Stories

A Tree of Special Memories

Our beautiful Frazier Fir wilted in the passing of Christmas. My youngest daughter Mary kept the water level high at the base of its trunk and never waned at her task. But all her faithful efforts could not abate the reality that its days were numbered. From the day it was felled on the North Carolina mountainside that gave it life, it beheld a finite destiny.

The green brightness grayed over the holidays, but the gaiety of tinsel and white lights masked its inevitable decay. The branches now bending toward the floor have grown weary in its attempt to hold fast to its needles. At first only a few needles made their way to the floor. Now the number has increased to resemble grains of sand along a beach. Its days of being the Christmas centerpiece have come to an end.

Soon after January 6, the Epiphany, time is set aside to remove our Christmas tree and safely pack away our treasured ornaments. Each ornament holds a story that is retold in our memories. As an ornament is taken from the boughs and held in our hands, memories unfold, faces of dear ones are seen again, and feelings of joy, loss and family identity overcome us.

The white porcelain dove with golden twine tied in a loop ready for hanging and the year 1981 stamped in shiny gold filigree was lovingly given to Kathy and me our first Christmas as husband and wife. Kathy’s mother Billie Kay, who is known throughout the larger family for her attention to detail, gave us the treasure. Time is not always kind, and today her health is failing. She now struggles to keep up with even the smallest details of her day-to-day life.

That same first Christmas, Kathy and I shopped for additional ornaments for our four-foot Louisiana pine tree. One of the first ornaments purchased was a tiny plastic nativity – no taller than two inches high. Tucked into the cramped crèche is only Mary, Joseph and the baby Jesus. Silver glitter glued on the stable’s roof makes it sparkle in the tree’s lights. Compared to all of our other ornaments collected through the years, it appears insignificant. Yet in its simplicity, it represents the life we’ve shared focused on Jesus.

Four of the ornaments are inscribed with the words, “Baby’s First Christmas.” And ornaments made with construction paper, popsicle sticks, and red, green and gold glitter frame the faces of Kyle, Amie, Jenny, and Mary.

Crocheted ornaments made of twine and yarn were crafted by my mother Jearlene. Every year, my mom and dad have given us an ornament.

They range from Mom’s hand-made ornaments to treasures they collected along their way – a seashell angel, a Christmas tree made from tiny cayenne peppers, a shrimp boat made of wood and hand painted. Even since Dad’s passing, Mom still sends an ornament.

My son Kyle sends us ornaments collected from places he has traveled – a brightly painted wooden coral reef fish from Trinidad-Tobago and a metal Eiffel Tower from Paris. Now married and living in Karamay, he and his wife Susan sent a cloissoinne tree inlaid with a panda’s image from the world famous panda reserve in central China. One ornament we received this year was given to me by a co-worker.

It is a tree-shaped ornament made of quilt squares. The words “love,” “happiness,” and “warmth” are written in the patchwork. Along the bottom are the words, “Connected with a bond of belonging – forever family.”

Ornaments? They are more than the materials from which they are made. They are more than symbols of the season. For my family, our ornaments connect us to the people who gave them and the memories we share. They reflect our values and represent our priorities.

Christmas past has moved on to only return again in the future, but it leaves in its path lingering memories. These special memories join other Christmas memories creating the landscape of one’s lifetime – family, marriage, birth, death. Like major landmarks, Christmas memories remind us where we have come from and help guide our tomorrows.

Safely packed away, our ornaments wait to adorn another tree of special memories next year.

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