By Carole Hawkins 
At first glance, this decorated Christmas Tree is a type A person’s nightmare. Its ornaments are mismatched, and the branches are uneven and a little chaotic. There is an explosion of circus colored rainbow lights that clash with everything in the room, crooked ornaments, and tangled branches. The tree skirt is always out of place or pushed back. We cannot even place wrapped presents under it until the kids go to sleep on Christmas Eve. It’s a thing of twitching and anxiety. Although a few branches are hanging lower than usual this year, we may need to replace the whole tree next year, but that is unlikely. Tiny hands, feet, and cat paws knock ornaments off multiple times daily. We have even had a few ornament funerals.
To anyone else, this tree is likely an eyesore. But to me, it’s a masterpiece of God’s promises and grace.
Years ago, when my husband and I were first married, we had a magazine-perfect Christmas tree. My color theme was white, silver, and baby blue, my favorite colors. Every ornament was handpicked and fragile, collected from our travels before children filled our home. Each one was placed in a precise position to create the perfect tree. Presents were placed beneath that were wrapped to perfection with ribbons and bows. I would spend several weeks wrapping them. Everything would stay perfectly in its place. But so did the silence. The house was quiet, beautiful, and, if I’m honest, lonely. There was no laughter echoing off the walls, no giggles over bedtime stories, no chaos of little feet racing to see the lights turn on. It was a beautiful tree, but it was missing something. It was missing life.
Now my tree glows with the hideous circus lights, because that is my son’s favorite thing about our tree. His face lights up brighter than the tree itself when he gets to turn them on daily, and that is priceless. This tree is overly filled with handmade ornaments from school. The branches are covered with paper snowflakes, Popsicle-stick stars, and slightly lopsided reindeer, each one proudly made by little hands that call me “Mom.” And boy, do I feel honored and proud to have them on my tree, because of their little hands and voices that say, “Mom, I made this for you”.
The ornaments are clustered together in one big patch near the bottom of the tree because that’s as high as my two-year-old could reach. She sang Christmas songs off-key and twirled around as she decorated, and I didn’t dare move a single ornament. It’s perfect just as it is.
She was so proud of her hard work, and I was even prouder of her. Her joy and pride in her contribution to our tree filled our home with warmth and love, making it truly feel like Christmas.
See, this mismatched, imperfect tree tells a story of grace and answered prayers. It is a symbol of a life I once prayed for; a noisy, joy-filled, messy, sacred life. Every handmade ornament and rainbow light is a reminder of God’s Faithfulness, His Goodness, His perfect timing, and the precious gift of motherhood.
Yes, the season feels chaotic. Yes, the house is cluttered and loud. But it’s also full of laughter, of joy, of love. It overflows with the excitement of children who still believe in the magic of Christmas. So I’ll gladly trade my perfect blue-and-white tree for this beautiful, mismatched one. Because this tree represents the greatest gift I’ve ever received: a home overflowing with the kind of love I once only dreamed of, and I started to think it would not happen.
So here’s to the years of handmade ornaments, rainbow circus lights, and glorious imperfection. And here is to a season of gratitude for my two beautiful gifts from God. I am grateful for this tree, with all its imperfections, because it represents the joy and love that fill our home during the holiday season.
Here’s to the mismatched Christmas tree; my favorite kind of holy chaos.
by Kelli Bachara 
by Her View From Home 
