Up the stairs I lug the fair sized box. It contains my Christmas tree. This year I feel a little more enthusiastic about putting it up. (I know widows that refuse to continue putting up trees, but I’m a traditionalist.)
I get it into its stand and haul it onto a small table so it will show through the window. Gently I take the decorations out of their boxes. Believe it or not, I still have one decoration left from our first tree. It sits in a very special box of its own during the rest of the year, but for one month it has a place of honour at the top of the tree.
The lights go on first and then I begin. It really is a labor of love. Long gone are the popcorn strings our girls made years ago, but there are still lots of memories tied into some of the decorations. There … .it is done!
I go to plug the cord in and realize I am about three inches away from the plug-in. I give a small tug on the table and disaster follows … .the tree leans to the left, the stand collapses and I watch with horror as everything falls onto the chesterfield nearby.
And then I start to laugh until I cry … .and this time for a change, my tears are tears of joy. “You old fool,” I said to myself. “You are such a klutz.”
The tree survived the fall and nothing was broken … except perhaps my pride.
I’m like that tree, fallen but nothing broken, except my heart … still like the tree, I have a role to play. I too am full of memories to share with my family and friends and maybe a light to shine to others when God wills it.
In life there are adjustments to make, especially when a loved one dies but I have grown these last few years and find there is still lots to laugh about and I am even re-learning that laughing at myself is a lot of fun too.
