"The Most Beautiful Thing"
(Unknown Author)
The sides of the path were covered with rugs of white snow. But in the
center, its whiteness was crushed and churned into a foaming brown by the tramp,
tramp of hundreds of hurrying feet.
It was the day before Christmas. People rushed up and down the path carrying
arm loads of bundles. They laughed and called to each other as they pushed their
way through the crowds.
Above the path, the long arms of an ancient tree reached upward to the sky.
It swayed and moaned as strong winds grasped its branches and bent them toward
the earth. Down below a haughty laugh sounded, and a lovely fir tree stretched
and preened its thick green branches, sending a fine spray of snow shimmering
downward to the ground.
"I should think," said the fir in a high smug voice, "That
you'd try a little harder to stand still. Goodness knows you're ugly enough with
the leaves you've already lost. If you move around anymore, you'll soon be quite
bare."
"I know," answered the old tree. "Everything has put on its
most beautiful clothes for the celebration of the birth of Christ. Even from
here I can see the decorations shining from each street corner. And yesterday
some men came and put the brightest, loveliest lights on every tree along the
path -- except me of course." He sighed softly, and a flake of snow melted
in the form of a teardrop and ran down his gnarled trunk.
"Oh, indeed! And did you expect they'd put lights upon you so your
ugliness would stand out even more?" smirked the fir.
"I guess you're right," replied the old tree in a sad voice.
"If there were only somewhere I could hide until after the celebrations are
over, but here I stand, the only ugly thing among all this beauty. If they would
only come and chop me down," and he sighed sorrowfully.
"Well, I don't wish you any ill will," replied the fir, "But
you are an eyesore. Perhaps it would be better for us all if they came and
chopped you down." Once again he stretched his lovely thick branches.
"You might try to hang onto those three small leaves you still have. At
least you wouldn't be completely bare."
"Oh, I've tried so hard," cried the old tree "Each fall I say
to myself, 'this year I won't give up a single leaf, no matter what the cause,'
but someone always comes along who seems to need them more than I," And he
sighed once again.
"I told you not to give so many to that dirty little paper boy,"
said the fir. "Why you even lowered your branches a little bit, so that he
could reach them. You can't say I didn't warn you then."
"Yes you did at that," the old tree replied. "But they made
him so happy. I heard him say he would pick some for his invalid mother."
"Oh, they all had good causes," mocked the fir, that young girl,
for instance, colored leaves for her party indeed! They were your leaves!"
"She took a lot, didn't she?" said the old tree, and he seemed to
smile.
Just then a cold wind blew down the path and a tiny brown bird fell to the
ground at the foot of the old tree and lay there shivering, too cold to lift its
wings. The old tree looked down in pity and then he quickly let go of his last
three leaves. The golden leaves fluttered down and settled softly over the
shivering little bird, and it lay there quietly under the warmth of them.
"Now you've done it!" shrieked the fir. You've given away every
single leaf! Christmas morning you'll make your path the ugliest sight in the
whole city!"
The old tree said nothing. Instead he stretched out his branches to gather
what snowflakes he could that they might not fall on the tiny bird.
The young fir turned away in anger, and it was then he noticed a painter
sitting quietly a few feet from the path, intent upon his long brushes and his
canvas. His clothes were old and tattered, and his face wore a sad expression.
He was thinking of his loved ones and the empty, cheerless Christmas morning
they would face, for he had sold not a single painting in the last months.
But the little tree didn't see this. Instead he turned back to the old tree
and said in a haughty voice, "At least keep those bare branches as far away
from me as possible. I'm being painted and hideousness will mar the
background."
"I'll try," replied the old tree. And he raised his branches as
high as possible. It was almost dark when the painter picked up his easel and
left. And the little fir was tired and cross from all his preening and posing.
Christmas morning he awoke late, and as he proudly shook away the snow from
his lovely branches, he was amazed to see a huge crowd of people surrounding the
old tree, ah-ing and oh-ing as they stood back and gazed upward. And even those
hurrying along the path had to stop for a moment to sigh before they went on.
"Whatever could it be?" thought the haughty fir, and he too looked
up to see if perhaps the top of the old tree had been broken off during the
night. Just then a paper blew away from the hands of an enraptured newsboy and
sailed straight into the young fir.
The fir gasped in amazement, for there on the front page was a picture of
the painter, holding his painting of a great white tree whose leafless branches,
laden with snow, stretched upward into the sky. While down below lay a tiny
brown bird almost covered by three golden leaves.
And beneath the picture were the words, "The Most Beautiful Thing Is
That Which Hath Given All." The young fir quietly bowed its head beneath
the great beauty of the humble old tree.
" . . . 'whoever wants to become
great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be
slave of all. For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve,
and to give his life as a ransom for many.'" Mark 10:43b-45 (NIV)
One starlit night
One couple in distress
One shabby stable
Only one place to rest
One group of shepherds
One night long ago
One angel's message
Only one place to go
One Wiseman's journey
One king did they seek
One Son of David
Only one child so meek
One reason for coming
One goal on earth's sod
One death that redeems
Only one way to God.
(Myra Dye)
"Suddenly a great company of the
heavenly host
appeared with the angel, praising God
and saying,
'Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to men on whom his
favor rests.'"
Luke 2:13-14 (NIV)
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