My Hideous Tree-Topper and Why I Won't Change It
(Motivation Monday #7)
We have an ugly star atop our Christmas tree.
Six months after we were married, my wife and I drove to the local tree lot, bundled up and listening to carols on the radio. (We hadn’t discovered the fun of cutting wild trees yet.)
After learning that the tree lot owners don’t haggle like they do in “A Christmas Story”, I paid a small fortune, dropped the back seats in my inherited Ford Probe, and shoved the tree inside for the ride home. Why didn’t we tie it to the roof? I don’t remember. But I distinctly recall driving with the top of a tree crowding into the front seat between us.
My wife already had lights and a few ornaments, but to commemorate our first Christmas together, we each picked out an ornament at the only store we knew had a large selection: World Markets.
After setting up the tree in our tiny seminary apartment, we realized we had forgotten one thing. We had no star or angel to finish it. And as you probably know, the topper is a key part to what makes it a Christmas tree, since it represents the star that marked Christ’s birth. Or, in the case of angel toppers, the angels who announced his coming to the shepherds.
We couldn’t afford to spend any more on decorations. Like the inns in Bethlehem, there was “no room” in the budget.
Just as we were about to settle on having no tree-topper that first year, my wife pulled something from her humble box of holiday flair.
“I have this,” she said. It was an antique gold-colored, star-shaped1[1] wire basket that had once held favors for a dinner party. A couple shiny plastic baubles clung to the twisted wire as it wove a meandering pattern across its frame. She might have been trying to be funny.
“That might work,” I said as my mind went into MacGyver mode.
I balled up some metallic tissue paper and poked a few lights into the basket through the wire. Then I grabbed a twist-tie from the kitchen and secured it to the top of the tree.
It wasn’t pretty. But it was a star. And we enjoyed our first Christmas, happy to have it.
We no longer live in tiny, subsidized seminary housing. We’ve been blessed with a home we love.
But we still use that star every Christmas.
The baubles broke off long ago, and we pulled the lights after they failed. Behind the foil wrapping tissue, twist-ties still secure it to the wild tree beside our fireplace.
It persists as a reminder. Our family started in a small and humble place—so did our Savior. We have done our best with the gifts we have received, but there is never a guarantee of material success. Whatever we have gained in this world does not determine our worth or our true purpose.
We’ve added ornaments each year that tell their own stories. As we’ve traveled, had special occasions, or visited with friends and family, we’ve looked for ornaments to commemorate those things. When we decorate the tree in December, each ornament brings back the story of a trip, a milestone, or the people we were with. It’s an annual monument to help us count our blessings. The new ornaments help tell our story and pass it down to our kids.
But the star humbles me. That star recalls our start each year and helps me remember that any gain is a gift. I never want pride to steal that joy from me.
It may not be chic, but it’s meaningful.
So, I’ll keep my ugly star.
Do you have any mementos or traditions to remind yourself of where you’ve come from or what God’s done for you? Let me know with a reply, or in the comments.
Updates:
This weekend, I had a blast recording the video for the Kickstarter campaign for my upcoming children’s book. We tried to keep it cheesy, and I think we succeeded. I can’t wait till the video editor gets it finished so I can share it.
If you’re curious about a series that promotes virtues for kids through fun, adventurous stories, then please sign up here to be notified when the Kickstarter is ready. We’re aiming for the campaign launch after the holiday rush.
It’s a collaborative project with my daughter, so we’re using a pen name. She can’t wait to see it become real. I hope you’ll join the campaign and help spread the virtues that created (and can restore) our culture.
I’ll be posting more updates under my articles as the book and campaign take shape.
In addition to Imago Dad, Brandon Wilborn writes fantasy with spiritual themes. His current project is a series for young readers about a dog with an imagination that highlights the classic virtues of our Judeo-Christian heritage. But he’s already got a couple of fantasy books and stories available at BrandonWilborn.com
Technically, the symbol is called a mullet from heraldry. I only know this because of an English cathedral docent who made sure we American students knew that our flag wasn’t the Stars and Stripes, but mullets and bars from the Washington coat of arms. He mentioned it often, and I’m still not sure whether it was from admiration or a grudge.
The beauty of meaningfulness beats aesthetic beauty, every time.