The Tree and Me
Somewhere in this 40 acres of trees is the right one. Somewhere there is a tree that will call out to us, “take me!” (well, not literally, but we will know). Last Friday was our annual find and cut a Christmas tree excursion. It was a good day for tree hunting, which is to say that it was December in Seattle and nothing wet was falling from the sky. Tree buying used to be easier and far less interesting: Find a local tree seller, pick something reasonably green and reasonably fresh (a tree, not a person), and take it home. A couple of years ago we started a new tradition by cutting our own from a 40 acre tree farm on the top of an Issaquah hill. It’s a good tradition, but you don’t want to know how many trees will fit in 40 acres.
It didn’t take us too long to find the perfect tree. It was a grand fir, the right height, attractive from every side, and pruned to a perfect shape. But it wasn’t calling loud enough. We noted its location and kept looking. Then we heard it; more accurately, Suzanne heard it first. It was a Fraser fir calling out to us. And it needed to be cut. It was encroaching on two adjacent baby frasers whose healthy growth would be threatened if it were not removed.
The tree farmer had put it on sale; marked for destruction, one way or another it had to go. It seemed a bit less than perfect - untrimmed, rough edges, lumpy, but with character - sort of like me. And so we left the perfect grand fir standing and chose the fraser.
Tonight Suzanne is decorating the tree. No longer for sale, it is ours, it is beautiful (and becoming more so), and we are glad. It stands in our living room as a silent reminder of the miraculous grace of Christmas. I am less than perfect; I was marked for destruction; and God, who had his choice, chose me.
It didn’t take us too long to find the perfect tree. It was a grand fir, the right height, attractive from every side, and pruned to a perfect shape. But it wasn’t calling loud enough. We noted its location and kept looking. Then we heard it; more accurately, Suzanne heard it first. It was a Fraser fir calling out to us. And it needed to be cut. It was encroaching on two adjacent baby frasers whose healthy growth would be threatened if it were not removed.
Tonight Suzanne is decorating the tree. No longer for sale, it is ours, it is beautiful (and becoming more so), and we are glad. It stands in our living room as a silent reminder of the miraculous grace of Christmas. I am less than perfect; I was marked for destruction; and God, who had his choice, chose me.
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