My family has a lot of traditions.
I mean, a lot. From the assortment of Christmas cookies we bake to our liturgy of Christmas Eve dinner, the whole season is nearly mapped out for us. And I love it all. I'm a sucker for reliving childhood memories when we listen to the Lamb Chop Nutcracker cassette (yes, I said cassette!) while bringing out decorations that are set up in the exact same spot every year. Amidst the parties and church services and semesters winding down, the Advent season is one I have always cherished. I'm the type that at 25 years old, our house is already full of hand-me-down decorations from our families and ones I bought as an elementary school kid (told you---I'm weird about Christmas!). This season, one particular family tradition stood out as I unpacked the boxes of decorations from the basement. It's one that started in 2002 when I was 12 years old: my dad's handmade, wooden ornaments.
Dad has always loved wood working--evidenced by his building furniture as a young lad and his current effort completely remodeling their home. He's just always been too swamped with his other ventures to spend any real time with it. Dad comes from an artsy family and is a bit of a perfectionist, so when we lose contact with him those few days before December 25th, we know he's locked himself in the garage. He dreams up ideas, experiments with new tools, acquires special wood, and labors over these Christmas ornaments with joy and anticipation.
Needless to say, the ornaments have come a long way since 2002. He must have forgot about his desire to make ornaments the second year because they were a bit of an afterthought: mine was a cutout of a guitar on leftover, cheap sheet wood which he outlined and drew with sharpie. Whitnee's was a goofy baseball with eyes, arms, and legs. We still tease him for those ones.
Over the following years, he kicked it up a notch: a candle with a rose wood flame, a zebra wood star, and an intricate manger. Dad is all about the details when it comes to wood working and gleefully makes sure we recognize the snowman's toothpick nose, the grain in the angel, and the symmetry of the snowflakes. Some years, he purposefully tries to surprise us--like the year he made the sailboat, carved Santa's face into a branch, or used the tradition as an excuse to make Spanish toys. He's already begun brainstorming what he'll create for this Christmas.
I believe it when he says that his time spent making our ornaments every year is fun for him. The adorable smile on his face when he brings them in from the garage for us to unwrap proves that. He always says that he enjoys the time so much because he spends it praying for us. And while it's easy to file those comments into the "Dad's just gotten sappy in his old age" folder, I know that my dad entreats his own Father in Heaven on behalf of me and my sister. He and my mom have prayed endless prayers of wisdom, strength, lament and thanksgiving in the years since God entrusted them with two blue-eyed daughters. These ornaments are a labor of a father's love; they are a humble offering of his heart.
This Advent season, my dad's Christmas ornaments are a mere reflection of God's own gift of love in his offering of his Son. Our Father God gave us a gift unsurpassable--a baby boy, through whom the world might be saved. Come, let us adore Him.