The lights on a Christmas tree have a mesmerizing effect on me.
From the earliest times I can remember on 405 Darlington Road in Beaver Falls, I have loved the wonder of Christmas signified in a tree. The twinkle of the lights, trying to figure out which one was going to go off and come back on on those old bigger bulbs, the smell of the evergreen. I can sort of see why the mysterious feline creatures love to congregate around the base of a tree and look at the lights and swat at the balls.
I was so very glad when I discovered when the 12 days of Christmas were. They were not the 12 days leading up to Christmas, but rather the 12 days were between Dec. 25 and January 6 (the Epiphany, of which I knew nothing for years until I got to seminary). That meant that the tree could stay up longer. I was so thankful for that, because somehow the tree charmed me and made me forget the daily grind of existence. It beckoned me to another world, and I willingly went.
For the last two years we have been sans kids. At first I thought last year was going to be horrible. What? Christmas and there’s no kids around? What kind of a Christmas is that? I dreaded it. I was sad. I tried to put on a stiff upper lip. I envied those families that still had children at home, or children who would come in to visit. But . . . it didn’t turn out to be so bad. One of the church families had invited us over to have Christmas dinner with them. They have a large family with differences between them as profound as night and day. I understood that. I understood the noise and mirth and inside jokes. It was like my family. Christmas wasn’t so bad after all. My wife and I had a really good, relaxing time that day. I found out I could survive.
But this year was going to be the same. I didn’t like that. At the last minute I practically tried to bribe two of our kids to spend some time with us, maybe even a couple of days? But no such luck. Because we are in the mode to move to a new house, we just had not bothered much with even thinking about a tree this year. My wife assured me that that was going to be OK without all the fuss and hassle. But I think that somewhere in the five days before Christmas I went out to Home Depot and bought a baby Virginia Pine. I set it on our kitchenette table. My wife loved it. She strung up lights and balls and she put on a big star on top, and I loved looking at it at night with all the other lights off. There is was again. Some of the mystery of Christmas.
I could never understand those Radical Protestants who immediately took down all their Christmas decoration on the 26th. But then, they had capitulated to the culture which says that Christmas starts immediately after Thanksgiving. And for four weeks of seeing Christmas saturation in stores and parties and being regaled out with singing they are sick of it, and almost like a purgative, can’t wait to put it all away.
Well, we didn’t get our tree until around the 20th or so, so that meant I could enjoy it long after everyone else had forgotten and moved on to New Year’s resolutions.
I loved our little tree. We burned the lights on it until January 6th. On that night I said this is the end. We won’t light it up again. I was sad in a way for that. In its glow and warmth I could see the wonder of what I used to be as a little child when life seemed much more mysterious and simple. I was thankful for its unearthly glow and simple charm. And because it is live, we will plant it at our new house. And I will watch it grow and remember that once upon a time it adorned my kitchenette table, and there really were lots of presents around it and surprises, and lots of happiness shared.
