Here in Santa Cruz, Christmas Eve is when everyone celebrates. Days before Christmas, people are feeling generous and hand out plates of food to those who live on the streets. The cars pull up to the street corners, and disposable plates are handed through tainted windows to hungry, reaching hands. The cars pull away, and street kids are left to eat alone. 

Every Christmas morning, I go out on the empty streets while most people are sleeping off their Christmas dinners. The streets are basically abandoned. While most families have celebrated together, the kids are left alone on the streets. As I visit different groups of kids every Christmas, my heart is to encourage the kids, and tell them they are not alone and that they are loved.

My first Christmas morning as I walked the empty streets with Anelise, we found a group of teenagers laying on an old mattress. They jumped up shouting, “Feliz Navidad” and then their faces turned serious. “Hermana Lily, our friend got beat up last night and needs help!” And they led us to the nearest street corner, where we found a teenager curled up under a bush with a giant cut on his head. I knelt down next to him and gave him first aid with the help of a few of his friends before we walked to a nearby bench where he could rest.

As we sat with the group of teenagers on Christmas morning, I started to smell something. Something bad. I realized that when I had knelt down to help the hurt teen, that I had somehow gotten poop all over my backpack and shoes. And it wasn’t from an animal. We still had to go to the market to buy some medication and lunch for the kid who was hurt, and so I tried to clean myself off as best as I could as Anelise and I climbed on a bus with one of the kids. I got so many stares, and a little girl piped up, “Mom? What smells?” We jumped off the bus quickly and our young friend laughed and thought it was hilarious that I was in this predicament. In the end, we got to help our kids, and we made a fun but slightly embarrassing memory. The kids still remember that Christmas and laugh as they tell the story of the Gringa who helped them on Christmas and got covered in poop while doing so.

And for me, it is one of my favorite Christmas memories. It made me think of the smell of the stable where Jesus came into the world. It was a Holy night, but it was also a dirty and smelly one too. And we are called to follow Jesus and shine His light wherever He calls us and bring the good news that Jesus came to bring hope. It’s not always glamorous or picture-perfect, but it is always beautiful.