Page 7                                                                   The Megaphone                                                     December 2000

    A few weeks ago I met Kay.  We met in the laundry.  I saw an attractive lady . . . a stranger. She was wearing a tee shirt that said "Ukraine" and a picture of a ship.
    

  I said hello, and asked if she had been there?  Telling me she had been born in the Ukraine and lived there the first 13 years of her life, she had taken a "healing tour," two years ago, going back to her homeland.
    

  I must have looked very interested, because she continued, "It was a ship for 1200 passengers with 150 people returning to their homeland for the first time in their lives. All were seniors that desired to reconnect with their heritage and if lucky, find information on relatives and family that had disappeared during Stalin's reign of terror.
    

  By now, I'm thinking, there's a good Christmas story here.  I took a gulp of air and stepped way out of my comfort zone and said, "I'm a writer and I would like to write your story." [I'd never said that about myself!]
    

  "Are you published?" she responded.  No, I said. "Maybe I can help, I am," she said.

  "Come over to our RV anytime and we'll talk."  We set a date and time....talk about being out of my comfort zone...WHEW!
    

  Arriving at the appointed hour, I was ushered into a triple slide 40 foot fifth wheel, top of the line, very posh, very expensive. After bringing us drinks, we settled into two huge soft recliners and began our visit.
    

  I explained I was looking for a Christmas story for you, the Den, telling her who you are.
    

  Her comment knocked me down. "But, there was no Christmas in the Ukraine.  You've nothing to write . . . Christmas just didn't exist."
    

  Not about to stay down, I asked her to tell me about her childhood and why they left when she was 13.
   

  She began . . . God did not exist.  GOD DID NOT EXIST.  Stalin's law.  The two churches in their village were turned into a sheep barn and warehouse.  All Bibles and religious materials were burned.
    

  Stalin's law . . . if you're caught talking about any religious subject YOU WILL DISAPPEAR!  The indoctrination of all people, especially children was so intense, no one was safe. Little children were taught to spy on their parents . . . family members against family members.
    

  Because children may inadvertently slip and say something incriminating, the best way to protect them was to abide the law and not talk . . . even in the privacy of their own homes.
    

  Kay knew the Bible was a bad book the State had destroyed for her own good. After all, the State was protecting her.
    

  Within the next three hours, Kay told me many things. The following was the story I had been looking for . . .

  Every family raised as many sunflowers as they could.  At harvest time the seeds were stored in the attic and used for oil.  Often their only source of protein, they were a valuable possession.
    

  One of Kay's duties was to bring down the appropriate measure of sunflower seeds for daily use. One day she noticed something barely sticking out at the bottom of the huge pile. She pulled out a book, with letters on the front, in Ukrainian, "HOLY BIBLE."
   

  She was afraid, but soon curiosity overtook her fear.
   

  I suppose it was much the same as a teenager finding a "dirty" book and wanted to see inside.
    

  Being the child of professional and well educated parents, she was an excellent reader. She opened the book and began to read, "In the Beginning God created the heavens and the Earth."
   

  As she continued to read, in secret, she wondered why this book was so "bad."  After a few minutes she reburied the book and went about her duties.  She rightly suspected her mother had put the book there but would never ask.
   

  Each day, from then on, she read a little more in the "Bad Book." Some days were a real struggle to understand what God was saying, with her nine year old mind.
  

  Sometimes she skipped around . . . discovering the New Testament, where the reading was a bit easier.  She found John 3:16 all by her 9 year old self.  "For God so loved the world that He gave his only son."
      

  Discovering this baby, named Jesus, was mentioned all through The New Testament, made her very curious.  She remembered . . . barely . . . as a very very small child . . . the word Christmas and the birth of a special baby.  Was this the same one? Could it really be the same one?
     

  Over a year had passed sense Kay had first discovered "the book." At 10 now, and with the maturity some of us adults never achieve, she knew in her heart, the celebration of this special birth was somehow the same as Christmas.
    

  Planning to have her own celebration, and telling no one, not even her parents, she thought about what she could bring to baby Jesus. She had nothing.  She didn't even have the confidence that both parents would be there when the morning sun arose each day.  Friends, family and neighbors were still disappearing in the night . . . never to be seen or heard from again.
    

  As the designated time arrived for her secret celebration, she crept upstairs to the attic.  Sitting on her knees in front of The Holy Bible, she told Baby Jesus her only thing to give was herself . . . and herself she gave. She gave her heart to Jesus at that moment.
    

  It was very quiet.  Nothing seemed changed . . . and yet, she KNEW she would never be the same.
    

  Life was very hard, and three years later at the age of 13, Kay, along with both parents, escaped into Germany, where they made their way to France and freedom.

  Christmas comes to each of us in different ways.  It matters not here . . . how . . . or when.  The date of Christ's birth was never recorded.  December 25th is a good guesstimate. How we celebrate is our choice, living in a free country.
    

  Thousands of people, on December 25, 2000, will not yet have that freedom. I will pray and remember them.  What are you going to do?

Julie (Stout) Duffitt '57
Yuma, AZ