The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack was playing in the
background as the menagerie of Christmas decorations was being marched down the
stairs by the children. Each child had
to make a couple of trips to the attic in order to bring it all out. As boxes opened, memories and stories and
traditions seemed to be opened, too. A
fire was going in the wood burner, hot cocoa was being prepared, and the stage
was set for the traditional decorating of our tree and our home.
After 17 years of marriage and 16 years with children, we
had collected many, many tree decorations and “pretties” to sit around. The decorations had become a nuisance to try
to maneuver around for a month in our home.
So, this year I decided we would scale down and have only a few of our
decorations out. And so, according to
eight year old Abbie, there was one hitch in her celebration: Mama.
As everyone else was in agreement and was going about their
chosen decorating jobs, Abbie found the bag that she had packed the year
before. It was filled with an
accumulation of ornaments and lights for a mini-tree.
In the early years of our marriage, I had been given several
tiny ornaments. They looked best on a
tiny tree, set it in a pot with gravel from the driveway to steady it, and
placed in my kitchen by the sink or on the counter somewhere. About 3 years ago, Abbie appointed herself as
the tiny tree finder and decorator. By
last year, instead of being 12”, it had become about 3’ tall with lights and a
velvet clad, ceramic angel ornament on top.
The simplicity of a mini tree had been lost and “bigger and better” had
taken over.
Abbie, already displeased with the idea of scaling down,
placed herself on the floor near an electric socket to check her lights. All was scattered in front of her: ornaments,
tree topper, some tinsel, a 12” tree, a pot, and a string of 100 lights. After wrapping the tiny tree with as much of
the strand of lights as she could (with the rest trailing toward the socket),
hanging all the small ornaments, and putting the ceramic angel on top, the tree
looked gagged and bound.
She blurted out, “Mama, I told you we needed a bigger
tree!” With an inhale of breath, more
was coming!
She slumped, knitted her eyebrows, and finished, “Why didn’t
you let me get a bigger one?! This just
looks awful! You wouldn’t listen to me
and get the bigger one!” Her frustrated exhale of breath was sent my way on the
vehicle of her dissatisfied, blaming glance.
As I walked over, her eyes never left my face. Their blaming expression began filling with
tears and she snapped again, “I told you we needed to choose the bigger tree!”
It seemed as if her joy for the holiday would be based on the satisfaction she
would gain (or not) in the decorating of her tiny tree. It was my turn to take a deep breath and
whisper a prayer to my Father for the right words to redirect her focus.
Cautiously I replied, “No, Honey. This is the right size.”
“No, it isn’t, Mama! Everything doesn’t fit! It’s awful!!” she cried.
“You are right.
Everything doesn’t fit. We will
not get a bigger tree, though. This is
just the right size.” I sat on the other
side of the tree and began removing the lights.
Abbie was not willing to let go so easily. “Mama, we could buy a smaller set of
lights. You know, the battery operated
kind!” Her little mind was still trying
to figure a way to put as much on the tree as possible because her thoughts
were telling her: more is always better.
“Yes, we could, but we won’t.” was my reply as I kept
unburdening the little tree.
Abbie’s face drooped.
“Mama, please don’t take everything off.
You will ruin what I’ve done!”
I didn’t answer. My
hands were working carefully and quickly to restore the tree to a more natural
state as I began teaching Abbie about the burden of carrying or having too
much.
The tree returned to an upright position in its pot,
again.
Abbie sat quietly and watched while the tree was turned and
viewed from all directions, each ornament being placed in a carefully chosen
spot. As she watched and listened, her
countenance began to change. The tiny
tree was just right for what it was
meant to carry.
“Do you like the tree now?” I asked. She just nodded her approval. “Would you make a star for the top? You are so good at making things. Cut it out of something, anything you like .
. . but keep it simple to fit the tree.”
A little while later, a foil covered star cut from card
stock topped the tree. It was
beautiful. Abbie had to even show me how
she rigged the back of the star to make it fit!
Joy had returned to her heart.
This episode with Abbie reminded me: a simple focus requires
self-discipline. It is so easy to be
swept away by the presents that must be
bought, wrapped and presented; homes that must
be decorated; jolly attitudes that must
be displayed; parties that must be
planned or attended; the annual Christmas letter that must be written, addressed, and sent; and the unspoken other
expectations that must be met . . .
and the real reason for the celebration is forgotten.
By the way, who is dictating the must be’s? Who is our
audience for whom we perform and what is the focus? Celebrations are important
because they cause us to remember. But,
to what extent should we go for a celebration and is the purpose for it still
in view?
I ask myself these questions because when the weeks of
preparation and celebration for Christmas are over, the sun will lay its head
to rest and all festivities will come to a close. At that time, there will be a moment, a
stillness speaking of Truth. I hunger to
tarry in that moment, that place where “bigger and better” doesn’t fit because
I know the fullness of that moment arrives when my heart humbly turns toward
the Father in thankfulness for the coming of His son, my Messiah.
Celebrate well by
keeping a simple focus.
And remember,
the most precious
celebration
is the private one
between you and the
Father.
Love
always,
Angie
