Every ornament holds Christmas magic

The awe is tucked in the awful

Our Christmas tree isn’t up just to celebrate the birth of Jesus.

Partly because my husband is Jewish and there are a few atheists and a lot of agnostics in my extended family.

It’s up to celebrate all the messy, magical parts of life, where the light, or Light, sneaked in during the darkness.

I absolutely love Christmas and make no apologies for it. We decorate the day after Thanksgiving and leave the lights of the tree on all day every day until the new year.

The most holy moment for me is on Christmas Eve when everyone else is sleeping and the house is silent. I turn off all the lights except the tree and sit for an hour in the stillness. Those lights ooze into my being with love and joy and that Peace that surpasses all understanding.

Our tree isn’t fancy. Well, parts of it are. Like the stunning Waterford crystal ornaments – a stocking, a heart, shamrock, cross, star -- my brother-in-law Gary picks out for us every year.

That tree may look artificial, but it’s alive for us. It holds the history of our family on every branch.

Every ornament tells a story, one that gives us pause to savor a Kodak moment. Each ornament marks a special place on the timeline of our lives, marking a year that gave us awe or awful or a bit of both.

That Styrofoam bell with the pipe cleaner hook and that plastic white lamb with the broken legs? Someone always asks if we should toss them. No way. Those were on my gramma’s tree. She was pure love. Gramma was the first person to offer me unconditional love. She died when I was 19 but comes alive every year on that tree.

My daughter’s handiwork fills the tree from every age of her childhood. The pasta she spray painted gold and glued to a cardboard circle is the most beautiful wreath. I can still feel her tiny hands when I squeeze those first mittens she wore with no thumbs.

I treasure the baby Jesus she drew on cloth and glued to an empty roll of Duct tape. My dad would love it. He was the King of Duct tape. It held together his winter coat, parts of our station wagon and every broken toy.

My daughter is now 46 and rolls her eyes at that baby Jesus. He looks like a Zombie baby with those big eyes, bald head and weirdly shaped limbs poking out.

This year it hangs next to the Ohio University ornament from her college days. O.U. Oh, yeah! It brings back one of the most precious days in my life, that awful day I had to call her at college to tell her I had breast cancer. She was only 19.

That day, her awesome college roommates drove 4 hours to bring her home to surprise me. I still cry thinking about that moment I heard them come in the front door to comfort me. They are still her best friends, all these years later.

Winnie the Pooh ornaments remind me of the hope chest I filled the year I had cancer. I filled that wooden box with Pooh gifts for grandchildren I hoped and prayed I’d live to see one day. Nearby that little bear hangs the artwork Asher, Ainsley and River created for me.

The Black angel with the word JOY went up the year Barack Obama became president. The purple Disney bracelet I wore riding It’s A Small World with the grandkids makes me smile. The red and white ribbon a woman in Poland gave me at a book signing brings me back to every precious person I hugged there.

My mom is alive in every angel, star and bell she crocheted. My dad, too, in those carved wooden work boots my sister bought me. They look like the boots Dad wore climbing ladders to repair roofs and hang spouting.

And there’s that damn Christmas pickle the grandkids hide every year. It deserves its own essay and is actually a chapter in my new book Little Detours and Spiritual Adventures. It’s called, The magic is tucked right there in the mess.

That angel on the top? My mom bought it for me four decades ago. She got her wings eight years ago but her love still shines bright at the top.

When people ask, Do you have a live tree? I smile and say, You bet we do.

Alive with more love than all our hearts can hold.