Oh, Holy Max

I know — Christmas is still 64 days away, with two holidays clamoring for attention between now and then. But this morning, for no apparent reason, it became imperative to figure out what we’ll do for a Christmas tree stand.

Last year, when the decorations came down, the Christmas tree we’d taken out and fluffed and shaped for at least ten years was finally put to rest. When I think about it, it’s actually been more than twenty years since we had a real tree.

There were good reasons for the decision to have a “fake” tree during the busy years of kids at home. It just seemed easier to set it and forget it.

Do you see what I see?

The winter holiday season always sneaks up full of habits that have quietly turned into traditions. And I’m not suggesting you toss out babies and bathwater (what a horrible metaphor). But something I didn’t consider while we were designing—by the seat of our pants—our meaningful traditions is that they don’t have to be forever.

Seasonal traditions are, after all, seasonal.

It’s common for people my age to pine (yes, pun intended) for the younger years. But what if we allowed ourselves that same focus, excitement, and creativity for the current season of life?

Think about it like grammar. Every sentence has a subject, a verb, and an object. The subject is the noun that does the action (verb) to or for the object. When we had littles, our holidays were all about us (the subjects) doing things for the kids (the objects).

But what happens when we shift the structure? When we let ourselves be both subject and object—or even focus only on the verb?

We celebrate.
We observe.
We rest.
We hope.
We love.

When the object (kids’ concerts, kids’ presents, kids’ parties) is removed or minimized or shifted, we begin to see what we want these seasons to really be about.

I’m so excited to be preparing for a real tree once more. It will be a living reminder that we’re entering not just a holiday season, but a new season of our lives.

Yes, there are still plenty of things we’ll allow to be the objects of our celebration — gifts, gatherings, good food. Yes, we’ll still have to figure out where to get the tree, how to get it home, and how to encourage the cats to make choices that align with ours.

But in between all that, there will be sacred moments of simply being.

As the tree stands.
And the lights shimmer.
And the pine-smell wafts.

As our breath pauses.
And we watch.
And we hope.