We entered one shop after another, each one more festively
decorated than the one before it.
December had just begun and already our voices were overcome by the
refrains of all the usual Christmas melodies.
I began to think there was a conspiracy to singe the message that “it’s
the most wonderful time of the year” into the convoluted pathways of my brain. There seemed to be a conspiracy to convince
me that the words to the songs are true; to make me believe that nothing can go
wrong during this marvelous, glittering season. I would love to believe that December and the
Christmas holidays will somehow shield me and those I love from sickness, death
and all things painful, large and small. But somehow, I’m just not buying it this year.
More than ever I feel vulnerable; I don’t
feel especially protected by this “special, magical” time of year. Maybe it’s the horrors of random shootings; maybe
it’s my age and the all too frequent funerals I seem to be attending lately. Whatever
it is, I react to the message as I would to a bold lie. I find it insulting and demeaning.
Then I walk out into the street and see the tree. It is at the very end of a long, narrow wooden
pier, jutting out into the angry lake.
It is late in the day and the sky is prematurely darkened by the ominous
clouds blowing furiously this way and that. It is a somber scene yet strangely I am pulled
right towards it. In spite of the cold,
powerful wind, I walk quickly across the boards. through the chilly mist. I am looking down into the black, white caped
waves on either side of me as my steps hasten and I realize I am almost running
through the chilly mist. Finally, I am pleased
to be standing directly in front of this tree that is speaking so clearly to my
heart. It contains no fancy ornaments, and
it is simple but not perfect. The meager
scattering of white bulbs with one larger white bulb at the top is just what I
want it to be. Somehow, it gives me solace
and I can’t really explain why. I think
about my reaction and consider why I am reacting so strongly. Maybe this scene represented truth to
me. The truth that people I knew and
loved got sick and even died right smack in the midst of this “most wonderful
time of the year”. The truths that
people still get tired and stressed and feel sad. The fact that there is no holiday break to war
and violence and terror. And, the realities
that people are still hungry and thirsty and lack the basic necessities. This lone tree says to me I don’t have to
pretend that all is jolly and bright. It
tells me that life is not perfect, and truth continues in spite of the dazzling
lights and intense excitement that jitters my nerves and rattles my soul. I like the simplicity of this tree, I like
the truth it expresses, and I like the fact – even though it is a bit weird and
maybe a bit depressing in and of itself - that I am old enough to acknowledge and
be at peace with some of the darkness in December.
