I do this every year. Envisioning a tall, sturdy, fresh-smelling fir tucked in the corner of my living room, I do significant recon on where the most reasonably-priced specimen can be found, and make the annual expedition to the tree lot. Then, after looking at and handling no less than a dozen viable candidates, I select one tree to take home with me. Usually I’ve chosen a lot that will hoist it to the top of my car and tie it down, but after that, it’s do-it-yourself all the way home and beyond.

And every year I acknowledge that setting up a Christmas tree is no one man (or in this case, one woman) job.

I could ask for help. But there’s something about this me-and-the-tree duel that sucks me in every time. I see no reason why I shouldn’t be able to out-wit, out-maneuver and out muscle the process and the tree, whose size I almost always regret as soon as I’ve gotten it home. (Charlie Brown I am not.)

Along the way, I’ve learned a few lessons that have proved helpful. Rolling the tree off your car from the side is safer than grasping the base of the trunk and pulling it toward you (don’t ask). Putting the stand “on” the tree while it’s horizontal is infinitely easier than placing the tree “in” the stand while you’re trying to keep it vertical. And, a kind of “walking hug” is the safest (albeit most awkward) way of getting said tree through whatever doorway you’ve selected as your initial point of entry.

This year I wrestled the tree again, and the wrestling got me thinking. I wrestle my Christmas tree once a year. But it’s really me-and-the-tree all year long. The tree I wrestle daily is my own cross which I’ve been commanded to take up and carry with me, looking for opportunities to climb upon often, and allow myself to die.

It’s also a tree I both love and struggle against. I love its beauty, and I struggle against its invitation. I love its power, and struggle against its authority. I love its mercy, and struggle against its grace. It’s not easy, this wrestling with the tree. Dietrich Bonhoeffer said “When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.” And why shouldn’t He? He’s already done it Himself.

I resist help with my Christmas tree. But I’d be a fool to resist help with my cross. Even Jesus accepted help with His. And when I’ve overestimated my own ability or strength or resolve, or when the whole process has left me exhausted and scraped up and scared, the One who’s gone before me sees, and says, “Lovely, lovely tree. But it’s big, and you’re small. Can I help you with that?”

“He forgave us all our sins, having cancelled the written code, with its regulations, that was against us and that stood opposed to us; he took it away, nailing it to the cross. And having disarmed the powers and authorities, he made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross.” (Colossians 2:14-15, NIV)

© Leigh McLeroy 2005