Elaine Faber

The days grew shorter, the air crisper, the nights longer, and the whisper of leaves falling on the roof began to awaken each Christmas bird.  Something sang to them, calling them, until they wiggled with joy, crinkling their crepe paper walls. Soon, the Christmas ornaments would be lifted from their crepe paper beds where they had slept since last Christmas.

As the special Day grew nearer, the Christmas tree birds felt a thrill in their springy wire clips and gold porcelain bodies and their bright, feathered tails.

The youngest Christmas tree bird lay warm and snug beneath Gold Bird. Soon he would be on the Christmas tree with his Christmas bird friends and the others. Some of the round ornaments had beautiful paint, but weren’t as beautiful as the Christmas tree birds with their springy wires and pinchy clips. He closed his little red eyes and dreamed about Christmas Eve. He would look down from the Christmas tree at the family gathered by the fireplace, singing Christmas carols. Being part of the Christmas Eve celebration made him feel alive.

Perhaps today was the day. He imagined being taken from his box and hung on the tree. It would become a thing of beauty. “I’ve been thinking that I am the most beautiful Christmas bird,” he whispered to Gold Bird, his voice trembling, filled with self-admiration.

Gold Bird’s tail feathers quivered. “Oh, really. What makes you think so? Blue glass bird is made of exquisite hand-blown glass, and it has a fine blue feather tail. The antique bird is missing some of its tail feathers, but its glass is so fragile, you can see through it. For that matter, most of us are more beautiful than you.” He fairly shook as he scolded the young bird, lying in the tissue below him.

“Well, I don’t care what you say. The Christmas tree would not be nearly as beautiful if I weren’t right near the top.”

Gold Bird, being older and wiser, turned his head away.  “You conceited fellow, it would serve you right if you got left behind this year. You obviously don’t know the true meaning of Christmas. You don’t deserve to be included in the holiday events.”

The young Christmas bird trembled. Thinking he might be left behind scared him a bit, but not enough to change his opinion of himself. With a slight tremble, he added, “You don’t think that could happen, do you? I don’t mean to sound conceited. It’s not that I think you aren’t very handsome, but my tail feathers are longer and softer and fluffier than yours, and…my paint is much shinier...”

“Tut tut,” replied Gold Bird. “I won’t listen to hear another word.”

For several uncomfortable days, the young bird lay in his soft cocoon of crinkly wrapping paper. Gold Bird’s words haunted him. “You conceited fellow, it would serve you right …” Not to be part of the Christmas Eve celebration?  He could not bear the thought.

The days grew shorter and the nights longer. A soft sprinkle of snow blanketed the roof. The wind whistled through the trees, their bare branches just visible through the tiny window at the end of the attic. The long dark days of November edged into December.

Footsteps on the attic steps awakened the Christmas birds early one morning. They held their breath as their box was carried down the stairs. “It’s time! It’s finally Christmas! Soon we’ll be on the Christmas tree!” the Christmas bird whispered. The young Christmas bird lay in the box under Gold Bird, wrapped in soft white tissue paper. His friends were lifted, one by one, from beside him. He heard them squeal as they were hung on the tree. He could faintly hear the music. He could hear the children laughing; he could even smell the cookies! “It’s nearly time,” he whispered to Gold Bird.  “It’s nearly my turn.” Gold Bird’s fluffy tail no longer tickled his nose. His box was tossed into the corner; empty except for the little Christmas bird. He was alone.

His comfortable bed was now a prison, his beautiful body lay swaddled in crinkly tissue paper. Muffled Christmas sounds reached his ears. A tiny plastic tear formed in his little red eye. “I’ve been conceited and proud, and now I’ve been left behind.”

He lay alone and forlorn through December. The Christmas season was nearly over, and he had missed everything. On Christmas Eve, the family gathered to celebrate the birth of Jesus. The Christmas tree bird lay in his box in the corner, imagining the tree with his Christmas bird friends hanging on its branches, along with the round ones he had scorned. “They may not be as beautiful,” he thought,” but they are on the tree, and I’ve been left behind.”

The little girl read the Christmas story. “They wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger.”

Christmas bird thought, “I’m wrapped in swaddling clothes, like the baby Jesus,” and he imagined the tiny baby, sung and warm, lying in a manger. He heard the daddy telling how Jesus came to earth as a tiny baby, and if we loved and trusted Him, He would take us to heaven and we would not be left behind. The Christmas bird sniffed, “I know what it’s like to be left behind. How much worse if I should be left behind in Heaven.”

He felt his box jiggle, the crinkling tissue paper lifted away, and he felt the warmth from the fireplace. “Look, Mommy! It’s another Christmas birdie. He has a tear in his eye. Can we hang him on the Christmas tree?”

Daddy helped her hang the little bird near Gold Bird.  Looking down, the joyous Christmas bird saw the family gathered around the tree. He felt the love in the room. Finally, he was where he needed to be. Gold Bird gave him a loving glance. “Welcome to Christmas. Did you learn anything?”

The tear in his eye had turned to gold, glinting in the firelight as he swung toward Gold Bird. “I understand,” he whispered. “Christmas is not about who is most beautiful, who is round, or who has a springy tail. The true meaning of Christmas is God’s gift to everyone; the birth of Jesus. When we accept His Gift, we will never be left behind.”

In the early 1980’s, when my kids were young teenagers, we had to close our business, leaving us in debt. Collection agencies called almost daily. I had to pay my house payment on the Visa card. We gave up a 1972 Cadillac convertible to settle a business obligation. The IRS emptied our meager bank account (without notice) to pay the overdue California sales taxes, resulting in bounced checks all over town.

Christmas came and we were financially in a bad way. No way was there much money for Christmas, much less a Christmas tree.
My husband brought home a beautiful manzanita branch, mounted it on a base, sprayed it white and decorated it with red Christmas balls. Not the traditional Christmas tree, to be sure, but pretty. We set a few presents underneath; mostly sweaters and pajamas and sox.
Hubby and I were prepared to deal with the substitute tree, trusting that things would be better next year. The kids hated it. They called it The Christmas Stick and where humiliated when their more fortunate and affluent friends visited.

We muddled through that financial disaster, took a second mortgage on the house at 14% interest (true) and paid off all the debts. The next Christmas we were back on our feet and had a real Christmas tree.

I was thinking the other day that sometimes in our life, we should all have a Year of the Christmas Stick. A year when we can’t afford to buy the children expensive gifts that break before New Year’s Day. A season where we do without the typical luxuries we enjoy; Christmas trees, lights in the front yard, presents and expensive holiday outings. A year when we can truly commiserate with folks who are unemployed, suffering natural disaster or illness, many who are without a tree, without gifts, for that matter, maybe without a home with a chimney for Santa to slid down.

It’s been over forty years since the Year of the Christmas Stick. On Christmas Day, as our family stumbles from the table loaded down with turkey and all the fixings and we gaze at our ten-foot- tall Christmas tree with gifts piled underneath, invariably someone mentions the Year of The Christmas Stick. And we contemplate its message.

We are grateful for our families, our health, and our faith, all gifts from God. We remember to share our bounty with folks who would feel blessed to have a few gifts for the kids beneath a Christmas Stick.

I remember how hard things were when we closed the business and struggled to make ends meet, wondering how we could make pay off our business debts, keep our home and feed our kids. We struggled and persevered and made do with a manzanita branch for a Christmas tree. Looking back, I remember and thank God for the Year of the Christmas Stick. We all learned lessons I hope we will never forget.

The air grew crisper, the nights longer and the whisper of leaves falling on the roof began to awaken each Christmas tree bird from their yearlong slumber. They wiggled with joy, crinkling the crepe paper walls of their divided cubicles in the ornament box. Soon, the Christmas bird ornaments would be lifted from their crinkly crepe paper beds where they had slept in the attic since last Christmas.

As the special day grew nearer, the thrill of the season crept through their springy wire clips, their porcelain gold and silver bodies and their fluffy feather tails.

The youngest Christmas bird lay in the middle cubicle under Gold Bird, wrapped snugly in soft white tissue paper. “Christmas is coming!” He shook with excitement. Soon, he would be high on the tree with his Christmas bird friends and the round ones, who weren’t nearly as beautiful as his Christmas bird friends with their feather tails and pinchy clips.

He closed his little red eyes and dreamed of Christmas Eve. From the top of the Christmas tree, his family would gather by the fireplace. He could almost hear the music and smell the cookies.
“I’ve been thinking that I am the most beautiful Christmas bird,” he whispered to Gold Bird, who lay wrapped in tissue above him.

Gold Bird’s tail feathers quivered. “Really? What makes you think so? Blue glass bird is made of hand blown glass and has a lovely feather tail. Antique bird is missing his tail feathers, but he’s so fragile, you can see through his porcelain body. Most of us are much more beautiful than you.” He shook as he scolded the young bird.

“I don’t care. The Christmas tree wouldn’t be as beautiful if I wasn’t right near the top.” The little bird twitched all over.

Gold Bird huffed. “It would serve you right if you were left behind this year. You don’t know anything about the true meaning of Christmas. You don’t deserve to hang on the Christmas tree.”

The Christmas bird trembled. That he might not celebrate the season scared him a bit, but not quite enough. His voice trembled. “I didn’t mean to be conceited. It’s not that I think you aren’t very handsome, but my tail feathers are longer and softer and fluffier than yours, and… my… paint is much shinier−”

“Tut tut,” Gold Bird said. “I won’t listen to hear another word.”
For several days, the young bird lay in his cocoon of crinkly paper, haunted by Gold Bird’s words. “You conceited fellow, it would serve you right …” and he would shudder. Unthinkable! Not to be on the Christmas tree? Not to be part of Christmas Eve? He couldn’t bear the thought.

The days grew shorter and the nights longer. Snow blanketed the roof. The wind whistled through the trees, their bare branches just visible through the tiny attic window. The long days of November edged into December.

One morning, the Christmas birds awoke to footsteps clunking up the attic steps. The Christmas bird held his breath, not daring to wiggle. “It’s time! Soon we’ll be on the Christmas tree!”

One by one, his friends were lifted from the cubicles beside him. He heard them squeal as they were hung on the tree. Beneath his tissue coverings, he faintly heard the music. He could hear the children chattering; he could even smell the cookies.

“It’s nearly my turn,” he whispered. But, there was no answer.
Gold Bird’s fluffy tail no longer tickled his nose. He waited. The box was tossed into the corner; empty except for the littlest Christmas bird, hidden under the tissue in the middle cubicle.
His comfortable box now a prison, his beautiful body and fluffy tail lay beneath the crinkly tissue paper. A tiny plastic tear formed in his little red eye. Gold Bird was right. I’ve been conceited and proud, and now I’ve been left behind.

He lay alone in the corner through the entire month of December. The faint sounds of Christmas filtered through his tissue paper. The Christmas season was nearly over and he had missed everything.

On Christmas Eve, the Christmas tree bird imagined the tree with his Christmas bird friends hanging with the others, the ones he had scorned. They may not be as beautiful as I, but they are on the tree, and I’ve been left behind.

He heard the little girl’s voice. “They wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and lay Him in a manger.”

I’m wrapped in swaddling clothes, like baby Jesus. He imagined the tiny baby wrapped sung and warm, lying in the straw, surrounded by the cows. He imagined the shepherds bringing their sheep down from the hills to worship the babe. He thought of the Wise Men who brought gifts to welcome His birth.

He heard the daddy tell how Jesus came to earth as a tiny baby and if we loved and trusted Him, He promised to come again and take us to heaven and we would not be left behind. The Christmas bird blinked back a tear. I know what it’s like to be left behind. How terrible to be left behind from Heaven.

Then, the tissue paper lifted. “Look, Mommy! Here’s another Christmas birdie, all alone in the box. Oh, he looks like he has a tear in his eye! Can I hang him on the Christmas tree?”

The Christmas bird was whooshed up to the top of the tree where his hook fastened to a branch next to Gold Bird. Looking down from his lofty perch, he saw the family gathered around the tree. There was such love in the room! He even smelled the Christmas cookies! At last, he was exactly where he needed to be.

Gold Bird gave him a stern but loving glance. “Did you learn anything, my little friend?”

As he swung from side to side on the pine branch, the light from the fire reflected in the gold tear in the little bird’s eye. “I understand,” he whispered to Gold Bird. “Christmas is not about who is more beautiful or cookies or even the gifts people give to one another. The true meaning of Christmas is God’s gift to the world, the birth of Jesus Christ. When we accept God’s Gift of love, one day He will come back for his children and we will never be left behind.”

Gold bird swung around on his hook. “Welcome to Christmas, Christmas bird!”