Tonight we put up "The Aagard Family Christmas Tree."
Yes, Michael couldn't help himself referring to it as such every 5 seconds or so...
It's a pathetic, 6-foot, scrawny, plastic thing. The girls had a blast dragging pieces of it around until Michael could find the stand and snatch the pieces back. Shaelyn and I had to "fluff" the sad looking branches that have been bunched up in a box for the last 11 months. We plugged it in to discover that half the branches don't light up anymore.
And yet it still has the power to produce magic. Glowing, twinkling fairy lights. Glittery white snowflakes. Shiny silver balls that clink and jingle when you carry more than one to the tree to be hung on its waiting branches.
And once it's decorated, and you turn the house lights off, the soft glow of the tree seems to transport your family somewhere else entirely. Somewhere where childhood stands still. And love abounds. And family is more important than anything else. It's something that you try desperately to create every day, but the rush and routine of life makes it a struggle to capture.
So there is magic in that plastic 6-foot tree. As my children laid their heads on my lap and gazed lovingly up at the tree, I felt that my heart would burst. Shaelyn pointed out all the things she could see on the tree, and discussed how tall it would be if she could measure it. Rachelle snuggled in, sucked her thumb, and stroked her face. Away in a Manger was playing softly in the background. And I wished that I could freeze this moment forever.
Sometimes I worry that I might not always be here for my children. Not that I have any reason to think that I won't live a long, healthy life, but I know that sometimes the Lord has other plans. I worry that in that situation, my children would forget me. Or worse, because they are so young, not even know me. But then I think of these memories we're creating. And the strong feelings behind these memories. Surely my children would remember how much their mother loved Christmas. And magic. And more importantly, them.
Hopefully my worries will remain that - just worries, never becoming reality. But it gives me great comfort and peace to know that I can choose the legacy I'm leaving for my children. Everyday, with every choice, I'm choosing the kind of woman that they will remember. I hope they remember that I love being a mother. And that I took time to cherish my children, to really drink them in.
And that I think that they are the true magic of my life.
