A Charlie Brown Christmas Tree

Simple Gifts

I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It's not bad at all, really.

Maybe it just needs a little love. - Linus

It will be a Minimalist Christmas.

I will no longer ask for gifts. No strung luminarias, wreaths of holly and mistletoe, and lit greenery festooned on the stair railing, I say soberly. There will be no frantic search for the tallest Noble fir. In fact, the singular yule feature in our home will be a Charlie Brown tree.

Some assembly required, it says on the box. I nod slowly. That should be a cinch. To my piddly humming of O Tannenbaum, I eagerly proceed to open the small, longish box. 

Inside is a shabby, slender branch with a side shoot of a smaller twig that is covered with brown florist tape. It's like papier-mache around wire. The sparse pine needles randomly scattered on the otherwise-barren limbs are made of synthetic pine straw made from recycled polypropylene. 

I set the sad-looking bough onto the base made of two crisscrossed slim pieces of wood. Fully extended, the tree stands about a couple of feet high. It looks rickety, but I carefully balance the scanty branches. There, it shouldn't topple over now, I say crisply, with a reassuring smile.

With a mock formal tilt of the head and my lower lip protruded, I stare at the scrawny configuration firmly. I take two steps closer. After it's fully adorned, my Christmas tree will be just right, I muse thoughtfully. Besides, I think... It. Needs. Me. I whisper, putting great emphasis on the final three words and patting the air in a soothing gesture.

I unwrap the red ornament from the blue Linus blanket that is included and hang it strategically on a side branch which promptly flops over to one side instead of remaining upright. That looks nice just the way it is, I say out loud, solemnly clasping my hands.

Outside, a wintry wind rattles the bare, black branches of the cottonwood trees. Stars wheel through the sky, and the moon trickles its golden light over the canopy of night. The lights of the city dance in the far distance like a band of fireflies. I peer over my tree and reflect on Linus' heartfelt recitation of the Christmas story.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field,

keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord

shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not; for, behold,

I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

I fall into silence, drawn by the astonishing import of the gospel news. 
This, I say in a soft, hushed voice, is what Christmas is all about. 

I swear I can see a multitude of the heavenly host nodding in agreement.