The one about the tree, the painting, and the coat

On Saturday, Tyler tromped through the forest with a bow saw in hand, and an eye out for our perfect Christmas tree. After he dragged it home and placed it squarely in our tree stand, I surveyed the utterly Charlie Brown-ness of our Christmas tree. My enthusiasm for decorating the tree not only wavered, but plummeted. There were literally only about 12 branches and lots of spots where a branch should've been that had no branch at all. There was no way all our ornaments would fit. And there wasn't any animation magic that could turn this Charlie Brown tree into the kind that inspired everyone to gather round singing a Christmas melody with warmth in their hearts.

Fearful for the safety of my ornaments, we saved decorating the tree for after the kids' bedtime. Lest you think I denied my children the tradition of tree decorating, you need to know that we have a short, fake tree decorated with homemade ornaments that we decorated for family night last week. Tyler strung the lights and then relinquished all ornament placement to me, the ultimate ornament perfectionist and snob. When we finished, we turned off the lights and beheld the real magic that had transformed our branchless, 100% pure Washington pine into a thing of beauty. I had a small epiphany staring at the glowing lights. I smiled, and with tears in my eyes, told Tyler that I'd finally realized why I'm so protective and OCD about the whole ornament thing.

I cried earlier this week, too, but for a totally different reason. Earlier in the week I cried frantic, upset, scared tears. Earlier in the year, Tyler's dad had given us a piece of art that Tyler's Mom had painted. It's darling and I just love it. It was going to be the first year of many that we would hang it in our home. Tyler's mom, for those who don't know, passed away when he was 17. It was something from her that we could have and hang. When I pulled one of the two pieces out of our holiday box, I squealed with excitement. But where was the second piece? It wasn't in the box. Or any of the Christmas boxes. Or any of the holiday boxes. Or the garage. Or any place I could logically think to look for it. Frantic prayers were said as I tore through boxes yet to be opened in closets and corners. I couldn't have lost it. Please let me find it. It means so much to me. Tyler found it in a very random, obscure box of junk. Relief. Waves and waves of relief swept over me.

When I got Lainey dressed for church, we were getting ready to pile into the car. We were really late and rushing to get out of the house. It was 33 degrees outside and no one had a coat on. Except Lainey. I made a point to put her coat on her. You see, her church coat is one I wore as a little girl. One my Grandma Banks made me. It finally fits Lainey this year and I don't care what kinds of tantrums Lainey throws at me, she's wearing it. Every week.

Last night, I realized why all these things matter so much to me. They, of course, remind me of people I love. People who are important. Most of the ornaments that hang on my tree are from my Grandma Banks. The coat is from her. The holiday painting is from my mother-in-law whom I've never met. They don't just matter because the remind me of them, they matter because these things and using them honors the person who gave them to me. I look at my tree and am remind of Grandma, but the care and love with which I place them on my tree honors her and the love in which she gave them in. I honor her by remembering her year after year as I decorate a tree that may, on the surface, seem not quite good enough for the baubles it displays. I was frantic with worry about the missing piece from Mom's art because hanging that little piece or decor is one of the few ways I can honor my mother in law and her talent and love for her family. I care about these things to honor those I love.

To honor the Son of God is, after all, the reason for this joyful holiday season. To honor Him who has rescued souls such as mine is why I speak His name with reverence. I honor Him by serving His other sheep. I honor Him by sharing His life and ministry with others, by teaching my children whom to honor. What a blessing it is, then, that in the end, the Lord promises that "who honors God, God honors" and that our Father in Heaven "delights to honor those who serve Him."

As Christmas Day nears, I find it my privilege to honor my mother-in-law, my Grandma Banks, and my Savior, a humbling privilege.