It was just a few years ago, maybe twenty or so, that I decided I wanted a real live Christmas tree instead of the customary artificial one that I had been using in past Christmases. I had my sweet husband go into the woods, chop down a lovely fine smelling cedar, bring it to the house and secure it in the customary Christmas tree stand. Then I set to decorating it with joy in my heart and Christmas carols on my lips. The warmth of the season enveloped me like a fuzzy Christmas stocking as I lovingly took out treasured ornaments and carefully adhered each one to the greenery of the cedar.
The result was dazzling! The lights twinkled in merriment reflecting off the delicate glass ornaments and the tinsel. I gazed upon the live wonder remembering the significance of each decoration. It was going to be a wonderful Christmas celebration of the birth of our Savior and family togetherness. I went to bed that night, my heart full and my mind at peace. All was right in my Christmas world.
The next morning greeted me with a sight I shall never forget. My beautiful Christmas tree had toppled over, taking with it all the finery and cherished ornaments that I had so loving nestled on its branches! While most had survived, others lay in tiny, shattered piles of broken glass. (Of course, it was my husband’s fault.)
Being the strong woman that I am, I hoisted that aggravating tree back up, stuck it firmly into the stand, gave it a stern talking while I redecorated it and lamented my lost ornaments. Once again, the tree stood in Christmas splendor! I breathed deeply, hummed a Christmas carol and left to retrieve presents to wrap.
When I returned, lo and behold, my Christmas spirit lost its glee. The frazzled heap of what was my tree lay again on the floor, ornaments scattered like a tiny tornado has passed through, the angel topper face down in shame, and the Christmas garland tangled it knots. I must confess, gentle readers, I lost my Christmas spirit right then and there, and with an attitude that would have made genteel women cringe, I picked up that tree, hoisted it…threw it…. chunked it out the back door onto the waiting lawn. I immediately felt vindicated. Good riddance!
There it lay and lay it did- for days. In the cold. In the dark. In the elements. The remaining decorations clung to it for dear life. My family tiptoed around me whispering behind their hands, afraid to offend me lest I hoist them outside as well. My husband kept a wide berth between him and me, not even glancing sideways at the abandoned tree. Not one single person mentioned the tree or asked any questions as to why it was laying prostrate in the yard. They were astounded; I had never given in to such uncontrolled behavior.
After a week or so, I found myself in the yard, dragging the Christmas tree back into the house and salvaging what I could of the decorations. I repented to the Lord for my outburst of anger and failure to maintain composure and control. My family smiled in relief and thankfulness that everything was back to Christmas ‘normal’.
Today, the incident is long from forgotten. Around this time of the year, it resurfaces to the snickers of laughter. It has become, to my dismay, embarrassingly legendary (or at least it has in my mind). Never again have I displayed such shameful Christmas (or any other time of the year) behavior. I work out my problems with planning and self-government and prayer. I am calm, cool, and collect and have never ever, not once, entertained the mere thought of putting up another live Christmas tree.
