It had been one of THOSE holiday seasons. You know the kind...we've all had them. Bah, humbug! Nothing had gone right. I had just been fired from my job as an advertising copywriter, and was working as a temporary receptionist to try and help make ends meet. I was also very pregnant, and very scared...not only of the impending birth and the trials of parenthood, but also of what would happen to us financially when I finally quit working entirely to be a full-time mom. Money was tight, my self-esteem was at an all-time low, my legs were swollen so badly I could barely walk, and the last thing I needed (I thought) was another Christmas season. We almost didn't buy a
tree. We seriously considered doing without one that year...how could
we justify spending $40 for a tree when we weren't sure we would be
able to afford Christmas presents? Neither of us could really face the
idea of a Christmas without a tree, however, so in the end we bought
one and put it up in the foyer. By the time we had finished
fire-proofing it, trimming the lower branches and struggling to get it
to stand up straight, I was exhausted and ready to give up on the whole
thing once again. But what good is a Christmas tree without ornaments,
right? So my husband, Tony, climbed the ladder to the dusty attic and,
sneezing and grumbling under his breath, carried down my giant box of
Christmases past.
Trimming the tree was a big deal in my family when I was growing up. Each year, my sister and I got a new ornament from our parents to hang on the tree. We made them too, or bought special ones to commemorate certain events. Wood, plastic, brass, glass, acrylic, paper...our trees were always a joyous hodge podge of memories. One ornament, however, had a particular pride of place: a tiny plastic manger scene...the kind you can find in any dime store. From the time I was very small, this ornament was always hung with great ceremony as The First Ornament of Christmas. When I grew up, and had a home of my own, my mother sent it to me. Although her faith had wavered, she knew that I would never let the tradition die, and she knew that, somehow, it was still very important. The little manger scene is barely recognizable anymore. The star has lost its glitter and dear St. Joseph has lost his head. I've lost track of the number of times I've replaced the little gold string that holds it on the branch. But, drab though it may be, among the gold and brass and crystal, it's always seemed beautiful to me -- the very essence of Christmas. And so, the tradition continued...until that night, five years ago. While my husband draped the lights on the tree, I sat down on the step and started to unpack the ornaments, carefully unwrapping each one. There was the wooden rocking horse Tony got me on our first Christmas together. There was the little acrylic seagull mom and dad gave me the year I read "Jonathan Livingstone Seagull" and fell in love with the idea of flight. There was the angel I made in first grade. As the memories unfolded, however, I began to panic...where was the manger scene? I couldn't find it! How could I decorate the Christmas tree without the precious First Ornament to hang lovingly on the most prominent branch? Tony left off trying to string the lights and came over to me. He's the methodical one in the family...the one who can always find anything, if it's there to be found. One by one, he removed each ornament from the box, and set it aside. One by one, he carefully checked each tissue paper wrapping. Soon every ornament I owned was spread out on the floor...except the manger scene. It simply wasn't there. He went up and searched the attic...nothing. Sadly we concluded that it must have been accidentally thrown out with last year's tree. And whatever light there had been in that sorry Christmas season sputtered and blinked out. I lost all heart for decorating. I went into the kitchen and tried to think of something to cook for dinner, but the pages of the cookbook kept blurring. Why, this year of all years, had this had to happen? Where was the joy that had always filled this season for me? "Joy to the World"...yeah, right! I was pregnant, scared, sick and getting poorer by the minute...and now my most beloved Christmas tradition was gone! Some joy! Then, my baby moved. And, despite myself, my thoughts turned to another young mother...pregnant, poor, far from family and friends, without even a bed in which to bear her child. The young mother whose face had, for so many years, gazed out at me from the Christmas tree. The young mother who had wrapped the hope of the world in rags and laid him in the manger in Bethlehem. For her sake,
then, and for the sake of my own child, I resolved to fight against the
dying of the light. There would be joy this Christmas, I decided,
despite everything. I walked into the living room and gazed into the
ornament box. There would have to be a new tradition, I decided...a new
first ornament for my child to cherish. But which one? Which, of
all my precious memories, would best keep hope and joy alive?
Finally, after much consideration, I decided on the wooden rocking horse...symbol of the innocence of childhood, reminiscent of the hope and joy of my first Christmas with my beloved husband. Yes...he would do! I reached in and lifted him out...and there, underneath, was the manger scene. I must have cried out, because Tony came running in from the next room. "Are you OK? Is it the baby?" He found me kneeling on the floor, tears streaming down my face, clutching the precious ornament and gazing at the beautiful face of Our Lady and her Child, who is all hope and all joy. Tony was dumbfounded. "It wasn't there!" he said. "I checked...I put those in there myself...it simply wasn't there!" We stared at each other for a moment, lost in the miracle of it. Then tenderly... together...we placed the First Ornament of Christmas on the tree. And the light came flooding back, stronger and more beautiful than ever before. This year I
will pass on the tradition. My daughter is the same age I was when my
mother told me about the manger scene and what it signified. I will
place it in her hands, and tell her this story, along with the older
and greater story. And, as she reaches up to hang it on the most
prominent branch, I will whisper a prayer of hope...that the light of
Christmas, born so long ago in that manger, may ever shine in her
heart.
Copyright 1997 by Audrey E.
Nickel. All rights reserved.
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