The Family Tree

The little boy could see his breath as he chased after his father.  His father, whose legs were twice as long as the boys’, was a good ten feet in front of his son. In his right hand was a sharpened axe. In his left, a rope. It was cold evening and the sun was beginning to set west of the mountains. Their shadows spread a dark blanket on the lowlands below them — except for the hill the father and son were about to climb.  One foot after another the two quietly headed toward their prize: A Christmas tree.

It was a lone cedar tree, about five feet in height and perfectly shaped.  The dad sat the axe down, looked at his son and said, “So, is this one good enough?”  The boy, aged four, looked at the axe and then the tree and started to wail.  “NOOOOO!  You can’t kill this tree!”  The dad looked at the boy with a look of bewilderment and annoyance.  But even tall, lanky timber men have hearts.  “OK, Boy. We’ll save this one.  But let’s decorate it anyway. It can become our family tree.”

So a family tradition was born that early December day. Every Christmas Eve, the family would hike up the hill and decorate the tree, light a bonfire, drink hot chocolate and sing Christmas Carols. Each child would get to open a present on that hilltop.  And the family would hold hands and read the Gospel of Matthew to celebrate Christ’s birth.

Over the years, the little boy grew and so did his family. He was soon joined by a little sister and a little brother. Their mother got lovelier and their dad more proud.  And over the years, they would continue their Christmas celebration around the perfect tree. The family tree had grown bigger and stronger.

On that little hilltop in the East Tennessee mountains, love illuminated the surrounding valley.

One unusually hot and muggy December afternoon, a severe thunderstorm blew through the valley.  A rare tornado spawned and skipped its deadly finger though the woods and then into the settlement.  The father saw the funnel, quickly grabbed his family and threw them in a closet.  He dove on top of them right as the house exploded.  The sound of a thousand freight trains changed their lives forever.

Rescuers found the family safe underneath the body of the father. He had made the ultimate sacrifice for his children. The mayor and the editor of newspaper called him a hero.  That Christmas, he had given them the ultimate present of all.

The following Sunday, they buried the father on that hilltop in the shade of the family tree and close to the Lord.  And while the storm had damaged the mighty cedar, it hadn’t toppled it. Most of its right side was gone and it was scarred. But it wasn’t destroyed (much like the family itself.)  And that Christmas, the mother and the three children hiked up the hill, decorated the tree and held hands. They continued to celebrate their family and the birth of Christ around the mighty cedar on the hill.

The Family Tree.