Who Needs Hallmark?

by Donna Poole

Dead is dead, right? I mean you can’t say something is so dead.

But it is. It is so dead.

The beautiful tree we bought the day after Thanksgiving 2022 and decorated with so much joy and hope stands desolate and dead in our living room. Needles scatter all over the floor, along with a few ornaments the cats have knocked down.

I look at the dead tree and at the needles slowly taking over the house and sigh. Symbolic they are. For all the plans we had for Christmas activities that never happened. Why not? Let’s just say it was this, that, and the other thing. Including influenza and Covid.

It’s past the middle of January 2023 now and we still haven’t had family Christmas. I happen to know three grandkids in Ohio ask almost every day when it’s going to happen, and I imagine the rest of our crew of fourteen grandchildren wonder the same thing. It’s now scheduled for the last Sunday of the month, Lord willing and if the creek don’t rise, and hope against hope.

But the tree is dead. No one has had the physical or emotional energy to remove its decorations. I’m going to do that as soon as I finish writing this article. Maybe. I know John will help me. I’m already hearing hundreds, thousands, millions of dead needles falling as we remove ornaments.

Okay, so I exaggerate. It’s a prerogative of authors and evangelists.

Which reminds me. Did you hear about the evangelist who went to a pastor pleading for an intervention?

“Please, help me. I’m preaching at your church Sunday, and the Lord has convicted me of sin. I have a ginormous problem with exaggeration. I’ve literally cried gallons of tears about it.”

The pastor nodded. “You do have a problem.”

“Will you sit behind me when I preach? If I exaggerate, tug on my suitcoat.”

Sunday came. The evangelist held the congregation spellbound with his persuasive personality and superb storytelling.

“I don’t usually preach in churches this small,” he said. “The last auditorium I preached in was one-thousand feet long!”

He felt a strong tug on his suit coat and cleared his throat.

“Yes, five-hundred feet long…and two feet wide.”

Well, we didn’t have a Walton Family Christmas or a Hallmark movie one either this year, but lest I exaggerate our woes we had many blessings too. Our kids’ program at church was excellent; I loved every minute. Our candlelight service, always a favorite, lived up to expectations. True, no one remembered to bring a candle, not even us, but the readings and specials captured hearts. Christmas Day here with just the four of us really was wonderful, white Christmas and all, until I got sick in the middle of it.

And there hasn’t been a day since when everyone here has felt completely well. That’s why the dead tree still stands, yet undecorated, a metaphor for shattered plans.

Life’s magical moments, its joy filled days can’t last forever. During a celebration death knocks on a door somewhere; or a doctor gives a grim diagnosis, or a heartbreak ends a relationship.

You and I, we climbed our hills with so much hope, didn’t we? The highest height was just in sight when we slipped and began a downward slide. I see a sled. Grab it my friend; hold on tight, and off you go. Let the tears freeze on your cheeks as you zig zag down. It’s quiet now, peaceful even, and the sled finds its own way through beautiful snow draped pines. You aren’t going in the direction you’d hoped, but you see beauty through those frozen tears. The sled skids sideways and stops. You’re at the bottom now. You climb off, weary and sad, and look up at where you once were. Perhaps one day you’ll have the energy to climb again, but not now. You’re too tired; the hill is too steep. Your hands are freezing; somehow, you’ve lost your mittens. You shove your hands into your pockets to warm them and feel a flicker of warmth in your heart. You know right away what it is, and you thank God you haven’t lost that. It’s hope. You glance to your left and see someone else climbing off a sled. It’s me, I haven’t lost hope either, not yet.  

Hope is why we’re decorating another tree here in the next few days.

Our daughter who lives with us discovered an artificial flocked tree at an after Christmas sale. We split the cost. It arrives today. Those decorations I’m taking off the dead tree are going on the new one. No one in this house is a big fan of artificial trees, but I think we’re going to love this one.

Are we crazy to decorate again? Maybe. But family Christmas, like life, is what you make it. And along with love, laughter, and lots of good food, we want a tree at our family Christmas. For the grandkids. Okay, for the grandma too. Trees are metaphors for lots of things. Ours has lots of lights and a spinning antique star ornament. It says yesterday. It says today. And it says maybe tomorrow.  

“Through the years we all will be together

If the Lord allows

Hang a shining star upon the highest bough

And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.” –Hannah Kerr lyrics