The Foreign Service Journal, December 2003

108 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / D E C E M B E R 2 0 0 3 O n Christmas Eve in 1994, a bone-chillingly cold day, I found myself in Bratislava, Slovakia as a communications rover, employed by the Department of State. My assignment was to tem- porarily replace someone during the holidays. I remember feeling alone, in a strange land. Shortly before noon, I went shop- ping at a wonderful Christmas market. Wooden booths lined the square and people of all types were wandering about cheery and happy. Everyone was smiling. The Christmas spirit was alive and well. The afternoon air was crisp with the scent of spiced, hot wine. Yet I felt it was going to be a lonely Christmas — just my thoughts and I. Looking around the market, I saw lots of handmade crafts. I walked over to a booth selling Christmas center- pieces. My eyes locked on one with pine cones, some dried flowers and real moss. I bought it for the tele- phone operators at the office. The operators were thrilled that I, a tem- porary boss, would do such a thing. That evening, one of the operators handed me a small gift, wrapped in green tissue paper and a golden rib- bon. On the way home, passing again through the Christmas market, I bought myself a table piece similar to the one I gave the operators. Returning to my apartment, I placed the table setting and the small package on the living room coffee table. That was to be my Christmas tree. Complete with gift. That Christmas Eve, I was alone in my apartment, missing my wife and Christmas food. I lit the candle on the centerpiece and sat back to watch the flame. As the candle was beginning to burn low, it made me sad to think that on Christmas Day there would be no candle to burn. Wanting to save some of the candle for tomorrow, I snuffed out the flame. Not too long after, there was a knock at the door and I slowly got up to answer it. It was my boss holding a large bowl of rich and steamy cabbage soup! She had invited me to a party that she was giving in her apartment above mine, but I had declined due to a bad toothache. Yet even with all the hosting going on, she took the time to think of me and bring me this Christmas Eve dinner! Christmas Day arrived. Taking my coffee cup to the living room, I peered out the curtains to see a wonderful pristine blanket of freshly fallen snow. It was still early and no one had walked down any of the streets. I lit my little candle for the last time — it was near- ly gone now. Soon my Christmas would be over. As the candle sput- tered its last breath, I reached over and picked up the gift. I shook it. It didn’t rattle. I smelled it. There was a faint aroma coming from the package. I squeezed it. It was solid. I opened it. As my little candle finally sputtered its last, I slowly removed the green tissue paper from the package. It was a can- dle! A large, green, scented Christmas candle! I was ecstatic. Removing the remnants of the burned candle, I replaced it with the new one and lit it. Later that morning, I decided to go out. As I opened my door, I found, sit- ting on my doorstep, a small package from my boss. Upon opening it, I found a large, scented beeswax candle! Life is full of wonderful surprises. During the holiday season, people often search far and wide for miracles. Years from now I won’t remember the names of the telephone operators, or my boss in Bratislava. But, every Christmas morning from now on, I will light that large green candle for a short while and think back to a Christmas long ago, in a strange land, where people cared for one another. And simple prayers were answered. ■ It made me sad to think that on Christmas Day there would be no candle. Dennis Watson served in Paris, Niamey, Bonn, Brazzaville, Hanoi, Karachi and Washington, D.C. and was an Information Management Rover for four years before retiring to Oregon. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.” R EFLECTIONS The Christmas Candle B Y D ENNIS W ATSON