But For the Grace of God

This is a sad Christmas for me.  My soul is simply in shreds from the effort to unattach from people and places that have meant so much to me for so long.  I considered having no Christmas tree.  Surely I could not sift through ornaments that reminded me of all the happy times now gone.  The strands of pearls, the burgundy, pink and aqua balls and the precious sentimental ornaments that are tiny works of art - many gifts from loved ones who know how much these things mean to me - the angel that tops the tree bought when I lived in Cloverdale in Montgomery when I did not have the money but needed it so as a symbol of hope.  

But I realized that to abandon the tradition of the tree would be to forego beautiful memories and reminders of things I hope I never forget...how to celebrate, how to show gratitude for the blessings of my life and how to continue to live.  The tree has always been a precious work of art for me, something to honor all that my family means to each other and a glimpse of bliss.  A tree should virtually take one's breath away.  In years past it was decorated with animal cracker boxes saved from when my niece and nephews were little, a bow from the first Auburn/Alabama game played in Auburn, little music boxes and carousels, lots of hot air balloons, candy canes, many angels...almost anything beautiful and whimsical that would fit on a tree. 

Unlike Sally in When Harry Met Sally, I did not drag home a big tree.  Instead I got a small cypress and decided to use only those ornaments that have the most meaning.  One of my dearest Christmas ornaments is a little mailbox I have had since about 1985 or '86 which reminds me of a time, many years ago, when I had lost everything in my life and was very sick.  I could only earn a living delivering newspapers.  While this experience is not on my resume, it is on my tree, and it is perhaps the one  greatest reminder of humility and God's miraculous grace that has visited my life. 

Inside the mailbox is a folded note that reads "Christmas 1999...end of the millenium and Robert Boyd Dillard is born."  My nephew.   

Funny how Christmas trees are living symbols of who we were and who we are.  This Christmas I struggle with what to pitch and what to keep.  I will keep the mailbox ornament.  It will mean more to me than it ever has, and digging around to find that memory - and remaining attached to it - is proof that I am still looking for and expecting miracles.