The Burning Hearth December 2020

Gather around the hearth

Welcome to The Burning Hearth. As I write this month’s post, I’m sitting in my living room enjoying our Christmas tree (from time to time it still fills the room with its pine scent), and thinking about how fast this year has gone. I have much to be grateful for this year. All my family, immediate and extended, are safe and well. Everyone is coping as best they can with this crazy (and what sometimes feels almost dangerous) time.

I have found that Thanksgiving and Christmas have offered feelings of normalcy even in the abnormal way in which they were/are celebrated this year. While we did not get together with family on Thanksgiving and won’t on Christmas, we still had a delicious meal and a festive day in the house. We zoomed with my family and my in-laws, and I’m sure we will do the same on Christmas Day.

Oh, Christmas tree…

It is tradition, I believe that has given me this feeling of normalcy. Always, we get our Christmas tree the Saturday after Thanksgiving. The ritual of decorating its green fragrant branches seemed even more poignant this year. It does not escape my husband nor me, and we do not allow it to escape our daughter, that the ability to have a tree and presents this year, more than ever before, is nothing to take for granted as this week many people in our country faced evictions. COVID is destroying so many more lives than just those who become infected. I have to say that I don’t understand. It’s the 21st Century, I live in the richest nation in the world, and people are starving and losing their homes?

So, I find, simply being able to sit here next to my tree and create this post is a luxury many cannot comprehend this holiday season. Because of that, the simple act of decorating the tree awakened in me more joy, more gratitude, and more enthusiasm than I have felt for sometime. Our tree represents family, and as I found in my guest Lydia Mikkael’s creative nonfiction story that she shares with The Burning Hearth this month, the Christmas tree and the act of decorating it stem from and give birth to traditions that warm the soul.

To all of my readers, I hope that however you celebrate the events surrounding the winter solstice, you do so in warmth and safety. And now, I hope you enjoy reading Lydia’s contribution to The Burning Hearth.

Decking the Halls with Meaning and Ritual

I gingerly open the lid of the red-and-green box. I’m watchful of any fragile ornaments trying to escape or rouge tree hooks waiting to prick me. All I find is a layer of crumpled newspapers, exactly how I left it a year ago. A scent of cinnamon potpourri and dust wafts up, stirring in me a sense of joy and yearning. Rediscovering the goodies nestled in these layers of paper always brings a smile, but the remnants from the past also arouse the sting of nostalgia. I welcome the tension as the sign of a good ritual, a physical act that holds our internal meaning and longings. I particularly love ornament traditions, because the rituals that emerge are unique to each household and self-generated. Every home’s decorated tree stands as a symbol of that family’s culture.

I come from a line of ornament traditions that treat Christmas trees as time capsules. My parents’ tree has always been an eclectic scrapbook of what we view as important. There are handmade ornaments from across generations, globes gifted from our church, trinkets that memorialize the family members who have passed away. The random ornaments that come tied to gifts or are part of exchanges likely never make it on our tree; they have to pass a meaning threshold. My family’s trees have never been known to be aesthetically appealing, but they are full of stories. Even now that my siblings and I are adults, my parents still wait for us all to be home to put the ornaments on the tree together and re-tell the stories. Every year, the last ornament to come out is the tree-topper: a paper angel I made in preschool, with a crayon “smile” that looks more like a beak. A testament of my family’s nature to tease and embrace you, “turkey-angel” sits atop our tree each year.

My husband’s family also has a tree filled with stories, but much more systematically than we ever have. Every year of his childhood, my husband’s mother would pick out an ornament for each of her children that represented part of their personality or experience that year. There were baseball mitts for Pee Wee home runs and car keys for 16-year-olds. As I’ve gotten to know my in-laws, I see that their tree stands testament to their family culture too: naming and celebrating each other’s accomplishments.

Now my husband and I have our own tree in the corner of our apartment, a tinsel time capsule of where we’ve come from and who we’re becoming. My husband’s ninja turtle from 1992 shares a branch with a souvenir ornament from one of my dad’s business trips. Now that my mother-in-law has become “Grandma,” the annual ornaments she gifted her son hang next to the ones she gifts her grand daughters. Like my parents’ tree, we have a globe gifted from our own church and memorial ornaments for our grandparents. Our own tradition is found at the top of the tree, in each year’s specifically selected tree-topper.

Our tradition began as many do: a spontaneous moment occurred that we’ve memorialized by repeating it. Our very first Christmas tree together had only a string of lights on it. This was in part because we didn’t own any ornaments yet and in part because we were too busy to correct that situation. Our wedding was the week before Christmas and we were more concerned with last-minute seating chart changes than decking the halls. In one last attempt at festivity, we looked around our apartment for at least a tree-topper. My eyes landed on a red cow bell—a souvenir from when my brother had run the Chicago Marathon that fall—and I placed it on top of the tree. Over a few days, the bare tree fondly became known as Anna“bell.”

When the next Christmas arrived, we had more ornaments and more of an impulse to make the holidays feel special. That year I was wearing maternity sweaters and my husband was doing all the heavy lifting. Somehow my growing belly had changed holiday traditions from feeling like a societal obligation to an opportunity for creating joy and bonding for our family. So as we pulled out Annabell’s red bell, we decided we would name our tree every year—alphabetically, like hurricanes—and find a tree-topper that cleverly went with the name. The past year’s topper would become next year’s ornament.

This year on our tree hangs the bell from Annabell, the big red bow from Beauregard, a sheet-music-angel from Carol, a reindeer from Dasher, and yule-tide logs from Ember. On the highest branch sits a Christmas tree of construction paper made by our 3-year-old for this year’s tree: Fraiser.

Our quirky tradition represents our family spirit—creative and witty with a bit of competition mixed in. But I also see it as a symbol of hope. Like many traditions, it is an anchor cast into the deep waters of not-yet. Every year as we place our ornaments on the tree and create a new topper, we are really saying let’s be together next year too. Let’s remember the joy we are rooted in, despite all the growing, changing, and pain that will inevitably take place over 26 years in a family. Let’s come together to create something new.

When I stand back and look at our tree, I see its base speckled with the values passed on from our families of origin. As I move up the tree, I see our new family’s identity emerging. I stare at this year’s tree topper and feel the potential of what could be well up inside me. It’s twenty years away and our children will be adults by then, but I can’t wait to see what we come up with for the year of “Z.”

Lydia Mikkael

Lydia Mikkael is a Chicago writer and soon-to-be-therapist. She blends her background in theology and psychology to write about the sacred work of becoming. She has published work in Praying in the Frathouse, Kissing in the Chapel and in the online magazines Verily, MOPS, and SheLoves. You can find her at

I am beginning the new year with a guest to The Burning Hearth. Kim Suhr the director of Red Oak Writing will be sharing with readers her inspirational go-to books and authors. Then, In Conversation…will welcome her in a video interview. We will be discussing some of those books and authors as well as her collection of short stories titled Nothing to Lose.


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