It was as if we had known right where it was, as if it were being held there just for us. In fact, it took us longer to find someone to help us than it did to find our 2012 Christmas tree.
The tree had all the attributes that we hold valuable, with a shape that was a little more cylindrical than triangular and not too bushy. It gave the illusion of height without being too high. Our living room has low ceilings, so, just as vertical stripes have a slenderizing effect in fashion, a slimmer tree in a smaller room is far better than, say, a tree shaped like your classic Hershey’s Kiss.
For what seemed like the first time ever, every member of the family agreed that this was the perfect Christmas tree.
A man in a thick brown coat, wet and dappled with darkened sap spots from carrying trees, pulled a tag from the tree. He told us to take the tag inside to the cashier and then to pull around the side where he’ll tie it down to the roof of the car for us.
After browsing a bit in the garden center, showing my then-5-year-old daughter the greenhouse where Frosty melted and buying some fresh pine roping to drape around the front porch, we made our way to the pick-up area where I was greeted by the man in the thick brown coat.
“Is this your tree?” the man in the sap-spattered brown coat asked, pointing to a tree that was leaning on a high fence. The tree, now encased in synthetic webbing, looked just like the tree that was next to it and the tree that another guy was carrying to a car where a woman and excited little boy waited.
“I don’t know,” I said. “You put it here.”
He appeared a little taken aback by my answer and asked to see my receipt. He studied the document like a forensic crime scene investigator, examined the tree and then analyzed the receipt again.
“It’s a Fraser fir,” he said.
“They’re all Fraser firs,” I said. I then started to think that the tree looked somewhat taller than I had thought it was, or was it just that the netting slimmed it down, giving it the appearance of height? Or maybe it was the mere suggestion that this might not be our tree that made me begin to doubt. Either way, I was becoming a bit agitated.
“Sure this is yours,” the man finally said with a renewed confidence. “I remember now.”
I nodded and he expertly hoisted the tree aloft our minivan and tethered it down.
The moment I pulled it off of the roof of the van, I knew it was the wrong tree. Just by holding it, I realized it was much larger than the one we had picked out. I considered taking it back, but I really didn’t feel like arguing over a tree.
Even after the fresh cut at the garden center, I had to saw off a good 10 inches from the bottom. I then trimmed branches, shaping the tree the best I could. When the tree was finally nestled all snug in its stand, my wife and kids took one look.
“That’s not our tree!” they all shouted, sharing their disappointment that our perfect tree would brighten someone else’s holiday season, and we were stuck with “not our tree.”
With any chance of returning the tree now gone – the scraps of trimmed branches were still scattered on the front lawn – and spending money on another tree completely out of the question, I strung the lights. The kids joined in hanging the ornaments. My wife, still annoyed and grumbling that we had been given the wrong tree, then mantled tinsel and rearranged the ornaments that the kids had hung clumped together, as had become our tradition.
Later that night, when the kids had sugarplums dancing in their heads, my wife and I sat in the living room, silently staring at the tree.
Although it was a little wider than usual, it wasn’t a bad tree, we decided. Thick, but not too squatty. Actually, after all the frustration, agitation, and disappointment, we found the tree quite beautiful.
It was the tree that was put there just for us.
My wife took out her phone, snapped a picture, and posted it on Facebook with the caption, “This is what disappointment looks like in my life.”
Amid all the sadness in the world, we realized how fortunate we actually were in every little miscue.
Saint Augustine said, “Trust the past to the mercy of God, the present to His love, and the future to His providence.”
Disappointment is eased when we surrender everything, even a wrong Christmas tree, to God.
Deacon Dean Johnson serves at Church of the Holy Family, Sewell.
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