The Noble Fir
The fir tree stands silently in the corner of our living room: proud, erect, strong. Even unadorned, it is beautiful.I particularly love the symmetry of its boughs, so full and thick, and its distinctive conical shape, the crown pointing appropriately towards the heavens. The deep, rich evergreen colors of our abies procera offer a welcome addition to the warm earth tones in the front room of our home. The distinctive smell, like turpentine, brings back long-forgotten memories from my childhood ….
This is the second year we’ve had a tree. Last year we made the daring decision to get one. I say “daring,” but you must of course interpret this in the context of our mindset at the time. As many of you can appreciate, we were in the beginning of my fade from the Jehovah’s Witness routine at the time. It had only been three months since I quit attending meetings.
So you can understand then why my wife and I were more or less in ninja “stealth mode” the December night we surreptitiously drove to the local Christmas tree lot to buy our first tree. As we pulled into the parking area, we both made countless furtive glances around the lot to see if we saw anyone that we knew or that might recognize us. The entire time we were picking out the tree, I had the constant fear that some nosy member of the local congregation or some overzealous elder might spot us, and we all know where that could lead! So by “daring,” I suppose I really mean a timid assertion of our individuality.
It’s funny actually, because when you think about it, it was rather silly for us to be nervous. I mean, really: what were the odds any active Witnesses would be there in a Christmas tree lot? None. Zero. Zilch. In fact, this was probably the safest place we could be at that particular time--safe at least from the scrutiny and judgmental stares of members of my former religion.
Our first tree was a Douglas fir. Even though we were somewhat nervous, we were also very excited and so we took our time picking it out. There was a noticeably guilty pleasure to putting the tree in our SUV and taking it home. As we pulled up to our front door, we carefully scanned the street for any suspicious cars.
Then, like two burglars, we smuggled it into our house under the cloak of darkness. Only instead of breaking in and stealing something, we were bringing something in: something new, something forbidden, something dangerous. We decorated our first tree that night with our shutters closed up tightly to keep out any prying eyes and to hide our secret celebration. My wife carefully chose ornaments of red and gold and white to adorn our tree. Angels and candy canes, snowflakes and bulbs--each one with a story to tell, a message to declare.
This year is different. Very different. Why? It’s hard to say exactly, but over the course of the passing seasons, we grew and changed. As the world came back to life in the spring--tiny shoots of baby plants declaring their place in the world and new blossoms opening up for the first time--we went through a transformation and were ourselves reborn. Throughout the summer we continued to grow and mature, basking in the hot summer sun, laughing and playing in the intense, liberating light of freedom. When autumn came we were finally ready to reap the harvest of our independence. Now, as the days are at their shortest, we clearly realize the importance of living every moment to its fullest, to really live, here and now. At some point, all moments will have come and gone and then it will be too late.
And so I sit here quietly and look with great pleasure at the noble, Noble fir in my living room, a silent witness to the dignity of freedom of thought and expression of belief. All of my senses are delighted by this simple--and no longer guilty--pleasure.
Each evening during the past couple of weeks, when the shadows get long and the daylight begins to fade, I turn on the bright, twinkly lights decorating our tree and simply enjoy its gentle warmth. There something wonderful, something joyful, about the soft glow from the tree that gives testimony to who we are.
One thing we no longer do is close our blinds at night. No, we leave them open, and open wide, so that anyone that passes by--should they care to glance by chance or by design--will be able to see us celebrating our life and our traditions with all the love and joy that we possibly can.
Our noble, Noble fir.