The Christmas season is full of magic. As long as I can remember, it’s been this way for me.
A few years ago, for our church’s Christmas newsletter, the staff was asked to share our favorite Christmas memories. I have many favorites, so it was difficult to choose a favorite. But here is one of them.
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“Almost there… just a few more… Timber!”
With great fondness I remember the yearly family adventure of cutting down a Christmas tree—hot chocolate in styrofoam on an overcast day; biting wind and thick mittens; throwing a nerf football with Dad and brothers; riding the tractor through forests of naked deciduous trees; the hunt for the perfect blue spruce or douglas fir; and, of course, taking my turn with the saw.
When I moved out for college this tradition, and the memories of it, started to fade. But the winter of my final year in school, Brooke and I became engaged and the desire to plant these memories in my own family began to grow.
At the time, I lived in a house with a vaulted living room ceiling, so naturally I theorized the only limiting factor on the size of the tree to buy was the price. With joy we conquered the perfect tree, returning to my car like victorious hunters with a trophy elk. But there was one big problem, a twelve foot problem: the tree didn’t fit in the trunk of my 4-door Altima.
In the end, it only “fit” across the back seats with the base out one window and the top two feet out the other. On the thirty minute drive home, passing cars looked at us with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.
It was a good tree, and a favorite Christmas memory.