Each December, we pull the Christmas tree from the hidden, back corner of the living room to the front window. It's a beautiful tree, professionally and lovingly decorated by three dear friends who by strange coincidence, each lost a child.
We bought the tree at a charity auction, and afterword met the three women and learned of their bond. The decorating and donation of a Christmas tree to raise money for other sick or injured children is a part of their healing. I love the tree. I love its story, its connection to the real meaning of Christmas: the birth of the Savior whose mission, death, and resurrection, broke the bands of death so that someday these women will reunite with their children.
Each year, when we bring the Christmas tree out of hiding, we turn on the lights at the first sign of dusk. On a gray day, I turn them on in the afternoon. Years ago, our neighbor across the street let us know that each night when she and her husband crawled into bed, she saw our blazing tree in the dark night. It brought comfort and joy to her.
Sometimes, when I flip the switch, I think, this is for you Dixie! Enjoy. At least once a night I think of her when I walk past the living room. She reminds us each year, and it has become a shared tradition from our house to theirs.
Twelve days before Christmas our neighbor's husband died unexpectedly. There was a fall, an ambulance to the hospital, the gathering of children and grandchildren from near and far, and a blessed, peaceful passing. We picked up meat, cheese, bread, tomatoes, for our neighbor to feed the family she would be hosting during this tender time. As we readied to leave, she mentioned that once her family moved on, she might be knocking on our door to spend the night in a guest room; she fears being alone at night. We invited her over anytime, even suggested it might be easier if we came and slept on the couch or in her guest room, so she would feel more comfortable.
In the days following our visit, Tony and I would both be gone for a few days. Our first thought was "Who will turn on the Christmas tree lights?" We pondered asking a different neighbor, pondered leaving the lights on regardless of our absence. Providing the expected beacon for our neighbor became the priority over watering plants or retrieving mail.
The Christmas tree lights have become a purposeful offering of light, a sign to our neighbor that not only are we near and willing to receive her, but there is a greater light promising that someday, she will reunite with her husband.
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