Our needs were simple. Don’t judge, but we paid two hundred and five dollars a month rent. What kind of bug-infested place were we talking about here? A one-bedroom ground floor apartment in Honolulu, the nicest place two newlyweds could afford. . . in 1975. Included were utilities, furnishings, and quiet atmosphere (designated as an “adults only rental.”) No insects infested our little “love nest,” although they were known for dropping in for an overnight stay if we left the front door open too long. The pure white, sweet-scented stephanotis bushes lining the walkway outside our door made a perfect garland for a new bride and the ideal haven for the largest cockroaches ever known to man (and his woman). Once, two of us stood on the lid of the toilet in our one bathroom, screeching and hurling shoes at a saddle-worthy six-legged intruder , but no, we were not in shabby accommodations. Along with a car payment, insurance, groceries and gas, our rent assured there was little left in our checking account at month’s end.
Besides performing our joint execution of the world’s largest cockroach, we were in a year of other firsts: college graduates with low-paying temporary jobs we could leave easily while we awaited Roy’s call to active military duty; first marital spats with first mornings of waking up apologizing, inaugural culinary experiments with Hamburger Helper, and first adult bills to pay without looking longingly into the eyes of a parent.
Then, it was our first Christmas. Pickings were lean. He drove midnight-shift shuttle busses between the airport and hotels. I was substitute teaching. We had barely enough cash for a tiny tabletop spruce, and nothing budgeted for ornaments. I must remove the rosy nostalgic glow of what may sound like O.Henry’s famous sweet short story “The Gift of the Magi,” about a poor couple who each made a great sacrifice to give one another a Christmas present. I knew the true meaning of giving at Christmas, but was fighting with disappointment at our options in decorating for the most important birthday of the year.
Not given to brooding, and happy to be creative with arts and crafts, I took on tree trimming as a challenge.
When I was small, my father taught me how to make an “egg tree” for Easter, creating a simple, inexpensive centerpiece. After clipping a small oak branch, we took a half-dozen or so eggs, pricked each end with a needle and picked open both small holes. The contents of the eggs were blown out into a bowl and we made scrambed eggs later. The hollow eggs were then dyed, dried, and strung with thread onto the twigs of the branch.
Why not decorate egg shells as Christmas ornaments? I painted a couple of them with model paint, and with white glue-sticky fingers, wound rainbow tinted yarn (so that I would not have to purchase different Christmas - colored wool) around one of the eggs. Besides, I thought, the rainbow was a sign of God’s promise to Noah that He would never again flood the earth. Why not incorporate sacred rainbow colors into the celebration of Jesus coming to save us all?
I’d seen “God’s-eye” votives in art from the Southwest and Mexico and wrapped several small crosses with more of the yarn for our little tree. With a couple of yards of half-inch wide green and red ribbon, I curled and glued intricate design “ornaments.” An empty gold spool would eventually became one of my husband’s most treasured ornaments. With painted green diagonal lines, and red felt glued on each end, it became a little drum for my “drummer boy.”
We splurged on one strand of colored lights and a single box of ornaments, and our tree was complete. Our attention turned to celebrating with Roy’s large extended family, mostly at their houses and we spent little time with our humble decorations.
In her Advent devotional, Come Lord Jesus, the Weight of Waiting, Kris Camealy writes, “Our culture still lures our hearts with man-made, mass-produced enrichment. …The shiny temporary pleasures advertised to us this hungry season pale when propped beside the magnificent majesty of the King of Heaven.” Intellectually, we knew this to be true then, but our hearts were learning so many adult truths that first year. One of them was that coming to adore the Lord of Lords required little or no decoration, but rather, a readying of our sinful selves.
By the following year, the miraculous season of Advent had taken on new meaning. Roy was at last employed by the Air Force and my new full-time work kept me at home. We still had our home-spun ornaments, with a few more purchased trimmings, placed on a taller tree suitable for a first three-bedroom house. But nothing on the tree could compare with the gift lying alongside it. On a soft pink blanket, our seven-week-old baby girl blinked up at lights winking overhead, vigorously kicked her tiny legs, and completely tied our heart ribbons to hers. We had been blessed with a new name: Jardin family.
A year before, living simply, we’d wished for more. Now we simply wanted nothing more. We better understood Christmas was no more about decorating than a vagrant bug meant permanent residency in our apartment. The star at the top of the tree, whether cut of crystal, or folded in aluminum foil is a mere reminder of Heaven’s brilliant light pouring down over trembling shepherds and wise men to lead them to the Light of the World, the new Messiah. We knew the joy of a tiny infant cradled by an amazed young mother, the awe of a man made a father for the first time. We could only imagine the feelings of the holy parents who would see the young Messiah grow up to teach and heal and as fully man, offer divine sacrifice to save us all. From that time on, we have lived in astonishment at our generous Father who forgives our failings and grants us grace, in and out of seasons of scarcity and surplus.
Forty-three Christmases later, three humble improvised ornaments have survived storms, overheated storage sheds, multiple relocations, and still hang on our tree. These simple things remind us of our human longing to celebrate our Savior’s birth, to prepare home and hearts for joining the joyful chorus of gratitude for the extravagant gift of Jesus.
“In Him, we lack nothing. In this season of want, as we await His coming, we remember that our lives are rich with grace because of Christ, who did come, who loved among the people, who lives among us still. He makes His home in the hearts of those who love Him, however imperfectly we may live that out. We lack nothing because in Christ we have everything. His truth and glory revealed to us not only in Advent, but in the everyday moments of our lives, remind us that it is He who sustains us as we wait for His return.”(Kris Camealy)
We pray your Christmas is peaceful, and rich in glory. He came to save us all. O come, O come, Emmanuel!
