Mickey Starling
reporter3@greenepublishing.com
In Florida, getting in the Christmas spirit can be a little tricky. December may be the wearer of many meteorological hats. It can be as “hot as blue blazes” or on the verge of snowing or anywhere in between.
While I am accustomed to Mother Nature’s fickle approach to my favorite holiday, certain things were always a must throughout my yearly adventures into Yuletide celebrations. High on my list is a fire of any sort, regardless of the temperature. A fire is such a beautiful reminder of the warm glow of the season. It symbolizes safety and provision.
However, lest I seem too nostalgic or “Hallmark-like” in my musings, I must confess that at my most recent Christmas-evening fire, my quiet reflections were interrupted by the forces of gravity. One leg of my chair was precariously positioned in soft sand masquerading as solid ground, and ever so gently, the chair gradually succumbed to the increasing measure of unbalance created by my weight. Soon, I was eye level with the grass, pondering how these unfortunate events occurred and hoping for a Christmas miracle in the form of anyone who might soon notice my peril and set me upright.
Other less-dangerous delights include a cup or two of eggnog, waffles drenched in orange sauce, with a large side (or jar) of peanut butter, sweet potato pie, singing (especially if my wife is near a piano) and lights — lots of lights. All of the above are wonderful Christmas accessories; but it’s the tree that makes Christmas come to life for me. There must be a tree.
For my part, we could leave a tree up year round, but I would settle for any day in October to begin my mesmerized gazing into the beauty of a well-decorated, brightly-lit Christmas tree. The tree brings back decades of memories, reminds me of my youth and my present and future hope. It whispers eternal optimism in the face of whatever surrounds me.
Yes, there must be a tree. It was upon a tree that the promise of a new life was sealed, free of slavery to sin and self. That tree was most vividly arrayed in the brightest of reds, painted over in the sweat of a suffering Savior who had literally done nothing wrong. But, that blood was so bright, bringing to light the restoration of mankind back to their original purpose — sweet communion with the Godhead.
Jesus volunteered for that tree so that He could lift up the fallen and mend what was broken, in a spiritual sense, making everything merry and bright. It’s Jesus who is the day to our night. He is Emmanuel — God, with us.
I celebrate His perfect birth because it leads to His perfect sacrifice for imperfect me, bitten before birth by the snakes alluded to in Chapter 21 of Numbers. By nature, I murmured against God and all that was holy. I was slain while yet breathing, a dead man walking.
But, the greatest Gift of all was lifted on a pole, hewn from a tree, and as I gaze upon Him, I am restored and made well. That is more than a story. It’s my story, my reality and it can be yours, too. Don’t forget the tree. There must be a tree.