smile overcame the awkwardness and soon the two single women were chatting over a cup of weak tea.
“Is it true that in America everyone has everything they need?” Valerie smiled and shook her head, “you have everything you need.” Vandimja murmured almost apologetically.
Val looked directly into the pale water eyes surrounded by millions of wrinkles.
“I was sent here by the God who provides all of my needs.”
This was something Vandimja had never heard before. She took a sip of tea hoping to hide the tiny flutter of excitement in her chest.
“Could this God of yours provide for the widows of Kosovo?” She dropped her eyes at the boldness of her remark. For the God of the Armenians was a harsh God.
Seriousness and compassion flooded Valerie’s face.
“Oh yes my God can supply all your needs.”
“Did you make that Vandimja?” The widow nodded knowing she couldn’t make many because a shortage of string.
“People in America would like those, “ said Val, a small plan forming in her mind.
“Oh they could make their own, they have much string, I am sure.”
“They have plenty of string,” smiled Val, but they don’t have enough time.”
“They have as much time as every one,” puzzled Vandimja. “How could they not have enough time?”
“I think I could sell these in America,” eyes narrowed in thought, “if I brought you string, could you make more?”
In the end when even life is but a breath that passes away, the giver of every good gift, the Father of lights will exchange our too short lives for eternity. It is more than we could ever dare to ask or hope.
It is more than enough!
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