An Artificial Christmas

We put up our tree yesterday. I know that seems early, but I love Christmas so I don’t mind starting early. Besides, it’s an artificial tree so we don’t have to worry about the needles falling off.

We used to get real trees up until that fateful Christmas when Jeff said no more. The events that led up to that decision are not pleasant to recall, but they sure make for a great story (to those who weren’t there). I wrote about it in an article printed in the December 2003 issue of Forward in Christ magazine. I reprint it here to both entertain and warn you of the dangers of “An Artificial Christmas.”

I’ve always thought of myself as a real person, down to earth, what you see is what you get. I’m definitely turned off by artificiality. No silk flowers or plastic fruit for me. And I would never have considered putting up an artificial Christmas tree – at least not until five years ago.

What happened that December is not something I’m proud of. What should have been a simple trip to pick up the Christmas tree turned into a much-needed reality check.

It all began in August 1998 when my husband, our four kids, and I moved from a run-down starter home to a large modern home on the other side of town.

As we proudly showed off our new house, the question often came up: “Where are you going to put your Christmas tree?”

The previous owners, who happened to be close friends of ours, had the most awesome Christmas trees. Each year a specially ordered 10-foot fir was delivered to their home. It was so tall it had to be anchored with fishing line from the second story balcony.

“I’m thinking of putting ours there,” I’d reply, pointing to the other side of the room. “In front of the window.”

Yes. I had thought about it. I had thought about it a lot. We would get a Scotch Pine, not a spindly fir, a true green tree. We’d fill it with colored lights and put it right up to the window for all the neighbors to see. It wouldn’t be just like our friends’ old Christmas tree. It would be better!

Finally, December arrived. I chose a warm and sunny Saturday for the task. My husband, being the neat freak he is, insisted I bring along some old blankets to lay in the back of the van. He also helped me remove the back seat, before warning the kids one last time not to step in any mud puddles.

The trip to our local tree farm was as pleasant as always. We sang Christmas carols and enjoyed the scenery as we drove along. As soon as we stepped out of the van we were greeted by the unmistakable smell of pine. “Come on, kids!” I called. “Let’s go pick a tree.”

I must have looked at every tree they had, both in the warehouse and out in the fields, before I found the one I wanted. It was an eight-foot Scotch pine, perfectly shaped, and fuller than any other Christmas tree I had ever seen. It stood out in the middle of a field of pines, where it had grown year after year, just waiting for me to come along and call it my own. I knelt down on the soggy ground and began sawing with great enthusiasm.

That lasted about one minute.

It wasn’t until I had already cut into the bark that I noticed the incredible width of the trunk. This was going to take a while.

Meanwhile, the kids wandered here and there, their shoes getting more and more caked with mud. When my oldest boy asked if he could give it a try, I was only too happy to take a break. As I watched my son struggle with the chore, I realized it was time to seek help. I went to the office and returned with a large man carrying a heavy chain saw. Now we’d get moving!

One yank on the starter chain and a swipe later, my beautiful tree fell to the ground. “Don’t let it get muddy,” I cried, picturing my husband’s face when he saw what I intended to bring into our living room.

I’m not sure how the enormous tree and my four kids all fit into the van, but they did. As we made our way home I tried to focus on the positive. “Didn’t we get a nice tree?” I said cheerfully.

“I’m smooshed,” my daughter whined.

“We’ll be home in five minutes,” I told her, but I was feeling a little uncomfortable myself. I couldn’t help but wonder what my husband would say when we got home. I soon found out.

He took one look at our mud-caked shoes, another at the soiled interior of the van, and announced, “We’re not putting up that tree until I get this mess cleaned up.”

For the next five hours my husband only glared at me, as he scrubbed every inch of our vehicle with frightening resolve. It was dark before he got out the tree stand and called me to the garage.

By this time I had gone through every emotion, from frustration to anger to shame. I comforted myself with the belief that once he saw that beautiful tree standing in the front window he would appreciate, or at least tolerate, all the fuss and bother I had caused.

My husband took the tree by the limbs and told me to grab the trunk. I couldn’t believe the size of it. Together we lugged the monster around to the front door. Then the worst thing happened. We lifted the tree up the front steps into the doorway, where it became jammed. It didn’t fit.

I was about to cry. My husband grabbed the top of the tree and yanked it back outside. Needles flew everywhere. A minute later I heard the anguished sound of a saw coming from the garage. There went my beautiful Christmas tree.

It took several trimmings before the tree was small enough to get through the door and the trunk was small enough to fit into our tree stand. At least half of the tree ended up on the garage floor.

That evening as I hung the lights on our pretty four-and-a-half foot tree I realized how artificial I had been. I didn’t pick this tree to celebrate our Savior’s birth. I picked it to show off. I wanted to impress our friends and neighbors with the perfect Christmas tree.

But, the real truth is, it was our imperfection that caused God the Father to send us his Son. It is his perfection I should have been focusing on: the perfect love God displayed in giving us his Son to be our Savior from sin.

The following year we decided to buy an artificial tree. It has the words “Made in China” on the box. Assembly is quite simple. It involves matching the color-coded branches to their appropriate slots.

It has taken me a while, but I can honestly say I love our funny-looking plastic tree. It’s not much of a status symbol, but it never should have been in the first place. I now see our Christmas tree as both a reminder of the dangers of artificiality and also as a symbol of God’s love: perfect, beautiful, and totally real.

Happy decorating!

Halloween - Trick or Treat?

Halloween is only two weeks away. Did you buy your candy yet? I haven't, and I probably won't. Where we live now, we don’t really get any trick-or-treaters. That wasn’t the case a few years back. We used to live in a neighborhood that got all sorts of traffic on Halloween night. In those days, I put a lot of thought into figuring out what treats to pass out. I even wrote an article on the subject, which appeared in the October 2003 edition of Forward in Christ magazine. In case you missed it, I’ve reprinted it here:

Halloween – Trick or Treat for the Christian Parent

I used to love Halloween when I was a kid.

I grew up on a farm in rural Minnesota with my six older brothers and sisters. Halloween was a big event back then. It began early in October when we brought down the costume boxes from the storeroom. The seven of us would try the costumes on and decide who would go as what. I’ll never forget the year I went as a butterfly. You can just imagine the trouble I had getting in and out of the car with my huge cardboard wings strapped to my back and the wire antennae tied to my head.

But my fondest memory of Halloween is the candy. Even though we only went to a handful of houses back then, I can remember the excitement of coming home and emptying my bag onto the floor. What a thrill! Halloween was the best.

Now that I’m a mom, my view of Halloween is quite different.

Like most moms, I tend to worry. I worry about the kids going out after dark. I worry about pins in candy bars and pranks done by teens out for a good time.

Most of all, as a Christian mom, I wonder if it’s even right for our family to celebrate this “holiday.” When you think about it, Halloween is probably the most non-Christian day of the year. From what historians tell us, the celebration of Halloween began with the ancient Druids, who lit fires on the eve of All Saints’ Day to ward off the evil spirits called forth by Saman, the lord of the dead. This fear of returning spirits continued through the ages, and so it is that dressing up as ghosts and witches is a common Halloween custom today.

It may be common, but does that make it right? I say no. My kids don’t agree. “Nobody gets any of that stuff, Mom,” they tell me. “It’s just fun.”

I know they’re right, because I was just like them once. I loved Halloween just as much as they do.

For years I wondered how I could make our family’s observance of Oct. 31 into something that didn’t plague my conscience with guilt. My first idea was to omit the door-to-door begging for treats with some sort of party at our church – a Reformation Party or a Harvest Party perhaps. I ran this idea by several people, and at first they seemed to like the idea. But when they realized I wanted to hold this party on Halloween night, the response was mixed. “Do you think anyone will come if we do it on Halloween? They’ll all be out trick-or-treating.”

I tried to tell them that that was the whole idea – to replace our traditional customs with newer, more God-pleasing customs. I soon realized these nay-sayers were probably right. In the words of the old proverb, “You can’t fight tradition.”

But another proverb says, “If you can’t beat them, join them.” After giving the whole issue more thought, I finally came up with a way that I could celebrate Halloween without sacrificing my beliefs. I knew Halloween night would bring scores of little ones in search of treats. What better treat to give them than the gospel message!

The first year I made a little seek-and-find on the computer, with a short Bible passage on the side. I rolled up the puzzles and wrapped them around crayons, playfully tying each one with a colorful piece of yarn. Suddenly, Halloween was fun again.

Now I get excited each year coming up with new ideas for my treat bags. In doing so I’ve discovered lots of ways to take the traditions of Halloween and use them to spread the good news. The pumpkin picked from the field, cleaned, and carved with a smile, can represent the Christian’s life of being chosen by our Lord, cleaned from sin, and left with a smile of peace and forgiveness. The practice of going door to door in search of free treats can be used to symbolize the door to heaven, always open, always free, and always good. I’ve finally learned how to celebrate Halloween with joy and thanksgiving.

So many times in life we see how God can take something negative and turn it into a positive. For me Halloween is an example of this too. I used to think of Halloween as an unavoidable evil. I now see it as an opportunity to spread the good news. Any opportunity to do that is worth celebrating.