This is the second Christmas in a row there isn’t a live tree in the house.
Last Christmas, I moved back to my abode above the trees on Christmas Eve or so it seemed, and I made do with a small pale tree made of fibre optics. It glowed, and twinkled, it’s feathered branches like delicate sparklers of blue, silver, red and gold.
It was pretty enough.
This year’s run up to Christmas finds me travelling, and I won’t be back til late.
For we all know that Christmas is long over by December 25th; the actual day a kind of anticlimax to a buildup of good cheer, goodwill, a time of merry-ness and good feelings. (Not to mention good eating.)
It’s a big deal for me to be minus a live pine tree in the house in the cool, rainy month of December. The big green tree, fragrant with the sharp scent of evergreen, bookends happy hours of Christmas shopping, coffee with friends near and far, family dinners, treats, of being grateful in the last month of 2011.
Now that I am without, I realize the Christmas tree is merely a symbol of what I’ve always held in my head — the treasures of thought and memory, glad of friendships which are always gifts from my Father’s hand, glad of sweetness in my family, glad of the gift of knowing my Lord Jesus Christ.