Hark the herald angels sing,
"Glory to the new-born king."
Peace on Earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!
-- Charles Wesley, Christmas Hymn
This is our last Heartwarmer for the year. Thank you for your
wonderful patronage and loyalty. This is indeed the best online
community in the world! We love having you as a member.
Heartwarmers really does change lives.
We round out the year with a touching Christmas story called The
Memory Tree by Michael T. Smith. Do each of your tree ornaments
spark a memory for you too?
Heartwarmers will be taking two weeks off for the holidays.
We'll miss you! Next Heartwarmer in your mailbox on January 9, 2008,
"the good Lord willing, and the creeks don't rise."
We wish you the best of health and happiness. Please be safe on
the roads. And Happy New Year too!
MEMORY TREE
by Michael T. Smith
I pulled the boxes of ornaments from the closet and prepared
myself for a trip into the past. No photo album can bring back as
many memories as my box of ornaments.
Like a picture, each ornament contains a memory. There's the
box of wooden ones, handmade and painted with care. Within the
assortment is a small man on skis, a mouse on a swing, even Santa in
his sleigh.
I remember when my Georgia and I had bought them. It was our
first Christmas as a married couple. We hung them on the tree and
dreamed how our future children would love them.
I picked up a ceramic Santa. My aunt gave it to me when I was
four. He holds a tiny box in his hands. There's a tear in its
wrapper -- a tear caused by a boy who couldn't contain his curiosity.
A tiny brass bell is next. My brothers and I had fun with this
bell. We took turns hiding it in the tree. The others had to find
it. We played "Find the Bell" until mom yelled at us for shaking the
tree to make the bell ring and reveal its hiding spot. Mom knew how
much the bell meant to me. The year I had my own family, she gave me
the bell. I played the same game with my own children.
I picked up a pretty red ball. When our daughter was two, we'd
put Vanessa down for her nap and decorated while she slept. We
wanted to surprise her. When we finished, I sat back with a glass of
eggnog and waited for her to wake up. I can see her now -- running
from her room, fully charged and ready to take on the world. She was
five feet from the tree before she looked up and stopped. Her eyes
opened wide. Her jaw dropped open, as she emitted a small cry of
delight. She walked forward, raised her hand, and touched a red ball
-- the ball now held in my hand. She turned to me. Her eyes
reflected the colored lights.
"Daddy, what is it?"
"It's Christmas, Sweetie. It's Christ's birthday. We're going
to celebrate it."
Her sparkling eyes, hanging jaw, and soft skin made me hold my
arms out. She ran into them and gave me a hug that could have melted
even Scrooge's hard heart.
I picked up a cracked green ball, a veteran of the first time I
allowed my kids to decorate the tree. They hung all the balls on one
branch. When they turned for another, I quickly moved the one before
it to a better spot. I laughed when they told Grandma they decorated
all by themselves.
Near the bottom of the box, I found a brass plaque. It brought
back a special memory. It has my son's name and birth date on it.
Justin was supposed to be a New Year's Eve baby, but he decided he
wasn't going to miss Christmas. Justin was three weeks old, when we
took him to the Christmas Eve service at our church.
That night, our minister explained to us the real meaning of
Christmas. As she spoke, she wandered down the aisle and stopped
beside us. She reached down and asked, "May I?" I nodded and handed
him to her. She lifted him into her arms. She was quiet as she
walked back to face the congregation. Turning, she held my son high
and said, "This is the real meaning of Christmas. The birth of a new
life!"
She cradled my son as she spoke, but the ringing in my ears
prevented me from hearing her words. Tears glistened on my cheeks,
as she walked around the sanctuary displaying my son to those
gathered for the Christmas service. The room was empty of everyone
but her and my family.
Overtaken with emotion, I reached out and hugged Georgia and
Vanessa to my side, and thought, "This will be a Christmas to
remember."
In 2003, I pulled the ornaments out again. Justin and I were
not going to be home for Christmas that year. We were going to spend
Christmas with friends in Ohio, but I wanted Christmas to be the way
it always was. I wanted Christmas to be the way Justin remembered.
Georgia died two months earlier. Justin and I were alone in New
Jersey. Vanessa was in Ohio. It had to be the way it was before --
the perfect tree.
The ornaments -- the memories -- had new meaning that Christmas.
The memories of her death were raw, but the tree overcame them. A
tear trickled from my eye. Good things may pass, but their memories
hang on.
Last year, I hung a new ornament on our tree. It was one I got
for my new wife, Ginny. It's a penguin. She loves penguins. This
year, I have one she gave me to hang. It's a glazed ball with a
penguin dressed in an Ohio State football colors, my favorite team.
New pages have been added to my album. I hang my personal album
for all to see, sit back and relax. For several weeks, I search my
magical tree, until I find my special spot. I don't know where it
is, but I know it's there -- a spot where light shines perfectly on
one or two balls and reflects off a length of tinsel. It's perfect
in every way.
I lock my eyes on it and enjoy its beauty. I relive my life.
It's there for all to enjoy. I invite you to share it with me. Look
at the ornaments. Flip the pages. Share my life. It's my memory
tree.
-- Michael T. Smith <mtsmith at qwestonline.com
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