Oh, Christmas Tree!

I love the Christmas season. The thought of my Lord coming to earth as a babe and offering His life a ransom for mankind gives me tingles up my spine and tears in my eyes. I can hardly wrap my brain around that kind of love.

So, it is with great enthusiasm I decorate my home. This year we put up our Christmas tree a little bit earlier than usual. My nineteen-year-old daughter Liz volunteered to help me find the perfect tree. We struck out early Friday morning and were disappointed to find the tree lot we usually go to was empty. Oh, well. There was another north of town we could look. Empty, too. I began to wonder if we were too early when we saw a car in the parking lot of Lowe’s with a tree strapped to the roof. We pulled into the lot and were delighted to find a sign advertising fresh trees.

As we walked into the garden center something magical happened. Both of us were immediately drawn to the same tree. The color was beautiful, the needles soft and pliable, it was full without being too broad at the bottom, and it smelled heavenly. I think it was even spotlighted by sunshine from an overhead skylight.

Oh, I guess I should tell you the last words my husband said when we left the house were, “Don’t get carried away.” With this in mind, we decided I would hold up the tree and Liz would make sure it was right for us. I pulled the tree into the aisle and Liz walked about ten feet away to get a good perspective. She clasped her hands to her chest and with a smile illuminating her face, exclaimed, “It’s perfect!” I asked her if it was too tall. “Oh, no. It’s perfect.” Yeah, I thought so too.

The attendant put the tree in plastic netting and strapped that baby to the roof of the car. When we arrived home the rest of the family came out to help us carry it in. We were so excited we almost didn’t notice their jaws just about hitting the ground.
“What were you thinking?”
“Huh?”
“That tree’s huge!”
“Really? I held it up to me, and Liz said it was perfect.”

Out of nowhere it seemed someone came out with a tape measure. 9 ½ feet—yikes. Did I mention I’m 5’4”? Thank God for volume ceilings and nine foot ladders.

My practically perfect daughter and our perfect Christmas tree

Almost a Criminal

This morning I was stopped before I committed a crime. A crime against fashion.

Just as I was about to walk out the door, my daughter looked at me and asked, “Uh, are you going out in that?”

Hmmm. Well, there I stood—car keys in hand, purse slung over my shoulder. “Yes, and I’m late for work.”

My other daughter stood, looked at me, and raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

Yikes! “Do you think I should change?”

Their laughter led me to believe that a potato sack would be better than what I was wearing. I went back to my closet and came out stylishly understated, the way I usually look.

Thank God for people who love me enough to be brutally honest. Actually, I’m the lady who goes up to a stranger to tell her the “size 12” label is still stuck to the leg of her new jeans.

Wouldn’t the world be a better (or more interesting) place if we all tried to stop people before they continued with their foolish choices?

Here’s to hoping that you have someone in your life who loves you enough to say, “Uh, that nose hair could use a little trimming.”

Pop Culture

Who says you can’t learn anything from pop culture? Tuesday night I went to the Paul McCartney concert and was taught a new word. Peradventure. It means perhaps or possibly. It's actually an archaic word that he's put into one of his new songs. To help define the word, he used it in a sentence as it pertains to an old song of his, "Peradventure I'm Amazed." Somehow that doesn't have the same ring as "Maybe I'm Amazed." Still, it thrills me when people play with words. Okay, call me weird.