Abuelo’s Christmas Tree Miracle
For more than thirty years, Father Skipper wrote short stories as his Christmas Eve Mass-gift for family and friends. In 2020 and through the kindness of Michael Keister and his family, the collection was published as A Toy Truck For A Marine And Other Christmas Tales From A Simple Missionary Priest.
We pray this little gift – his Christmas 2014 tale - will bring you a small spark of Christmas Joy and Hope.
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A few weeks ago, as ordered by Mrs. Flynn, I began to put up Christmas decorations. First, the Christmas Crib. But, before the manger scene could be arranged, four large wooden butterflies atop the television cabinet had to be repositioned. The miracle of the butterflies – the earliest Christian symbol of our faith in the Resurrection - grabbed my imagination and has dominated my prayer life. Monarchs and blue pansies and morphos. I grew up both unconscious and profoundly aware of their incredible complexity and wonderful simplicity.
With that in mind and credit to Henri Nouwen:
From Thanksgivings ‘til three o’clock Christmas Eve, working in the little ferretteria – the neighborhood hardware store – was family tradition. Three generations ago, Abuelo – Grandfather - opened the store and sons and daughters, grandsons and occasionally granddaughters had put in their time in the parking lot selecting, demonstrating, selling, cutting, tying and pulling, heaving and squeezing Christmas trees into and onto every description of car, and, each year, pushing more than one or two in grocery carts through neighborhoods and into every conceivable sized apartment for los ancianos of the vecindad – the elderly of the neighborhood.
Each generation put in their time and each had its stories. And all eventually learned and kept Abuelo’s little gigantic secret: He sold many of his trees at cost; in fact, more often than not, below cost because he knew that these neighbors would never be able to afford the prices at Publix or Winn Dixie or the Boys’ Club.
“Ah, Senora Valdes,” they would say, “Abuelo said to tell you he has the perfect tree just for you. We have a special cart. Can I walk it to your house?”
“Ah Senora Rodriguez, Abuelo picked this one out yesterday and said it’s on special sale and you can settle with him in January.”
“Ah Senora, Abuelo said this tree is too small; he can’t sell it but he thinks it would be perfect for your apartment. He told me to deliver it for you. When would be a good time?”
“Ah, la familia Marquez. Encantado verles – good to see you. And Abuelo says, because the boys are getting bigger, they need a bigger tree this year and, guess what! He has some extra lights that he was certain you can use better than he can. Let’s see if we can tie it to the top of your car. Y abuelo dice Felix Navidad y Prospero Ano Nuevo – and Abuelo says Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.”
And while, by any reasonable account, Miquelito was still “way too young” – not to mention too small, he insisted that this was his year to share in a tradition he still did not fully understand.
Now, truth be told, as he often did, Mikey had an ulterior motive. Tio – Uncle - Nick was working again this year, as he had been for the last five or six or seven; and, Mikey would do just about anything to hang out with this most favorite of his cousins, who was, in fact, more than a decade older and so much bigger that, of course, he was an “uncle” in the hierarchy of Miquelitolandia – Michaelandia. .
In fact, though half a generation separated them, their lives circled each other – like earth and moon casting regular eclipses. When Nick moved from home to his Sigma Chi Fraternity House at The U, Mikey memorized the route and established his own after-school residence in the dining room turned study hall; when Mikey had a sporting event Nick and half the Sigs were there; a spelling bee or a baseball practice, Nick was tutor and coach. Because Nick liked sushi, Mikey decided it was his favorite food. It was, many observed, as if they often thought with the same mind.
And, although there is no proof of it because Nick would only have been ten or so when Mikey was born, it is family lore that Nick was the first member of the entire family to ever address Mikey in full sentences - real people talk: “Hey, Dude. Let go of the small stuff, no matter how big it seems; hold onto the big stuff no matter how small it seems. Forget happy. Choose Joy.”
In fact, Nick counseled and disciplined Mikey with those words so often that they became part of the invisible glue bonding the two together – even though, from newborn ‘til now as a strapping eleven-year-old, Mikey could never quite understand precisely what they meant. He had not the slightest idea of what Tio Nick was saying; he knew only that these words united them in a way that no one else in the family would ever understand.
Over time, as children and grandchildren grew – in size and number, family Thanksgiving dinner gave way to a massive all-afternoon Sunday-after-Thanksgiving open-house. And now that all of the kids – including Mikey – understood the Spirit of Santa Claus – the family introduced the practice of Secret Santas. It was practical, timesaving, and, besides, with such a huge extended family, Abuela no longer had to spend September, October and November shopping for everyone who might be on her list.
Now Mikey has been known as a scamp, scoundrel, charmer, flirt, thinker, hooligan, con artist, studious, and scheming to name but a few of his discriptors. And, as this year’s self-appointed Director of Secret Santas, he put all of those attributes to work to uncover the secret meaning of “Dude. Let go of the small stuff, no matter how big it seems; hold onto the big stuff, no matter how small it seems. Forget happy. Choose Joy.”
Miguelito had carefully written out the names of every family member – tios, tias, cousins and cousins so old they seemed like tios and tias – brothers, sisters, even boyfriends and girlfriends. Everyone’s names went into the Secret Santa Bag. Everyone’s except Mikey’s. And that’s where Miguelito’s scamp-side came into play. He had already announced that he had drawn the name of his favorite cousin and, for Nick’s draw, there was an absolutely identical bag with dozens of slips of paper all carrying but one name.
Then, on the Friday afternoon before Christmas, Mikey received a phone call. “Dude, bring your bike. We’re gonna play hooky tomorrow. Don’t worry. When no one’s lookin we’ll stash your bike in my trunk and disappear. I’ve got your Christmas gift.”
Now, it’s almost impossible to describe the excitement of a kid when his favorite uncle-cousin proposes playing hooky and heading out on an adventure. But, true to his word, Nick arrived before opening on Saturday morning and, when the store reached a point of being so crowded that customers and family had to walk outside to find the space to change their minds, Nick gave Mikey a furtive raised eyebrow and a nod of the head toward a side door and they were gone.
There was something happily conspiratorial in the air as the two began their hooky adventure. So much fun that, until they arrived at the Sigma Chi House, neither spoke and both enjoyed the feeling of breaking a long list of unwritten rules. Pulling up to the house, Nick broke the silence: “Duuuuude, long, hard ride or medium or easy? Your choice.”
Truth was that Mikey was simply so happy to be with his tio-cousin that it didn’t matter and, no matter how long or challenging the ride, he would never have admitted to difficulty or exhaustion; just being part of the adventure was enough. “Okay, Cuz. We’ll make it short and sweet. We’re headed to one of my favorite places but before you get your Christmas gift, it’s time for you to ‘fess up.” And, with those words, Nick tossed his own bike into the back of the jeep and away they went. Mikey had a feeling his head would explode as he tried a hundred times over to understand ‘’fess up.” “Fess up to what?” And Nick wouldn’t give him a break. He drove in silence, saying not a word and adding to Mikey’s exploding sense that something had happened.
Fifteen minutes later, “We’re here,” announced Nick, pulling into a parking lot completely unknown to Mikey, and unloading their bikes. “Mount up.” Mikey followed Nick’s lead as he chose a meandering path aside a low coral-rock wall. “Cuz, there’s no place in town as special as this. It’s the biggest garden you’ve ever seen and I want to give your Christmas gift but, first, you have to ‘fess up.”
Mikey’s gut churned with a sense of being trapped and confused.
“Wanna tell me ‘bout the Secret Santas or want me to tell you?” asked Nick with a smile as big as any that ever graced the face of Santa Claus himself. “Don’t worry,” he said after what seemed like an endless pause. “I know that you rigged the Secret Santa. And I think I’ve figured out precisely what to get you.”
Mikey was on the verge of – well I’m not sure what he was on the verge of as he struggled with the idea of being caught by his hero tio – but, he was surely on the verge.
“How, how, how’d you know?” he stuttered.
Slowly, slowly the two biked the paths – to Mikey – but certainly not for Nick - with no destination in mind. A turn here, a curve there, a straight-a-way, another turn, a slow descent, and Nick stopped and dismounted. “Here,” he said, looking out over a massive meadow filled with butterflies beyond counting. “This is my favorite place. A great place to think and talk and to give you your Christmas gift.”
Nick was empty-handed.
“Grab a sit, Cuz. Let’s talk.
“Any idea how many times I’ve said to you ‘No piensas en las cosas pequenas aunque grandes parecen; ahunta las cosas grandes aunque parecen pequenas! Olvidate de felicidad, escoje alegria! Let go of the small stuff, no matter how big it seems; hold onto the big stuff, no matter how small it seems. Forget happy; choose Joy!”
“Hundreds and hundreds,” responded Mikey. “Every time you ever see me.”
“For all the years you’ve been alive,” added Nick, noting with confidence, “And for Christmas you really want me to explain ‘cause you don’t understand what it means. Right?”
“How’d you know?” Mikey asked.
“Okay, here’s the story. So many people are so busy thinkin’ and worryin’ about, wantin’ big things that they don’t really understand that most of that stuff really isn’t worth worrying about. They make the small stuff so big that it rules their lives.
“Look at this meadow… Most people would never ever stop here more than a minute. They’d be so busy thinkin’ about the big stuff that they miss all the little stuff – the butterflies, the crabs, the view – that are really special.
“It’s like Abuelo’s Christmas trees. So many people are so worried about getting the biggest, the fullest, the just-right tree that they miss the important things. They worry about how much they cost, whether they’re spruce or fir or Doulas. Do you know the secret of Abuelo’s trees?”
“What secret?” implored Miquelito.
“It’s the secret of Abuelo’s hidden trees. The one’s nobody sees. The special ones for the Senoras Valdes and Rodriguez and the Familia Marquez and all those other trees we move around on old grocery carts. They would never have a Christmas tree, if it weren’t for Abuelo. He keeps them in a special corner. We’re not supposed to show them to the folks with money. ‘Cause they’re in that corner, ‘cause they are hidden away, almost everyone thinks they’re little, scrawny, ugly trees. But – even though some are smaller than most, Abuelo picks each one out specially and he makes sure they’re perfect and then we hide them in the corner. Abuelo thinks they’re the most important trees of the year – because they are always for the people everyone else forgets.”
Mikey’s head wasn’t quite spinning but he could feel himself filling with the pride of being allowed into a special secret world.
“People miss the little stuff that’s really, really special. Dude, do you know the most important thing I own. Bet you’d never guess. At Christmas when you were in kindergarten, you gave me a drawing of you and me playing football. You made big crayon bars of every color and covered them with black crayon and then used a pencil to make the drawing. It’s framed on the wall of my room. It’s small and simple but it reminds me of the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness is just on the surface – it comes and goes and, for most people, it depends on everything outside themselves. Joy is deep and constant no matter what is happening around us.
“So, Mikey, now you’re beginning to learn the lesson of Abuelo’s Christmas trees. Just because everyone else thinks the big trees are the most important doesn’t mean they are. For Abuelo it’s the little trees and the little people who are most special. And for Abuelo these trees are part of the joy of Christmas.
“You see, Cuz, Joy is different from Happy. Abuelo teaches us that Joy is the most important reason for Christmas – it’s the way God shows himself to us. Abuelo reminds us that the message of the Angels was ‘Joy to the world.’ Joy is what happens when we know that we are deeply, deeply loved by God and others and that nothing – sickness, failure, problems, not even death – can take that love away.
“You drawing on my wall is like Joy – under all that black crayon – is the picture of you and me together and nothing can break us up. All those bright colors, they’re Joy.”
“So, enjoy the butterflies. Enjoy my special place. My gift to you. Forget the little things, the small stuff that everyone else makes seem so important and big; hold onto the really important things that everyone else thinks are small and unimportant. Enjoy the secret of Abuelo’s Christmas trees.
“And, for your gift to me, I only want one thing: Choose Joy. Choose Joy.”
Merry Christmas