The smell of a fresh Christmas tree hangs in the air. Ornaments are hung, the tree skirt situated. The village is lit. Our youngest sets out the nativity scene less one camel this year because the years of storing have caused him to crack.
December creeps in on a Saturday and I quietly hang crystal ornaments from the window, put the greenery over the table and get the Jesse Tree ready.
The thanksgiving tree still sits on the kitchen bar. I am reluctant to take it down. The final touches are made and I need to do something with this tree.
Pouring beans in the soup pot I think of what I should do with it...take it a part, put it on the burn pile because it is just twigs and paper. Nothing feels right. Water washes over beans for the soaking and still I delay. As I turn and begin to take apart twigs and glass, something in me shifts...and so I put the twigs back in the glass and look around.
The thanksgiving tree sits by our Jesse Tree now because who can recount God's plan...from the birth of a world to the birth of a Savior without giving thanks.
Not Mary...she couldn't contain the thanks when she visited Elizabeth.
Not angels on high as they informed the shepherds of Christ's birth.
Like them I cannot move through this season without a heart filled with gratitude. "For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder; and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace."--Isaiah 9:6
