I’m sitting here with a broad, silly grin on my face, because I have just finished decorating my Christmas tree. I don’t know why that makes me so happy. It just does!
I must admit that it becomes a little more difficult each year, and I was not quite sure I would be able to do it this time. Because of my daily dosage of blood thinner, my doctor has warned me away from ladders, but you can’t trim a tree without a bit of climbing. So I fudged a little, because my German angel couldn’t get to the top by himself.
The tree is gorgeous! It is a bright, shining conglomeration of colors and shapes. Alas! It has no theme. I have never cottoned to themed Christmas trees nor those decorated in only one color. I just want to use all the stuff that I have collected over the years. I am still using some of my Mom’s decorations. They are old and faded and tarnished, but they are filled with sweet, sweet memories. I say it again, “This tree makes me happy!”
In 1975, I was a brand new missionary in the country of Belgium. Everything was good and exciting when I arrived in August, but as Christmas drew nearer and nearer, I just wanted to lie down and die. I had never, in my thirty-nine years, been away from my family at Christmastime. However, instead of giving in to despair, I determined to make Christmas as much like home as possible. To that end, my roommate and I bought a large tree and put it in front of the French doors in our third-floor apartment. Its beauty brought a bit of cheer to my aching heart.
We were cleaning house on December 23, when Ginny decided to vacuum behind the tree. (You’d have to meet Ginny.) All of a sudden, I heard a loud crash and a moan of despair. My friend had knocked the tree over with the vacuum. There on the floor lay the denuded tree among dried pine needles and broken ornaments. There was no way to salvage it so, after I recovered from my urge to kill, we dragged it into the elevator and dumped it in the basement. Through a series of unlikely, frustrating, even amusing events (another story to be told) we were able to replace the tree, and Christmas came and went without further calamity.
No one is quite sure how or when the Christmas tree originated, but we do know that, even in the middle ages, various cultures brought greenery into their homes in the winter time. It symbolized life in those cold, dark days.
It is said that Queen Victoria’s beloved Albert introduced the tree into the English culture.
The story, yet unproven, that I love best and want to believe, is that of Martin Luther.
On a Christmas Eve, in the 1500’s, Martin Luther made his way home from vespers. Walking through the snow-covered woods, he was struck by the beauty of the snow glistened trees. Their branches, dusted with the soft white powder, shimmered in the moonlight and the twinkling stars overhead seemed to decorate the tips of the evergreens.
At home, he set up a small fir tree and decorated it with tiny candles, which he lighted in honor of Christ’s birth. He told his children it reminded him of Jesus, who left the stars of heaven to come to earth at Christmas.
I love the beauty of Christmas—the brilliant lights, the vivid colors, the tantalizing aroma of baked goods, the seraphic faces and shining eyes of expectant children, and the pile of gifts under the tree. But this beauty all wrapped up together is only a faint reflection of the beauty of Christ, who is Christmas.
I am continually blessed at this season when I realize that men and women, who deny Christ’s existence, who have totally rejected Him, who hate everything He stands for, continue to celebrate His birth. O, they deny it, but by simply giving place to Christmas, they are confirming that HE IS!
So—for me—the Christmas tree is a symbol of life and light and hope that Jesus brought to this sad world at His advent.
Now, it occurs to me that another tree really plays the leading role in the story of Christmas, for the gift of Christ’s birth is incomplete without the magnificence of His sacrifice at Calvary.
1 Peter 2:24 says, “…who Himself bore our sins in His own body on the tree (the cross), that we, having died to sins, might live for righteousness…”
So, trim your trees, sing “O, Little Town of Bethlehem,” and “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing,” but while you celebrate Jesus” birth, celebrate, also, His death. Let Him make Christmas complete in your life.
Remember the sun will come out tomorrow!