The Angel Who Lost Her Tree
“The Angel Who Lost Her Tree”
by Joe DiMino
Celeste was a pretty little angel. Everyone in Heaven
loved her. She had the most charming wings, and rainbow
halo; however, she had the forgetful habit of losing things.
When put in charge of clouds, a responsible position for all the
flowers depended on the rain, she seemed to always misplace
a few—dropping them between mountains making for foggy
valleys; and even when rain fell from the clouds that Celeste was
to oversee, several drops never made their way to the ground to
nourish the crops in the fields and fruit trees, and no-one could ever
find them no matter where they looked. But she was still loved,
for that is Heaven’s way. And God often reminded the other angels,
that they must care for one another, just as they care for all the children
in the world; watching over them as they sleep, and staying close,
protecting them throughout the day while at school and later at play.
So God’s response to the angels who thought Celeste was
not of the highest rank was to give Celeste a very special
responsibility—she would have her own Christmas tree.
Now as you know, some pine trees are blessed to be
very special trees, with the greatest honor—that of
becoming a season’s Christmas tree. They had to be just
the right height, and grow no taller, for every family had
their prayer order. They had to have just the right shape,
and holiday green—with all of winter’s charming pine-
fragrance, ultra frosting for just the right gleam.
And that was the dilemma—Celeste had been separated
from her tree. What would a tree do without its angel
atop? So sad if no-one to hear children’s prayers and
wishes; to bless the lights, the silver tinsel and charming
decorations—all made with love, watched over by
Guardians high above. Yes, what would Celeste’s tree do
if the top were bare, without her angel’s care?
She was frantic, and searched the forest, thinking perhaps
it had not yet been cut. She tried the many parking lots
and corners, where trees had gathered—already having
been sorted, proudly waiting to be picked-up by their
rightful owners. But Celeste could not find hers. She
began to weep—her tears growing cold and changing to
snow.
Of course, though Celeste did not know it at the time,
this was good; the children having all wished for snow
on Christmas, and till then there had not fell a single
flake; not one snowball any child was able to make.
Soon the entire city was covered in Christmas-white—
with snow reflecting all the many colored lights. Celeste
grew sadder—which was good, for her tree heard her
weep; and as everyone knows, Christmas trees never
sleep. Though you don’t see them, they have ears and
eyes way up above; seeing all and hearing all, ready to
respond with love. Eyes of the many angels are seen as
a sky of Christmas lights. Ears are the countless hosts
of Heaven, as many as needed—always listening, at
least two hearing every prayer, applauding every hymn
celebrating Christmas night. We celebrate Christmas
night as we do the joyful Eves and Days.
The earth blessed by God with never-ending mirth when
our greatest worth acknowledged is that of Jesus’ holy
birth. Celeste’s tree grew ever greener and brighter—till
Celeste could not help but notice such outpouring of
light.
Celeste found her tree; and I do believe it could very
well be your tree!
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