The best thing about December in Africa is the simplicity that surrounds Christmas here.  The entire holiday comes in a stripped back form and there is poignancy to themessage that remains. A baby was born.  No frills.

To be honest, though, it’s the simplicity that’s driving me crazy today.  As I write, we are a few short days from Christmas Eve and I am frustrated by our lack of a tree. Over the course of many Christmases in Africa, we’ve had some lovely trees. Most of them were thorn trees. Decorated, I always liked the symbolism of beauty surrounded by sharp thorns.  In the tree I could see the span of Christ’s life.  A beautiful gift that cost God dearly—that’s the message of this season.

But these days we live in a city and we can’t just walk out and find a sweet little tree to cut and bring home.  

If I could just skip the tree thing, I would… But I can’t. Our youngest is 11 and she’s definitely not ready to forgo tradition.  She wants a tree.  Badly.  I am desperate and I caught myself looking at a dreadful little fake tree with automatic blue lights attached at the grocery store today.  I was shocked by how tantalizing the thought of just satiating her desire felt.  But I snapped out of it.

Back at home now, I’m sitting opposite our sorrowful looking first attempt at this year’s tree.  It’s pretty awful, I must say.  It’s a wrought iron thing in a sort of Christmas tree shape that Byron had welded together last year to showcase our Artisan Project decorations at a fine shop in town.  It looked amazing dressed in about 300 of the beautiful products that our Maasai friends make. The effect was stunning and I was proud to know that our project provides year-round income for over 100 families. 

But I don’t have 300 shimmering beaded snowflakes and stars to cover the skeletal form of this thing and I’m not sure I can pull off making it attractive, much less warm and festive.

And yet, I am amazed at how the barren look of this failed tree is working on my heart.  I’ve always said I like the stripped back, uncomplicated version of Christmas that we get in Africa, and, once again, I’m being presented the opportunity to embrace that.

Is Christmas the qualityof my tree?  My decorations?

Dear, sweet Baby Jesus, help me if it is!

The discouragement of how difficult it is today to make a pretty tree for my little girl is stripping my heart of shallow distractions and pressing me toward better things.

This year, millions of people in East Africa wait in quiet dread as the continuing failure of rains brings only the promise of much suffering.  The dead cows littering the plains tell us that children who are hungry now may slip away from this life in the months ahead. 

My children will have plenty.  They may not have a very spectacular tree, but they will not lack for food or joy.  Our Christmas will be simple.  Our family will be together, all six of us, and this is gift enough.  This is, in fact, treasure.  We will bake a couple of chickens, mash a pile of potatoes and fill up on the best tropical fruit you can imagine for December means that all the best will be in the market.

Sue Monk Kidd writes ofthe time she said “Merry Christmas!” to a monk at the monastery where she was on retreat.   “May Christ be born in you,” he replied.

May Christ be born in me.  Much more than a nice tree, this is what I long for today. 

Laid bare by my misguided frustrations, the skeletal frame of my priorities and longings are exposed.  I look at this ridiculous tree and I see only my heart.

This Christmas I am reminded of what really matters and why it was so important that a baby was born.  That no-frills birth brought us the hope of all the Earth.

Today as I make my cosmetic preparations, I pray mercy, hope, light and life for Africa.  I pray it for her people, young and old.  I pray it for her fields and livestock, for her forests and plains. I pray it for her rivers and her wildlife. And I pray it for myself.

It will be hot when we celebrate and our windows and doors will stand open as we gather to feast and to worship.  Much as we will need every cooling breeze, I’ll be focused on the symbolism.

This Christmas, I’m opening my heart anew to Jesus. Come in, dear Lord.  Come in!  To our hearts, to our home, to this continent that needs you so. Come in!