Our Christmas Tree - Gwen Mathieu

A week ago, my husband, grandson and I drove to our river quarter to cut down a Christmas tree. My husband thought we should use my mother’s old artificial tree but I love the smell of the freshly cut pine. Our daughter, although still in Australia, confirmed the decision earlier, stating, “A Charlie Brown tree is better than artificial.” It took less than an hour to drive there, cut and load the tree and return home.
I chuckle when I recall the time our second oldest daughter helped me cut a tree. As I drove down a hill, I spotted the perfect one sprouting out from an embankment. We parked the truck and walked across the narrow river, dragging two saws.

To cut the tree, we had to stand on a limb and stretch. Eventually, the saw made its way through but to our dismay the tree toppled over and fell about ten feet onto the frozen ice, top first, and broke.

“Should we cut a different one,” my daughter asked.

“No, I can fix it up.”

We dragged the pieces back to the truck and threw them in. On the way, my daughter looked back at the tree. “The tree is gone!”

“Oh, no! I hope no one has picked it up.” It never occurred to me, no one would want it.

We drove back, found the bruised tree lying on the gravel road, loaded it up and drove away. We had to retrieve it one more time before making it home.

After setting the tree in its stand, duct taping the top on, pruning and decorating with lights, garland, ornaments and icicles, no one was the wiser. It was a beautiful Christmas tree. And every year, I can hardly retell the event from laughing too hard.

That tree is a lot like some of us. We come broken, bruised and damaged, out of shape and ugly; but, God takes us in His loving hands, prunes and tapes our wounds and changes us into something beautiful, fit for His kingdom. GM