A couple times a year, I climb 30 feet up in the beautiful tree in our front yard.
I’ve got big balls. Big, chicken wire balls. Covered with lights. With extension cords.
Also, because I’m an idiot. That fact was driven home when a large gust of wind started me swaying at the top of said tree. I’ll admit that, for a second, I feared for my life as I tightly hugged a branch and closed my eyes, just waiting for the wind to die down. Even in the face of that, it was totally worth it: the tree looks beautiful at night.
See, I love Christmas. I love risking death in the tree and on the roof for the sake of pretty lights. I love the look and smell of a real, 10 foot tree in the living room. I love decorating it with my family. When my kids were younger, I even loved redecorating the tree to evenly distribute the ornaments from the two low branches on which they had hung all of theirs. I love stockings and garland. I love wreaths and Christmas music. I love Christmas cookies and egg nog. I love looking for the perfect gift and wrapping presents. I love the look on a child’s face when they open the gift. I love nativity scenes and advent calendars. I love Christmas cards and Christmas crackers. I love singing Silent Night in the candlelight of a Christmas Eve church service. And most of all, I love God-made-flesh, for us; good tidings of great joy for all the people. Continue reading