Today’s Advent Calendar is about one of the most familiar of all December rituals — decorating the Christmas tree. Over the years, I’ve come to understand how Christmas ornaments hold memories, and that “re-membering” (putting the pieces of our own lives back together) might well be one of the most important practices of this season.
The below post appeared four years ago in the third issue of the Cottage. Some of you might remember it from our early days here!
Window 17
My father was a florist. Although that sounds like a charming profession, in reality it meant that he was unbelievably busy during holidays – especially in the weeks leading up to Christmas.
When I was little, I rarely saw him from Thanksgiving until December 25. When I was a teenager, however, I helped out in the florist shop. On Advent weekends and throughout winter break, I worked with him, side-by-side, in the frenzy of floral Christmas.
It was then that I learned people actually paid my father to put up their Christmas trees. Over the season, we decorated a dozen trees or more, each with a chosen theme, matching lights, and brand new decorations. There were trees of silver and gold, rustic trees, trees bedecked with bows, feathers and birds, old-fashioned trees festooned with tiny toys and red and green balls, and trees of “nautical Christmas” or “winter wonderland.” One wealthy woman came to the shop every year during July and picked out her theme, colors, and ornaments to surprise her family and guests. She never had the same tree twice. Pretty much anything you could imagine and my dad created it for you. He took pictures of his trees and posted them in the shop for customers to admire. They were beautiful.
In the waning days of Advent, we finally put up our own tree: a well-used artificial one with lights purchased from Sears in the 1960s and a mismatched collection of ornaments my parents had assembled throughout the years. After spending a month on the strangers’ trees, all sparkling with stylish and coordinated décor, ours seemed sadly neglected to me. I felt a twinge of envy that our tree was not as festive as those we had adorned for others.
One late December day, more than forty years ago now, we pulled our tree and worn boxes from the shed, and I asked, “Dad, why doesn’t our tree have a theme?”
“It does,” he said with certainty. “Our tree is about memories. You can’t buy that tree and no one can put it up for you.”
My father passed away nineteen years ago. And I still remember that moment of wisdom: Our tree was a tree of memory.
I’ve never had a coordinated Christmas tree. The oldest ornament on my tree came from my grandmother’s house. It is a candy-cane man that was originally a holiday pull for window shades. I still remember being four or so years old and reaching up for him for the fun of raising and lowering the blinds. There are a few ornaments from my parents’ first Christmas tree, and several from my early childhood. There’s a red ball painted with glitter – “Diana 1969” – a survivor of a Brownie troop holiday project. There’s a goofy ornament celebrating the American bi-centennial, a tiny pair of wooden shoes from my first trip to Europe. There are six small, hand-sewn felt stockings that I made while in graduate school – because I had no money and couldn’t afford to buy anything. And a quick succession of ornaments from 1997 and 1998: “Our First Christmas,” “Our First House,” and “Baby’s First Christmas.” Next, there are handmade decorations crafted by my stepson and my daughter dating from preschool onward. The last Christmas ornament given to me by my father before he died. And now, mementos from travels around the world.
A tree of memory. Not purchased, assembled through the decades. Few pieces were particularly expensive, and few match. Taken one piece at a time, they don’t seem like much. But, once all these assorted trinkets are all hung on the tree, something magical happens: the Christmas tree becomes a tree of life.
In the deep winter, a tree stands in the house, branches laden with the fruit of our lives. There are some Christians who think that the Christmas tree is a pagan symbol, and that may well be, but it is also a biblical one. Trees are ever-present in scripture as an icon of God’s rootedness in this world, and we, as God’s people, are the dressers of trees and the growers of fruit. As Jesus said, "I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.”
And so, I remember. About dad and trees and fruit and beauty. And the words of the haunting Christmas carol, “Jesus Christ, The Apple Tree,” echo in my mind:
The tree of life my soul hath seen
Laden with fruit and always green
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.
I hope you made memories this holiday season. I wish for you a fruitful new year.
From The Cottage, issue #3, December 2017
little tree
little silent Christmas tree
you are so little
you are more like a flower
who found you in the green forest
and were you very sorry to come away?
see i will comfort you
because you smell so sweetly
i will kiss your cool bark
and hug you safe and tight
just as your mother would,
only don't be afraid
look the spangles
that sleep all the year in a dark box
dreaming of being taken out and allowed to shine,
the balls the chains red and gold the fluffy threads,
put up your little arms
and i'll give them all to you to hold
every finger shall have its ring
and there won't be a single place dark or unhappy
then when you're quite dressed
you'll stand in the window for everyone to see
and how they'll stare!
oh but you'll be very proud
and my little sister and i will take hands
and looking up at our beautiful tree
we'll dance and sing
"Noel Noel"
— e.e. cummings
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Charlie Brown: This little green tree here seems to need a home.
Linus Van Pelt: I don't know, Charlie Brown. Remember what Lucy said? This doesn't seem to fit the modern spirit.
Charlie Brown: I don't care. We'll decorate it and it'll be just right for our play. Besides, I think it needs me.
So many trees of Christmas past. So many losses over the years too. Loss of a husband through divorce. Loss of my dear brother, Lyle, through cancer. And the loss of my dear daughter, Stefani, through ovarian cancer.
Before moving from Santa Barbara to Madison, WI I bought a lovely 'realistic fake' Christmas tree at Cost Plus.
Now I'm building new memories with my family here - precious daughter and grandsons!
Life is full of Joy!
Diana, if you’d never written anything after this (thank you for sharing it again), it would have been enough (although Grateful and Freeing Jesus are certainly welcome icing on the cake of your writing!). This is wonderful and spot on! We love the light and Presence our trees are throughout the seasons of Advent and Christmas. Advent Peace and Christmas Joy be yours!🎁