I love the scent and uneven shape of a real Christmas tree. We always had real trees when I was growing up - no plastic pretenders for us!
My one true love, on the other hand, has no sentimental attachment to a real tree. He dislikes the inevitable sap in our car, disposing of the tree come January, and finding needles in the house til summertime.
But he knows I love it, so he gives in. Our first few years in our house, we bought real trees. Oh, the gorgeous, fresh, natural smells!
Last year he sent me out on tree duty and told me to bring home whatever one I wanted. In a rare moment of holiday selflessness, I came home with a fake tree -- pre-lit and slim, perfect for its little corner.
Because when Patrick told me to get whatever I wanted, I saw that I could get a real tree and make only me happy ... or I could get a fake tree, and make him happy ... which, in turn, makes me a whole lot happier than the scent of fresh fir.
It's just a silly little tree, but it kind of reminds me of what Jesus did: why He came and why we even celebrate Christmas at all.
He left His perfect holy beautiful heaven, and came here, to be wrapped up in ordinary flesh; poor and lowly and mocked and crucified. Not because the incarnation made Him happy ... but because it purchased our salvation and brings us as adopted children into the loving arms of our Father. And He considered the sacrifice worthwhile. Coming here, to rescue us, made Him happy.
Merriest of Christmases, friends!
Jesus came for us. ♡