I awoke grudgingly this morning, and as I lay in bed trying to convince myself that yes, I should go to the service and yes, it was necessary to get up in order to do that, I heard the unbelievable sound of a car driving down a wet street. That pulled me out of bed quickly enough. I sprang to my window to see what was the matter. And lo! it had rained. Even more than the other day. This looked like the result of a fairly major shower.

The rain held off until the service was over, thankfully, since at this fellowship the services are held outside, and we were too late to get seats underneath the cover of the tent. (A mark of the winters around here: these services are held outside year round.) But afterward, as everyone milled around, mingling and chatting, the rain began again, and those who did not quickly scramble under the tent were, if not drenched, at least quickly and uncomfortably wet. As the rain continued, however, the tent proved no real sanctuary-- the saturated canvas began releasing such mammoth drips that it was actually more comfortable outside in what was by now only a faint drizzle. By the time I arrived home I was damp and chilled, but happy all the same. I thought it was glorious weather.

Tonight we had some friends (local, not American) over for a Christmas party. After preparing and eating a large meal (since food is the center of hospitality around here) we turned out all the lights and sat in the simple glow of candle light and listened to the Christmas story, told first in Arabic and then in English. More than listening to the words, I watched the others' faces as candle light and various expressions flicked over them. Some, like me, smiled at the familiarity of the oft heard and much loved story. Others looked unsure and then intrigued by turns. Technically a part of their religion, yes, but not so often read or talked about. Afterwards we explained the tradition of gift-giving and then had a time of wrapping-paper-shredding and oohing-and-aahing that rivaled any family Christmas in the States. As I glanced around the room at the happy faces, the scattered remnants of wrapping materials, and the "Christmas tree" (a large house plant draped with a strand of lights), I felt a deep sense of peace and contentment at being here. A night of shared traditions and discussions, yes, but also a holiday celebration with friends, with loved ones-- not so different after all.

I move tomorrow... technically today, I suppose, since it's after midnight. My last night here-- am I sad? Some. There are friends I will miss, and though I will see them again, it won't be as often or the same as it has been. But mostly I'm too excited and hopeful about this change to feel much regret. Perhaps the sentimentality will hit on the train tomorrow.