The Ornaments Story {2013}

This year the ornaments have moved a foot up the tree.

“Don’t get a puppy around the holidays.” Looking at our tree you would know we threw that advice out the window this Thanksgiving.

And so this puppy’s presence has my uncle’s ceramic angel tightly sharing a branch with a glittery golden ball. My son’s Curious George ornament nestled in with a symbolic nail from my husband’s church.

The absence of ornaments on those lower branches, telling another chapter in the story of our life. Of decisions. Of life’s turns.

Rather than their own space, the ornaments crowd. Some years less breathing room than others.

The bareness at the bottom reminding me of the year our son came home from Guatemala. That year too, a sacrifice of the “perfectly decorated tree” for a truer beauty. A ten month old. Our ten month old son. An enjoyment of every moment of preparation. Seeing glory in needing to baby proof.

I smile at Purdue Pete. My husband’s alma mater. Each year this Indiana University girl moves him to the back of the tree. Each year he reappears front and center. I move him back. The next morning he is closer to the top, out of my reach. And so we go on for the month of December. I savor this playfulness, this enjoyment of our marriage.

My eyes look to and fro. Letting the memories flood.

Two snowmen, sitting on a bench. Our first Christmas it says. I try to remember back to it. Wondering about our hopes and dreams. Placed on our tree in anticipation and delight.

My dad’s picture in a silver frame. His joyful spirit present with us. Missing him. The one from whom I learned about remembering stories. The ones that ornaments tell. Packed away for a year. Eager to emerge and speak.

Remembering the year Rob and I were just engaged. Rob dropped and broke an ornament. My dad told him it was a precious heirloom. It wasn’t. His legacy of living each minute of life goes on.

Seven years it took for the ‘baby’s first Christmas’ ornament to appear. Waiting. Hoping. Preparing. For so long. Advent reminding us each year of our longing.

I read the words etched on an ornament from dear friends living in Uganda. I remember friendships of the past. Of ones that endured. Ones that have not. And in each grateful for the gift they have been in our life.

Homemade. Store bought. Secular. Sacred. But when I look it doesn’t have those distinctions. It blurs. It is our life. Our collection of living.

Some years the tree looking balanced. Reflecting things in their place. Other years adjusted for what life has brought. The ornaments come out of hiding this time of year. Reminding us of our past, while we wait for news of a birth into the messiness.

My eyes come to rest. Gazing at the star on top. Guiding while we wait. May these vignettes into the past call me to wait well for the hope to come.

What story do your ornaments tell?

{posted December 2012. remembering again this year as we put our story on the tree.}