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I was wondering if there ever would be a peaceful Christmas again. With one week to go, I was trying desperately to find some holiday spirit. We had picked out a tree and got it home, and now it was time to decorate it.
My three boys wanted the traditional Christmas we had done at home. They had it in their heads we would string popcorn and cranberries and make our own ornaments, and after we lit the tree we would and make popcorn balls and have a popcorn party. My new husband Al’s kids were on the warpath. They wanted the tree just like they had it when Daddy was with Mommy. I was at my wits end.
Finally, I put my foot down. We would pack up all the ornaments and they could take them home with them. Al’s kids’ ornaments could go to their Mom’s house; my sons were old enough to take theirs home to their own apartments. When the kids left that evening, sad and angry and frustrated, they took home their favorite holiday things. Al and I sat in the living room, not sure what to do with our bald tree. I was in tears. All I could think was, “All I want is a silent night tree.” Whatever that was.
The next day, as we quilted in my needlework shop, I mentioned the previous day’s events to my dear friend Joanie. She told me of the Christmas tree she puts up every year, with all white lights and no decorations but her hand-tatted snowflakes. It sounded so peaceful and wonderful and I was so miserable, Joanie held me as I bawled like a baby.
When Joanie came over the next week for our get-together, she brought a whole boxful of tatted snowflakes. I couldn’t believe she had made these for us. I have done all kinds of needlework all my life - except tatting - and I knew how much time and love went into this incredible gift. We strung the tree with all white lights and placed hung the snowflakes, and I cried again, saying, “Joanie, it’s a perfect silent night tree!”
When Al came home form work that afternoon he was amazed. “Jan, where did these come from?” We both knew our “silent night tree” would be the answer to all the family stress of the past year.
Every year Joanie brings more snowflakes of every shape and size. They just make the most peaceful tree you ever saw. When Al and I repeated our wedding vows the next winter, she handed us a wedding gift and left quickly. In the box were sixty – sixty - hand-tatted snowflakes. As we decorated the tree that year, Al kept shaking his head, saying, “I can’t even imagine how someone can love us so much.”
Al and I have been married ten years now, and the silent night tree still glows each Christmas at our house. We always search long and hard to find the perfect tree. We cut it down with great reverence and ceremony, bring it home, and give it a drink right away. When it’s decorated we plug it in, and the white lights complement the lovely snowflakes perfectly. Some times I add baby’s breath too, and it looks as though snow just fell on our tree. But we never put a star or an angel on the top. We’ve never found one worthy of Joanie’s snowflakes.
Joanie came over yesterday for our weekly needlework session, and in her hand was a snowflake tree topper. “Here, Jan, this goes on top of your tree.”
My heart pounded with such joy. Our silent night tree would be complete this year, like the friendship Joanie and I share. Whatever life sends me now, I can handle it. I have the greatest husband in all the world, and kids and family and friends that make my life complete. It’s Christmas in Harrison, and once again, deep in the Maine woods, our little home has a silent night tree.
My favorite time of all is late at night, with only the Christmas lights on, sitting by the fireplace, with tea and gingerbread cookies. Al’s cozy beside me. Soft music plays, and it’s Christmas. Once in a while we get lucky and it’s snowing ever so lightly outside the window. I’m so blessed.
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