When I was a little girl, my family had several traditions that signified Christmas was coming. One was our annual trip to the big city of Knoxville, where we would go see a church choir perform the Living Christmas Tree. Men and women wearing red and green robes stood in a tiered choir loft built especially for the occasion. Afterward, we would go to the Hyatt Regency to see the poinsettia tree standing several stories high in its spacious lobby. While we were there, my parents would let my sister and me ride the glass elevator to the top floor. We would get a birds-eye view of the tree and watch as our parents grew smaller and smaller.
Another tradition was assembling our tree, which was likely purchased from Sears Department Store. First, we would anchor a long, notched pole in the tree stand, and then we would organize the branches according to the colors the tips were painted. The red-tipped branches were inserted into the bottom of the pole, then the blue, and finally the white. When our work was done, we had a proud pine tree standing in the middle of our living room. After we strung it with lights, wrapped it in tinsel, and bedecked it with ornaments, it looked like a real tree (even though it never smelled like one).
Finally, we would put our nativity under the tree. I would place the wooden stable on the tree skirt, and then I would gently unpack the figurines and study each one closely. My mother had made them in a ceramics class a decade before, and she had painted them too. I loved the sky blue of Mary’s cloak, wrapped around her as she kneeled; the green stripe on Joseph’s cloak, who stood tall yet gazed down; the gold, silver, and bronze accents on the wise men’s crowns and gifts; the shepherds in their monotone tunics; and the goldenrod hay in the cradle holding baby Jesus.
I would thoughtfully position each character in the stable, and then I would lie down and carefully slide under the tree. I loved the feeling of being immersed in the twinkling lights and being face-to-face with the nativity. Even then, I knew the stories were true. I knew them by heart…literally. The children in my church were challenged to memorize Luke 2:1-14, and I had memorized it word-for-word, King James Version no less:
“And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.”
The words would repeat in my head as I looked at the loving face of Mary, the solemn face of Joseph, and the reverent faces of the wise men and shepherds. I, too, felt loving, solemn, and reverent as I gazed at the nativity and thought of Jesus—the Son of the Most High, the promised Messiah, the Savior of the World. I didn’t know what these names all meant, yet in my young heart, I knew they meant everything.
Many nights I felt drawn back to the nativity. I would turn off all the lights except for the Christmas tree lights, and then I would slide under the branches, face-to-face with Mary, Joseph, and Jesus. In the warm glow of the lights, peace and contentment settled over me. I felt welcome, like everyone else who had gathered around the manger.
Today that same nativity lays tucked underneath my mother’s Christmas tree. Miraculously, all of the figurines are still present and only one has suffered the wear of more than 50 years: the donkey, with his broken ear.
Oftentimes, it feels like the only figure who isn’t accounted for is that precious young girl.
As Christmas draws near, I find myself vacillating between frenzied busyness and full-blown exhaustion. I long for a break more than I long for Christmas. The irony is that in the midst of my weariness, I cannot sleep. I toss and turn until I finally give up and move to the couch. I lie there, gazing at the darkened shape of our Christmas tree. In the quiet, I hear a voice whisper, “turn on the lights.” I do so, and in the glow of the twinkling lights, I see the shadow of the little girl. She beckons me to approach the nativity, to remember the stories, and to rest there once again.
Weekly Editor
A lover of story, Susan Tucker has always been captivated by beautiful writing. She is drawn to themes of tension, joy/grief, hope/loss, freedom/shame, which she explores in her own writing. Susan spends her days teaching middle school English, mothering her two teenage sons, and loving her husband of 25 years. She cherishes her first cup of coffee each morning, moments of quiet and solitude, restorative yoga, worship music, and faithful friends.nbsp
We have similar backgrounds and feelings, though my nativity was a coconut shell stable and plaster figures made by my grandmother. I don’t know if any survived. The faces chipped off of some. Baby Jesus was my favorite. Your words invite me to look for my girl – the one who strung colored Christmas lights around her bedroom window.
And I think my parents sang or performed in a Living Christmas tree. I know for certain my church had one. Wow. Thank you for the memories and the paths to explore. For permission to be kind in a hard season for me. Every blessing to you this Christmas, Dear One!
Blessings to you too Julie! I’m grateful my memories opened the doorway for you to reminiscence and hopefully rediscover your own Christmas moments of awe, wonder, and delight. May they provide comfort and joy this Christmas!
I love this piece, thank you for the reminder that in the midst of taking care of everybody else, we need to find for ourselves the joy that is given us by God and the peace and rest offered by Christ. How lovely that this piece appears on the Solstice – the day of retreat and darkness, before the return of light.. May all the blessings of the season abound for you!
Thank you, Claudia, for pointing out the timing of this post. If not, I would have missed the connection to the Winter Solstice. Peace and rest to you, and much joy this Christmas!
This could not be any lovelier to my little-girl-heart this morning, Susan. Your words led me right there with you under the tree marveling at the thrill of Hope contained in the manger aglow from the lights. Oh.so.sweet! Bless you for recreating this timeless and timely moment for me.
I’m so glad my words touched your precious young heart, which I imagine filled with curiosity, wonder, and awe as you approach the manger. May you feel an ever-increasing sense of “marveling” as Christmas draws ever nearer. Rejoice, rejoice! Merry Christmas Melanye!
What a beautiful story! I love how you allowed the Christmas tree to cocoon you as you gazed at the nativity lit only by the tree lights. A lovely, cozy, comforting picture. The line that struck me near the end where you wrote, “I long for a break more than I long for Christmas.” I wonder how many people feel that way as Christmas draws near?! I pray that each of us finds our “stable” to return to this season where we can gaze quietly at the Christ child and allow him to calm the frenzy in each of our hearts. Blessed Christmas to you and yours, Susan.
Thank you Barbara; it was a blessed Christmas indeed. I love your prayer for us to find our “stable” to return to during the Christmas season and the idea that we each have something that anchors and orients us to the holy night of Christ’s birth and the Christ child himself. Thank you for your response, and happy new year!
Dear Susan, How sweetly your words brought us all into your story. Thank you so much for sharing the lovely images of your rest, sheltered by the warm glow of the tree and the nativity beneath, Good for you heeding the call to that same rest at this time of your life as well. Jesus so sweetly calls us to spend time with Him. May we remember to do it more and more often whenever we feel the stress and pressure of lives that wander away from that which is really most important. Jesus! He’s always waiting for me, I find.
Love you and your sweet words. Laura
Thank you Laura for your immensely kind and encouraging response. You’ve given me a glimpse of the sweet intimacy you share with Jesus, and It’s beautiful. Thank you. I embrace your words at the start of this new year: “Jesus so sweetly calls us to spend time with Him. May we remember to do it more and more often…” Yes! May I remember…. Happy new year to you, Laura.
Susan! Beautiful Susan! This writing so captures both the joy and the hope of all things remembered and all things yet to be! Your words, ” I didn’t know what these names all meant, yet in my young heart, I knew they meant everything,” stirred my heart deeply this morning,( because, yes, it was your words that I read before I climbed out of bed on this winter solstice morning.) Learning the power of names and believing that they hold all I need to know – for it is in naming that I both know and am known! Coming to know the beauty of all the ways Jesus is named in my day, in my now, and in my past. The absolute GLORY of hanging out under the tree with you as we stare at the faces of the nativity — face-to-face with Jesus, Mary, and Joseph in the NOW, engulfed in peace and contentment! Yes, I too, share a love of the lights, the space beneath a glorified tree, the holiness of naming being welcomed into the reverence of solitude. And in the preciousness of this sharing: hearing MY name called again, hearing that there is truly space for me, there is room for all that my past holds. Your words are holy. I am blessed. My thank you feels so small next to this gift – but it is what I bring and what I offer. Thank you <3
Oh Margaret, I love that you joined me in this sacred place–the manger under the tree–and encountered your precious name being called by dearest Jesus. I love how you identify in your comment how Jesus himself is named in a myriad of ways in your life, both now and then. May we have eyes to see and and a heart to know these moments for the holy encounters and epiphanies that they are. Happy new year, friend! I’ll see you very soon.
I am so grateful you are finding the shadow of that little girl. I resonate with your words today.
Me too. I’m so grateful for the moments she shows up and invites me to creativity, play, laughter, or rest, and I’m thankful I’m learning to recognize her and respond. Happy new year to you! I think you’re beginning your year in the Pacific Northwest, which I believe is either a first or the first in a long time. I pray that the newness and unknown coax you to anticipate stunning beauty, adventure, and glory in the coming year. All the best to you!