Mark 1:1-3

The Christmas tree has been trying to tell me something.

It’s the perfect Currier & Ives tree. So pretty you can almost hear the baby angels singing O Holy Night. But moments after we think the tree is secure in the stand, the cat innocently sashays underneath and you can guess what happens next. Water, tree needles and disgruntled feline go flying as they all land in a heap. The second time it falls just after we’ve struggled to get the lights on perfectly.

The third time I find the tree in a pile of shattered ornaments the morning after I’ve finally gotten around to decorating it, and I want to cry.

I have too much to do to deal with this stupid tree. And anyway, we have already missed the moment – you know the one, where the family hangs the cherished ornaments together while drinking wassail and listening to Christmas music. There is homework to be done, swim practices to attend, friends to text. The Christmas tree is not a priority for the teenager this year.

I am mad at this stupid tree that’s reminding me of how much things have changed in 14 years, and how much more change is ahead. I want to drag the whole thing to the curb.

Instead, I sweep the glass, grateful that none of my favorite ornaments are broken. I slowly re-decorate the tree. I admire the ornaments with baby photos and the ones made by toddler hands. I hang the one from my husband’s childhood and the one from our first Christmas together.

That evening we all cuddle on the couch – even the teenager – and savor the glow; and the Spirit and the tree have delivered the message. Slow down. Enjoy the moment. Cherish the memories. And know that though I’m unprepared for what comes next, there’s no use crying over fallen trees.