House on the Rock

I’m that type — the Christmas tree is up. Like many women, I married a “no Christmas decorations until after Thanksgiving” kind of guy. But also like many women, I just got too eager. Took a personal day to get some nesting done and next thing I knew, the tree was aglow. Sorry Joe.

It wasn’t the most joyful of occasions, I’ll admit. Putting up a tree has become a bit triggering, ever since last year’s Halloween-morning recognition that my mom was down to her final hours and if we wanted to put the tree up with her, it needed to be done that day. I still remember the whir of oxygen machines and labored breathing as she watched us string lights with smiling eyes, just under two days away from eternal glory.

But it’s also hard because of all the ornaments. With my mom’s passing being so close to the holiday season, people flooded our mailbox with ornaments of all kinds — “Kisses from Heaven” graphics donned on sparkly ceramic, wooden angels, and nearly one dozen cutouts of the “I love you” hand sign — a beautiful symbol of Mom’s signature move. Not only that, but we also endured a miscarriage on Christmas day. So beneath all the reminders of my mom’s passing, we have ornaments to remember the loss of our unborn baby as well.

I paused in the middle of hanging these up. My first thought was, sheesh! That was an awful year! And immediately followed was, I don’t even know if I want to hang these up. If you were one to grace our home with ornaments, please know how grateful we are for your thoughtfulness. I mean absolutely nothing personal — I just thought, this is about to be the saddest tree ever!

But as I burrowed deeper into the box of decorations, my spirits slowly lifted. I found an ornament celebrating the anniversary of Joe’s baptism. A funny Christmas cow from a youth group gift exchange. Several wedding ornaments labeled, “First Christmas as Mr. and Mrs.”, and a plethora of collectibles from vacation destinations. Memories from the most joyous of occasions.

I suddenly began to see that it wasn’t a sad tree — just a tree that is so representative of life! Abundant joy amidst crushing sorrow. Hills and valleys; mourning and dancing. A blissful reminder that the Christmas season is not just for those bringing glad tidings, but for those desperate for a deliverer from a weary world of darkness.

That’s why Jesus came. He is in the good — babies and baptisms, that much is certain. But he’s even more present in the dark and dim reminders of death and decay. And the part that I love most about our little tree? As soon as we click on the lights, the ornaments fade to a blur of shapes and sparkles. What stands out with the most radiant glow? The lights.

Lights so bright, so all-consuming, that everything else fades to a blur, strangely dim. Now that is a tree that represents life: The light of our Savior Jesus shines so powerfully in this world that everything else seems so small, so insignificant. The sad-and-happy ornaments will remain, but light makes them fade to fuzziness. The sad-and-happy circumstances of this life will remain, but Christ’s light — His love, His peace, His resurrection power — allow us to see only Him.

May this holiday season, with all its wins and woes, be a time of year that radiates the light of Christ more brightly than anything else — more than death or despair, division or distraction, sickness or sorrow, and even the most joyous of occasions. May we gaze briefly at the ornaments, but long seek to celebrate the light — “true light that gives light to everyone…coming into the world” (John 1:9).

And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim / in the Light of His glory and grace.