The Perfect Christmas Tree
Mother said, “We have no money for a Christmas tree
But if you have faith, and pray to God
He will provide, you’ll see”
So pray I did, asking God for the “perfect” Christmas tree
One tall, full, and round as Santa
Sounded good to me
Then father came and said, “Let’s go! And see what we can see
We can search the woods behind our house
To find the perfect tree.”
So, trudging through the snow we went, my Pa, my Ma, and Me
To search the woods out back our house
To find the perfect tree.
I said, “This one’s too skinny”, Ma said, “This one’s too fat”.
Then Pa broke his silence and said,
“I’ve had enough of that!”
“Next tree we find will be the one, no matter what we see!
"My feet are cold and my patience old,
It will BE the perfect tree!”
Next tree we found he did fell. No complaints from Mom or Me,
Although in my heart I knew it well,
It wasn’t the perfect tree.
It wasn’t tall, it wasn’t full, ‘nor round as Santa would be
Its trunk was crooked, its branches sparse,
Definitely not the perfect tree.
I began to wonder down in my soul, “Had God really heard me?”
For if He had, He’d hid it well
This wasn’t the perfect tree.
Then a little voice inside me said, “Wait, and you will see,
I will show just how God makes this
The perfect Christmas tree.”
So, off we went back through the snow, with our not so perfect tree
To put it up inside our home
And trim it merrily.
Few bobbles, bells and ornaments, had we for that tree
A single strand of broken lights
That twinkled occasionally.
What ornaments we did not have we made organically,
Much popcorn strings and tinfoil things
We put upon that tree.
When we were done, we all stepped back to see what we could see,
Lo and behold, it must be told,
This was the perfect tree!
It still wasn’t tall, it still wasn’t full, ‘nor round as Santa would be,
Its trunk was still crooked, its branches still sparse,
But now it was the perfect tree.
For upon this tree was placed the love of my Pa, my Ma, and Me
God did listen to my prayers, and gave us all
The perfect Christmas tree.
A Childhood memory of
Christopher C. Callahan