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The Little Christmas Tree
By Ken Horn | December 23, 2009
I wrote this for a Christmas issue about 7 years ago. All the staff shared a memory of Christmas.
We had always had a tall Christmas tree, as far back as I could remember. It had to be a Douglas fir and tall enough that, with the topper on, it would almost reach the ceiling. It could be too tall — that was OK because we could saw it down to size — but it could never be too short.
Decorating the tree was a family project and when I married, my wife, Peggy, became a willing participant. I enjoyed everything but the tinsel — I still hate to put the tinsel on.
Then one Christmas season we arrived at my parents’ house and there it stood — not the mighty Douglas fire that I expected, but a tiny, plastic, store-bought tree, one that could be hidden behind any of a number of the gifts that were supposed to go under it.
I complained some at first. But I realized that tree marked a transition. My folks were aging and my mother’s health was failing. Some things, like a large tree, just wouldn’t be priorities any more.
Even when we offered to go and get a full-sized tree, my dad held his ground. “The little tree will do,” he said.
We never had a real tree in that house again. That little tree presided over several wonderful Christmases at the end of my parents’ lives. I actually grew quite fond of it.
That was because it didn’t change Christmas. The tree was small, but Christmas stayed big. Jesus stayed at the center.
The Christmas that the little tree took the place of the big tree is not really a happy memory, but it is not a sad one either. I thank God for all those extra years he gave me with my parents, the little tree, and a big Christmas.
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