As I unpacked the boxes of baubles that I've been collecting for at least 40 of my 50 years, I had opportunity to wander down memory lane. There was the set of frosted angels that my Dad bought for me during a trip to Frankenmuth, MI back in my pre-teen days. There was a hand-crafted, red ceramic pretty with my oldest nephew's picture on it, dating back 35 years. Nestled in the tissue paper were the three country mice that my sister stitched for me. I gently unpacked the shimmering swirly hand-blown glass balls that my nanny family gave me. With gentle respect and a bit of sadness, I hung the glass heart that John gave me for our first Christmas together. There are a few ornaments dating back to before I was born that my Aunt gave me along with ornaments that friends have given me over the years. Scattered amongst all of them are frosted silver balls that Steve has added to the collection.
As I looked at the completed tree and watched all the pretties dance and sparkle in the lights, I realized that I was looking at much more than pretties dancing and sparkling in the lights. What came shining through was the love that was given with each of those ornaments, and the light that was brought to my life by the givers.
That is my Christmas. This is what I hold sacred about the holiday... the love that's been shown me.
It's such a nice american custom to give ornaments. Your post clearly shows why it is a good habit: it makes us think back on the love we got...
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