The Twelve Ornaments of Christmas

Imagine never having celebrated Christmas. No Christmas trees to decorate. No gingerbread cookies to bake. No wreaths to hang. No cards to mail. No presents to wrap. No bows to tie. No snow to anticipate. No bells to ring. No candlelight service to inspire. No sheet-clad shepherds to video. No “Silent Night” to sing. No baby Jesus to celebrate.

Such is the case with my friend and language teacher Mariem. She will be translating for me as I present our Christmas customs and story to the English Center students on Monday, December 19. (We postponed our party from Thursday the 15th in order to spend an extra day preparing for the final exam.)

Mariem visited me last week so we could review the material I had written for the “baccalaureate” speech that I will give at Monday’s “graduation” ceremony. I asked my teacher if she had ever seen Christmas celebrated on television. Yes, she had seen the movie Home Alone and enjoyed it. And once she had seen footage of Palestinian Christians singing carols in the streets. “They have nothing,” Mariem said as she wiped a tear, “and yet they have such joy. It gives me . . .” she paused, searching for the right word, “. . . hope.” I was surprised that my friend, a faithful Muslim, was so moved. Never underestimate the power of joy.

Mariem and I talked further, and I led her over to my merry little Christmas tree in the corner. I explained the legend of how we came to put lights on trees. In the 1500s, so the story goes, Martin Luther was walking through the forest on a cold winter’s evening. Looking up through the tree branches, he could see the stars. It looked like the stars were resting on the branches. That gave him an idea. He cut down an evergreen tree, brought it inside his home, and put candles on the various branches. A tradition was born.

Nowadays, most of us use electric lights, but once when I spent the holidays in England with a delightful English-Austrian family, I saw them light real candles on their Christmas tree. It was breathtaking. Beautiful. Alive.

Mariem was enchanted with my Christmas tree, electric lights and all. When I moved to Africa, I couldn’t bring tubfuls of decorations, but I did pick out a few of my most memorable ornaments. I pulled them off the tree, one by one, and showed them to my friend. Each one tells a little story, which I now share with you.

The Little Drummer Boy is my oldest ornament. I remember admiring it on my family’s tree when I was a wee girl. It has seen at least 29 (hmm…or maybe 55) Christmases. This explains why the poor drummer boy has lost both his hands and his drumsticks. Clearly, the beauty of a beloved ornament lies not in its physical appearance but in the happy memories it evokes.	Okay, maybe the Elf is our oldest ornament. Mark’s mom Marilyn gave it to us. It had been Mark’s favorite ornament when he was a wee lad. He liked to pull it off the tree and play with it like an action figure. Long before there was an “elf on the shelf,” there was an elf in a chair.	I made this Wooden Nativity at a youth group meeting when in I was middle school. (I wish I had signed and dated it on the back. Remember to do so with your children’s masterpieces.) Back then, the quintessential craft project involved Popsicle sticks and clothespins.

The Red Sled also hails from the Popsicle-stick era. At the end of our 7th-grade Christmas assembly, the school principal handed one of these homemade ornaments to each student. Apparently, the family of a classmate had assembled and painted enough of them for the entire class. This boggled my mind. I couldn’t picture Barty, June, and me doing this together over the summer. Canning—yes; crafting—no.	This Needlepoint Snowman was made and given to me in high school by my best friend Dawn Ann. Each year I hosted a Christmas party and sleepover for my three best buddies: Dawn Ann, Cheri, and Beth. I decorated a little tree about the size of the one I have now. My mom made us yummy food, including her chocolate-covered peanut butter balls. And the four of us girls exchanged little presents. We looked forward to it every year.	I was given this Mexican-style Shadowbox Creche years later when I moved to St. Louis, Missouri. There I joined Hanley Road Baptist Church. I loved that church and was present every time the doors opened. A group of ladies at the church drew names for an ornament exchange. The wife of the pastor who led the Spanish ministry gave me this little treasure. Every time you open the doors, you can see Jesus.

Our First Christmas Together ornament was purchased for Mark and me by his Grandma Ruth in California. She bought it many months before the holidays rolled around, which was timely, because she died before that Christmas. It was Mark’s father Tony who gave us the ornament. Mark and I laughed about the two mice in the cup because that first winter in our first apartment, we “hosted” plenty of mice.	The Red Beaded Star was made and given to me by a kind woman named Clara. One winter in St. Louis, as I struggled with clinical depression, I began taking periodic ECT treatments at the local hospital. Mark could drop me off for my morning appointments on his way to work, but—as a mere intern—he couldn’t leave to pick me up or drive me back home. But after each treatment, I could walk down the hospital’s front steps—the air was freezing cold—and hop into Clara’s nice warm car. Bless her for giving me many rides home.	I purchased this Cottonseed Angel when Mark and I lived in Valdosta, Georgia. It was made from the tuft or “boll” of a real cotton plant. Since cotton is a major crop in much of the deep South, this ornament seemed regionally appropriate. It was quite a switch for me to celebrate the winter holidays in South Georgia. We could wear shorts on Christmas Eve and plant pansies on New Year’s Day.

The Red Teddy Bear was given to me by my friend Michelle, who was my neighbor during the four years we lived in South Georgia. Her husband, like Mark, worked at Moody Air Force Base. Michelle was originally from England, and we shared many delightful cups of tea. She stitched this sweet ornament for me. It reminds me of a lovely quotation by the novelist Willa Cather in which she praises “the irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the human hand.” What a gift!	Another gift made by the human hand is this Gingerbread Africa. During our first season in Africa, my teammate Katie rolled out this gingerbread cookie and baked it into a tree ornament for me. This was especially nice, considering that none of us had ovens in our homes. Many years later, when Katie settled back in America, she kindly gave me her Africa cookie cutter.	In the spirit of Grandma Ruth, I ordered this 25th Anniversary Snowmen ornament to celebrate our marital milestone. I’ve always loved snowmen—probably because they are the winterized version of a smiley face.

I’m going to move my little tree and decorations to the English Center for Monday’s “graduation.” I hope they help create a festive atmosphere for my students’ very first Christmas party. I wish them—and you, dear Reader—a joy-filled celebration!

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