Grandma’s tree was different.
Unlike almost everyone else,
She didn’t care if an ornament was ugly,
Made of bits and bobs, or falling apart.
The only merit that mattered to her
Was the giver or crafter who made it,
The amount of personal touch or heart
They had poured into it—that’s what made it,
To her, a beautiful ornament.

Grandma’s tree was different.
Unlike almost everyone else,
She didn’t hide homemade ornaments
At the back by the window or the wall.
No, she hung them in pride of place—
At the front where she could enjoy them all.
She didn’t hang them low or hang them high,
Or bury them amid the branches,
For memories gave them immeasurable merit.

Grandma’s tree was different.
As she hung the ornaments, she told me their stories.
She remembered their origins, every one,
From Sunday school children whom she had taught
To snowflakes made by that one grandson.
She remembered and treasured each ornament—
The pretty ones might remain in the box—
But the ones dearest to her always made
It onto the tree in the spots where she would see them—
Special sparkling memories for the Christmas season.

Photo: Grandma’s tree after we decorated it in 2022. Proof that every ornament can be beautiful. 💙