A Reformed Heart for Christmas

Granted, I haven't made an utter failure of motherhood.

But I have made a muddle of it, more or less, for about ten years now.


Among other transgressions was my particular need to control the look of the yearly Christmas tree. It had to be perfect, something out of a home decor magazine. My aunt, a former interior decorator in a wealthy area, taught me how to make a gorgeous tree, and I stuck closely to that standard. But this year I've reformed, you see. And in doing so, I think I've come a wee bit closer to what this holiday is about.

It started with my own childhood. I've written before about how precious a Christmas tree is to me, how much I love to have one decorated to perfection. Well, I took that a bit too far. It was easy, in the beginning, as it was just me decorating. Each year, I'd blow the budget on new lights, ornaments, tinsel. By a few years ago, I had what I thought was the perfect color scheme: jewel tones. Peacock feathers and little peacock ornaments, shimmering purple and green and rich orange. It was gorgeous. In 2004 it fell down, all 14 feet (yes! 14 feet!) of it, and I lost many of my ornaments. Thanks to some gifts from dear people, I re-amassed my collection, and last year it shone beautiful again, although now down to a moderate 6' tree :)

When my oldest was 3 or 4, she began bringing home little handmade ornaments from Sunday School. You know the type- crusty glitter lumped to one side, hardened glue halfway up the yarn hanger, mushy glue in small masses on the edge, those fuzzy pompons hanging limply from the middle, not a single color coordinating with another... most of us have made them and presented them to our own mothers (or other unsuspecting loved ones) with as much pride and Christmas goodwill as can be imagined.


I have always been kindly receptive to the actual finished piece- prolific in the "Oh, sweetie, how pretty!!" praise, as any decent mother will be. But it ended there. I had my tree, you know, and there was just not room for the lopsided, lumpy endeavors of my children. I had seen an idea somewhere, years ago, and I ran with it- a separate tree for the kids stuff. Let them throw two pounds of tinsel at it, let it have white lights mixed with multi-color (my own pet peeve!), let it have more ornaments on the bottom than the top, just let them at it. It was a good idea, and it kept my kids happy for a few years. They had their own crooked little mess of a tree in their bedroom, while I had the 'show' tree in the living room- perfect, balanced, color-matched.

But this year it will be different. I've begun to see my little ones through different eyes, somehow. I finally see them not as random interlopers, but as the vital ingredients of this family that they really are. And I was reminded of another parental relationship- my own to my God, my only Father, really. I bring Him my lumpy, mismanaged emotions... my misdirected rage and grief and my utterly inadequate creativity and allegiance. He takes the crooked cutout of my heart, sprinkled with tarnishing glitter and stuck together with my own tears, and He hangs it right there on another tree... and He is not ashamed to show His love for me.

So bring on the Elmer's and the glitter. Go ahead and put red yarn on a blue ornament. Glue your photo slightly sideways and make sure to leave a fingerprint on it, because those fingers won't be so tiny or clumsy forever.

Labels: Christmas, love, parenting