Strains of the Season: Decorating
It was our first Christmas in a new house. Normally, I love the quiet, early morning hours of the holiday season, when the only other one stirring is the cat. With the glow of lights and shiny ornaments on my tree, I often just sit, coffee in hand, captivated by the wonder of the Advent season. But that year, all I saw from the moment I walked into the living room and switched on the tree lights was not illuminating beauty, but an imperfect tree.
I hadn’t yet discovered the best placement of the tree and wasn't thrilled with where it was. I also didn’t like my young children’s homemade ornaments front and center. I coveted the more beautifully done trees of others. But even more bothersome was that the top segment of the artificial tree didn’t get properly positioned, so the whole tree leaned left. My husband tried to readjust it, but his tweaking seemed to only make it worse. But he was not on board with undecorating the whole tree and starting over—the solution I was fighting for. The whole family felt my discontent. I just couldn’t let it go.
We were hosting several gatherings that year, including the church Christmas party which my pastor-husband had volunteered our house for. It would be the first time many had been to our house (we were still new in town), and I wanted everything perfect. But if I am honest, even if it wasn’t the first time someone had been to our house, I wanted perfection.
Because my tree was far from flawless, all these years later, I still vividly remember pointing out our crooked Christmas tree to our guests right when they walked in the door. I rationalized that if I showed the tilted tree to them first, I could prevent any silent judgment. I wanted the perfect tree because I had made it a reflection of me. If it looked bad, I looked bad. If it was less than perfect, so was I. But even more than the perceived opinions of others, my own standard of perfection accused me of not measuring up, which is why I couldn’t even enjoy a cup of coffee in front of the tree. All I saw was imperfection glaring back at me.
As ridiculous as it sounds, I was looking for my identity in my style, décor—specifically, my Christmas tree—as if a tree of all things could give me a secure worth! In and of itself, there is nothing wrong with desiring beautiful aesthetics or a decorated home. But, like for me, when these things become obsessions—things we can't let go of, have to have, find pride in or feel judged for, or need to fix in order to be okay—it is a sure-tell sign these things are acting as functional "gods" ruling our hearts.
We do this with all sorts of things, don’t we? Whether it be our home, our appearance, our performance or that of our husband or kids, we look to false sources as the measuring sticks for how we are doing. But no matter how hard we try to build our own identity, we will always fall short. The good news is: in Christ, we don't have to. Jesus’s perfect, holy, righteous life covers and defines how God sees us. His identity is ours. To look to anything else for merit, identity, or worth is to live as if what Jesus did was not enough. But to live knowing Jesus’s perfect, all-sufficient worth and work for us is freeing. We are wrapped securely in his own righteousness.
Instead of striving after the perfectly decorated home (or tree) in the hope of others thinking highly of us, we can find joy in preparing our home as a backdrop conducive to fellowship and relaxation. The gospel shifts our focus away from self-serving motives, enabling us to let some things go or be content even if things aren’t exactly how we wish they were.
To this end, a few questions we might ask ourselves as we consider our holiday décor and hosting this season:
Is my decorating (or spending on décor) being done primarily to impress others or to invite comfortability and community?
Is my decorating creating extra stress? If so, can I be okay with how it is/what I have? If not, what is driving the need for more?
Am I focused more on the way the house looks for Christmas than the reason for the season and the people who will be welcomed into my home?
Each of these questions is intended to help us evaluate our motives and might also reveal sin, which is not a bad thing! We can’t repent of what we don’t know. For me, until our crooked tree fell over, I was confronted with my idolatry. In sweeping up the shattered glass of many of my most favorite ornaments, God used the crooked, fallen tree in his loving, sanctifying work of revealing my sin to me. I had been blind to the beauty of our tree and discontent with our Christmas décor because I was focused on making myself look great, not the God of all wonders who sent his Son to crash into our crooked lives. But that Christmas, he graciously began to open my eyes to see that his beauty shines brighter in our brokenness and imperfection.
That same year, my daughter made a paper mâché Christmas tree in her sixth-grade art class. It too was crooked, though not by her design. Oh, the irony! But how just like God to provide a visual reminder of what he was teaching me. To this day, that paper mâché tree has replaced my broken Christopher Radko ornament as one of my all-time favorite Christmas treasures. I look at it and am reminded of my need for Jesus and his perfect love for me. So, as we deck our halls this season, may the lights and décor serve not as a means to adorn ourselves with any glory of perfection, but to draw our eyes to the One who hung on a tree so his perfection could be ours.
