Member-only story
Because I’m a Christian
One Sunday, a long time ago, in the bleak midwinter, far away in England, two strangers Mal and Wendy invited me and eight other international students to spend Christmas at their home. They were Mal and Wendy: a 60-something-year-old couple that attended the Hope City Church Birmingham, where we worshipped.
It was my first winter and the city was bitterly lonely. It was also my first Christmas away from family, friends, and a familiar society. My plan, before the church announcement inviting us to lunch at Mal and Wendy’s had been to return to the solitude of my apartment, and sleep out the rest of the day. So, this unexpected invitation had splashed some color on my otherwise greying holiday.
After the church service, I joined other worshippers who volunteered to give us — international students, a lift from the City center to Mal and Wendy’s suburban home about an hour from Birmingham.
When we arrived at their modest brick and timber home, there were welcome signs everywhere. Their older children, who attended the same church, were there too. Their fairly large living room had been re-arranged. Treat tables loaded with pies, tarts, and Brussels sprouts had replaced the living room…
