"Too much humbug in this house..." stated the Christmas tree

"Too much humbug in this house..." stated the Christmas tree

Tis the season to be busy, oops, I mean tired, oops, maybe the word is jolly.  And in this season of upcoming hectic-ness could it possible mean, Tis the season to feel a silent-night holy?

Next week we start decorating this year's tree, all eight feet of it. I can feel the "get 'er done" list growing. Yet I also remember the lessons of that fallen Christmas tree called Timberrr of two years ago. The one that crashed and shatter and scattered shards of light across our living-room floor. After much laughter by anyone who viewed the spectacle, I sound myself rather impartial to my list of "yet to do's". Somehow as important as it all seemed before that "right honorable mess", I understood better as Las-tzu observed, why sages see "the ten thousand things as straw dogs".

My grands, who contain a guru-like element, do not have any humbug-busyness in them. They are free to experience the glow, excitement, magic and dancing joy of the season. Yet, their grandma is not. How can I hold this sacred, Christmas space in the seemingly upcoming, umpteen-things to do?

I need to remember the lesson of a crashing tree and what that "disarray" felt like after it tickled everyone's "funny-bone" and finally, tickled mine. Looking at the shambles before me, I thought, Oh me of little insight, maybe the tree feels "this human needs to light up. Too much humbug-busyness in this house. She has forgotten the spirit of Christmas. Let's call 'Timberrrr' and down goes her hectic-self."

And indeed, down it went.  "Getting 'er done" did lie peacefully on the living floor replaced by much merriment.  The different positionings of scattered pieces of colorful ornaments caught the lights from the manger scene and were almost beautiful. Reminding me that, the mere birth of a babe in a barn with some cows still summons us from this hectic world to a different positioning -- inviting each of us to that sacred, light-filled, breath-holding place in our own mangers.

Of course, the question remains, did this human learn the lesson of the Christmas tree? Will she stop and sing a deeper song? Will I remember again that the sacredness of the season will be "found in acts of breath-taking simplicity: a simple prayer, a sip of wine,"* a kind word and an exchange of blessing.

*Wayne Muller