An Unusual Christmas Eve
Three years ago today (yes, January 7, not Dec. 25) it was about 10 degrees F. at midnight (yes, not in California) and I experienced an unforgettable Christmas Eve. One never to be repeated, but always cherished.
You may have already guessed that I was in Russia, where Orthodox Christmas is celebrated on January 7. The holiday is centered on the birth of Christ (what a concept!), and the churches are full in spite of the freezing temperatures and the mid-winter darkness. 
As it turned out, I was welcomed into the festivities of Nina and Volodya Barthotkin—close neighbors of Alla (with whom I stay) and people whom I’ve grown to know and care for since the beginning of my visits to Samara in 2001. Together we tromped through the snow to the church, stood for the service, tromped back to their place, and enjoyed a cozy meal in Nina’s kitchen along with her sister and another couple who were close friends of theirs. I understood I was included in a rather intimate setting—and felt humbled and honored. And awkward too. You see, none of them spoke English. And my Russian was, and is, still sorely lacking. I smiled and nodded a lot.
Where was Santa?
(By the way, Russians celebrate with exchanging gifts, drinking, parties, Santa (known there as Father Frost), decorated trees, cookies, fireworks, etc. on New Years Eve. So all those kinds of fun things had happened already, and I also experienced that to the max. Take a peek at my blog post HERE.)
In contrast, the Christmas Eve experience was certainly more mellow and contemplative. At the time, I didn’t realize how unforgettable—and precious it would become. I knew it would most likely be the only Christmas I would experience in Samara—but I didn’t know it would be one of the last times I would spend with Nina.
We lost her to cancer in September of this year. During my visits between that Christmas and now, she hadn’t been as active in attending our Bible studies or hosting tea parties as she had in the past. But I didn’t have any idea she was sick. I’m not sure anyone knew.
Reflecting
You know, sometimes when you’re in “the moment,” you don’t grasp the significance or the preciousness of it. I confess that I didn’t fully comprehend how important Nina’s hospitality was to me that cold, winter’s night in 2014. It wasn’t what I had expected (or imagined) Christmas Eve to be like. I’m always self-conscious when I can’t fully participate in conversations–don’t “get” the jokes–or know the customs. But that never stopped Nina from opening her home and heart to make room for me. What a gift.
С Рождеством, Нина!
Thank you, Jeanette, for remembering this amazing woman who was and is a model of a true Christian to everyone who was lucky to know her. We all miss her a lot.
Agree, my friend. Life in Samara won’t be the same without Nina. She certainly made my experiences there richer and warmer. Heaven’s gain, for sure.
Sometimes that which is precious is not fully appreciated until much later, but I’ve come to realized that that’s okay. The point is that when the memory knocks on our door, it is welcomed and invited in and perhaps that which was lost or unappreciated in the original moment is rediscovered in the present. Thank you for a wonderful post! Btw….we are in a cold spell here….minus 15 yesterday and today. Brrrrrrrrr! Four to 8 inches of snow coming in the next couple of days!
BRRRRR! is right. Stay warm and safe, my friend.
And I love the way you said, “when the memory knocks on our door…” That’s just what happened when I began to write the post. So glad you enjoyed it and wrote such a lovely comment. xoxoo
Beautiful post Jeanette. And I too love your friend Brenda’s reply, what an amazing way to phrase our memories of loved ones who are gone.
Your’re so right. Let’s keep those memories welcome and invited always.
Thanks for commenting, Diane. Miss you!
Memories warm our hearts…rekindling love and smiles. Thank you for that memory! It is indeed beautiful! Christmas blessings to you and your dear friends in Russia!
Awwww…. thank you, Pati for your sweet comment. I agree, memories are great treasures.
Nicely written and a wonderful tribute to your special friend. Coincidently, I’ve been invited to several celebratory dinners where only Spanish was spoken and I can empathize with the slightly peculiar sensation of being outside the realm of full comprehension of the “going’s on”. I certainly got the gist of the conversation and activities, yet it was clear that I was disconnected and fortunately there was almost always someone who speaks enough English to help keep me involved.
Ha ha! (ja ja) or is it (xa xa?) Anyway, in any language, it’s good to be able to laugh at ourselves. I like your description “slightly peculiar sensation.” So gentle and non-offensive.
Glad you chimed in, Dean. Always appreciate your perspective.