Some days I pluck up the newspaper and an article rubs me the wrong way.
Such was the case when I spied the tale of the "disgraced tree" in Lawndale (CA) that failed to perform to expectations.
When the official "Angel Tree" was chopped down to make way for a new library, City officials had high hopes for a new sapling they planted in its stead to be decorated at Christmas each year.
But, when the young evergreen failed to turn leafy, with gracious, spreading boughs, the powers-that-be at City Council were incensed.
"It never flourished like it was supposed to," said Mayor Harold Hofmann, in a huff. "It's not the tree it was supposed to be."
Huh?
If that insult (and ignorant remark) wasn't enough to curl the bark on anyone, another councilman opened his mouth and summarily put his foot in it when he remarked,
"It's a scrawny-looking tree."
On the heels of these whacko assessments, City Hall acknowledged their decision to chop the tree down because it wasn't worthy of the great honor of, "Angel Tree".
After all, it wasn't aesthetically pleasing - "...because of its odd shape," one chimed in.
Do they mean to infer that there was an oversight when the Lord's hand bestowed upon us this miracle in the form of a humble tree?
To paraphrase Gertrude Stein, "A tree is a tree is a tree".
Not so in Lawdale, apparently.
After a revealing, insightful interview, Barbara Walters often asks her guests, point-blank:
"If you were a tree, what kind of tree would you be?"
I think Katherine Hepburn once said, "I'd be a grand, old oak tree".
Officials at Lawndale must have taken note in view of their actions in recent days.
What kind of message are they sending to the children in Lawndale, anyway?
If you don't like the way a tree grows, just hack it down, and plant a new one?
The officials are missing the whole point.
The Holy occasion is not about decorating the perfect tree!
Christmas is about the birth of Christ, the precious gift of giving, peace on earth, goodwill towards men - and, I surmise - trees!
I say, save the Evergreen!
In the words of Joyce Kilmer,
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree."
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