| Sunny Side Up Dec. 7, 2005 �2005, Kathleen Gibson Restoring the family Christmas tree The first Christmas of our empty nest, I didn't put up the big tree. It had gotten smaller anyway, like my family. In the years just before the children left, it shrunk from the seven foot spruce we'd originally bought to a three-foot tuft of green needles poking from a copper pot on a coffee-table. I frequently left the large base tied up in string in the garage. We'd made a lot of memories around that tree, but I wanted something different that year. I found it beside a country road - a bare willow. We didn't decorate it, except for tiny white lights and three stunning ornaments - ceramic spirals with painted eagles in flight. A symbol perhaps, of our own sentiments at the time. We prayed persistently for our kids to soar. But the Preacher and I had found wings again too. Relational ones, enhanced by space and time, like the spare branches of the willow. We stayed bare for two years, until we felt a need for green again, and put up an eighteen inch fir tree instead. "Oh, Mom," said my daughter on the phone, horrified when I told her. "You have to do better than that." A Christmas Eve sale rescued us. A tall, very skinny artificial pine, the last of its kind, followed us home. Took up position in the corner, by the piano. Its cones were real, though the snow was fake. Even without decorations, it looked lovely. This year though, the big Christmas tree is back - all three pieces. Standing tall in the corner, shoved well back - too far for the back branches to unfold completely. And it's sort of protected by a chair and the copper pot that often held its two topmost parts. Benjamin is responsible for the big tree's return. He's eight months now. Ever since our kids announced that we'd have a grandchild this Christmas, I've known I'd put it up. Sharing Christmas with one so freshly heaven-sent is a most exquisite privilege - even if it means the tree needs a fence of sorts. He brought his parents to visit yesterday. I carried him over to it. There were the same old decorations, the musical instruments and manger scenes, and scores of angels, including some tall thin ones. 'Anorexic angels,' our son, Tony, calls them. (So far he hasn't said anything about their boss depriving them of Philadelphia cream cheese. I'm expecting that comment this year.) "Look, Benjamin, a Christmas tree!" Each tiny bulb reflected in his eyes, scanning eagerly for something to grasp. "One night a looooong time ago - maybe there were stars like these lights - God sent some angels, (see the angels?) to earth with a birth announcement! His son Jesus was born!" But Benjamin had found something to grasp. My nose. He twisted hard, chortled. It'll be a while before he gets it, but this child will hear the truth about Christmas. Our old tree will help tell the story, and so will this long-nosed grandmother. Respond Home |
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