The Christmas Ornament

It doesn’t matter that it’s ugly. It goes on the Christmas tree every year and has for more than sixty-five years, a testament to one of my childhood attempts at creativity. Styrofoam was a newfangled miracle for craft-makers in the fifties. Spectacular orbs with sequins, gold braid, and iridescent beads were displayed by triumphant homemakers who became artisans with a few craft materials and some straight pins. My family was no less inspired. Mama bought me a five-inch diameter ball, pure in its white nakedness, and a whole packet of gold sequins to do with as I willed. The mere thought of such a creative license had almost made me giddy.

I planned to make a perfect, symmetrical application of those gold sequins, covering the entirety of the ball so that it would sparkle under the lights on the tree. It wasn’t long until my thumb became sore from pushing the short pins into the ball. And getting the sequins lined up wasn’t nearly as easy as I had imagined. Then to my dismay, after a few shaky revolutions around the ball, I realized there were not going to be nearly enough sequins to cover the whole thing. So I began to space the sequins further and further apart, and as a result, the lines circling the ball became even more erratic. So much for symmetry.

To my mother’s credit, she did not make fun of my efforts, and the ornament assumed its place on the tree, as it has in all the years since. My parents have long passed, so one might wonder why I have kept it into my golden years. Why would I stir up the recollection of my failed artistic effort every year at holiday time?

Well, it does remind me that even though my well-intentioned plans don’t always work out the way I first envision, I can learn to live with the results. The ornament does still sparkle—a little. Beyond that, it helps me remember that happiness is not directly tied to things always being perfect. And in a sense, isn’t life like that? Most of us discover, at one time or another, that things don’t work out exactly as we had planned or expected. But we become who we are as a result of the sum of our life experiences. The Master Potter takes all those experiences into account as He molds us into His likeness, the good, the bad—and even the ugly.

Linda Nottingham