THE TREE

Over time, some of the important routines of life become traditions. A few of those spawn iconic symbols that we use to focus our feelings. Their outsized impact gives them a critical role, which contributes to the ultimate success or failure of the tradition and so, we treat them with special care.

THE TREE

          Like many, for me, a favorite part of Christmas is the tree.  When I was very young, I’d wake in the pre-dawn darkness, filled with excitement, and steal down the steps to the door at the bottom of our stairs.  Upon opening it, I’d spy the stately balsam, its boughs filling only the empty shadows of a Christmas morning that was yet to come.  These secret ventures would continue until, one morning, the opening of the door was met with the indescribable beauty of light.  The world was transformed and my joy could not be contained.  The house would wake.

          Later, as a wise lad of eight or so, I was allowed to partake in the making of the magic.  We older boys would help with decorating the tree.  The most critical aspect of the project came after the lights and ornaments were on.  Like the first gentle flakes of a snowfall, each strand of lead tinsel had to find its place.  The room grew quiet as conversation gave way to the search for suitable spaces within the tree.  The draping wore on until the last of Santa’s helpers was satisfied.  The tree was done.   To bed . . .

          Many years later, our two elves were forging Christmas memories of their own and it was no surprise that the tree was a focal point.  The week after Thanksgiving, we’d trudge off to the Christmas tree forest.  Being a non-violent person, this chore went against my grain, to say nothing of the tree’s, so the selection was not taken lightly.  One season, the indecision was particularly intense and as the afternoon waned, only empty shadows could be seen among the boughs.  Headlights were brought to bear on one dark apex after another.  The absurdity of the situation became laughable, except nobody was laughing.  At last, the high beams fell on a lonely pine that was filled with the beauty of an indescribable light.

          Our slow trip home that evening carried a tree that found its beauty in God’s eye and a family that found its peace in His trust.  The same beauty, peace and trust we wish for you.

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