Marshmallows

Earlier this week, I found myself staring into a bonfire roasting marshmallows. I don’t know when fancy metal skewers came along with two prongs perfectly formed for roasts and long enough to keep one out of harm's way. When I was a little girl, I would search the woods for a short stick. My father would take his pocketknife and whittle the end until the fine point would pierce not just one marshmallow but five or six. My marshmallows were never lightly toasted to a golden tan but blackened and charred and my beet red face almost singed from sticking my head too close to the fire. Even then, I would not be called patient.

I thought after 30 – 40 years without roasting marshmallows, I was ready for perfection. Standing patiently, I watched the sparks fly into the night sky and danced the metal skewer in and out of the flames. In the one second that I looked up to see a shower of sparks mingle with a falling star, my marshmallows burst into flames. I blew hard and again held the black, charred objects of my youth.

Someone stood ready with graham crackers and a chocolate bar to help me recall the gooey goodness of s’mores. I didn’t remember how to make them but after my first bite, I remembered the taste. I remembered childhood campfires and sing-a-longs. I remembered canoe rides and a young girl’s first kiss. Girl Scout badges, swimming lessons, rock and leaf collections swirled in my mind. The exuberance of youth, mixed with family love and security, warmed my heart along with the fire.

This Holiday Season may we open our eyes to the wonder of the moment and roast marshmallows until they burst into flames.

The Big Tree

Last night I co-hosted a small holiday dinner party with a friend. Both of us abhor planning and schedules and commitments away from work and during the process, we mixed up the date, farmed out invitation distribution and food coordination, and delayed all responsibility until the big day.

My friend stopped on the way over and picked up cleaning supplies that I couldn’t locate. Then in southern girl style, we watched the SEC football championship while cleaning, cooking, and ironing. One hour before we expected our guests, we decided to purchase a Christmas tree. Some twenty-two minutes later, the tree was on top of the car, and we rushed home so I could take a shower. Of course, there was no time to decorate a 12 foot tree. It was the biggest, fattest, tallest tree to ever grace my home. In fact, it was the first tree in many years to usher in the Season.

Over the course of the next four hours, we lived and laughed under the branches of the big tree. Without adornment, it stood watch over our festivities. I never once thought that it should be decorated. In fact, I never once thought about anything that night that should be different. I enjoyed the evening with friends, who ventured out to share a common love, brought together by common interests and common bonds. I enjoyed the present time without thinking back about picking up a tree earlier so it could twinkle in the background or cleaning days ahead of time so we could relax that afternoon. Last night was as it was supposed to be with the right people coming together at the right time gazing in wonder at the big tree.

This morning when I got up, I confess that I did move the tree into a different corner. Beyond that, I sit in wonder in its presence. Only here for a small window of time, I almost hear it whispering, “Live in the day, have peace in this blessed moment, and remember why I am here.”

Kneeling down to pour water into the tree stand, I think that I just might not decorate it. Even the most beautiful angels, stars, and birds would change the tree. I close my eyes and inhaling the strong evergreen scent, I think of family and friends. I don’t need to plan on what my house and my tree should look like tomorrow. In this day and in this heart, I have all that I need without adding shiny adornment to the plain and simple truths of the Season.