Despite the multiple dangers, I trudge into the Christmas decorating. I’m not talking about burning the house down with an over-dry tree or giving everyone food poisoning with old turkey or even burning family relationships with accidentally bringing up politics. Not even getting one kid more toys than another. Besides all that, you can break things. Not just limbs from hanging lights on the roof. Fragile, tiny things that you love.

I’m placing the final Christmas decor up for the year. Porcelain figures spell out the word ‘rejoice’ with cherubs playing in the letters, holding out stars and doves. Sadly, my innate nature clashes with these fragile figurines every year. They seem to be top heavy, so invariably, one gets knocked over each year and some part breaks. One dove has rings of super glue around its feet, holding it to the ‘I’. Another dove is missing a tail—a permanent maiming due to my inability to be careful enough.

But this year, they came out of the box unscathed from hidden injury in storage where moth and rust destroy. A good sign. And I’ve chosen a new place: the windowsill by my kitchen sink. Flat, accessible, sheltered. It should be a good year for “Rejoice.”

Which is a plus because my attitude has been more begrudging than rejoicing. Only 1 of my 3 adult kids will be home this year. As I decorated the Christmas tree with ornaments that hold memories for our family, I realized I was probably the only one who will really look at them. And I was only doing it to place them on the already shedding evergreen limbs.

Christmas is just not as fun without children enjoying the elements and encouraging the excitement. Still, there would be friends over. And, I resolved, I can pray for others to share the joy with.

But as snowmen ornaments unboxed in a dusty grey like the end of March snow, it was difficult to not question it all. Does plastic garland add to the meaning? Is God glorified in the sacrifice of a live pine tree? When its incense fills my home, is it pleasing to Him? These lights with fizzled bulbs, wrinkled bows, broken balls…is it worth the fight?

I continue. And having placed my happy little cherubs in a setting of boughs and balls and holly berries, I stand back a little happier. I will enjoy looking at them. But maybe, I’ll add a ‘Hark the Herald Angels’ picture behind them. 

I get the wooden frame situated behind the boughs. One letter wobbles, then topples over. Hmm. If the frame falls forward because of, say, a door slamming, they will all go. So I start to shift the frame to make it lean more solidly against the window. 

I push one stick of holly too far. 

Suddenly, several letters fall, and not just flat on the window sill, but end-over-end into the sink and the dishes therein, hitting hazards all the way.

My mouth says a very un-Christmas word. My eyes blur and brim. 

And my heart says ‘why bother?’

I pick up pieces. Here a dove’s wing, here an impossibly dainty hand. There again the dove for the  top of the I. Here an angel broken off at the ankle. Little feet without a body. Chip fragments too small to place. Mass casualty.

What’s the point?

I continue to search for an answer and pieces to lay on the counter. But then, I find it, like the little star: why paint a cardinal red? Why illuminate a fleeting sunset that few will appreciate? Why bedazzle the night sky with stars?

The Source of all beauty is generous—extravagant—ridiculous in His dishing beauty out. He serves it up in heaping amounts like a grandmother spooning mashed potatoes and piling up biscuits. And though my clumsy fingered, fat-crayon efforts are certainly mere scribbles, maybe it can reveal—highlight—emphasize this God-with-us for someone? For me? Surely He enjoys my rejoicing as I join Him in celebrating His presence. 

And what’s a party without decorations?