I was rummaging through my attic for the Christmas decorations when I saw it. The tree. Not a real tree of course, but an artificial one I bought the year before. It stood about 18-inches tall and had it all—glimmering ornaments, fiber optic branch tips that emitted a hypnotic array of blue, pink, green and gold sparkling lights, and a gold base that rotated the entire tree while playing Christmas carols. At least that’s what was it was supposed to do. It might as well be called a lemon tree—it never worked. I’d almost completely forgotten about it.
My brother John had tried to fix it. John was a carpenter by trade and had the “magic touch”—he was our family’s go-to handyman. I recalled how he hummed “Joy to the World,” as he took the tree base apart and removed a tiny motor that looked microscopic in his large hands. But then he frowned and shook his head. “It’ll never work,” he said. “The gears aren’t turning. And I have no idea where you can get a replacement motor.”
I’d saved the tree instead of throwing it away, hoping I could coax John into tinkering with it again the following Christmas. But that spring, John was killed in a senseless shooting while out on a carpentry job. The sudden tragedy devastated our entire family. My parents, John’s wife and their three children, my brother Joe and his wife and daughter were all coming over to my house for Christmas, but it was hard to imagine a joyful celebration without John.
“Oh, John, I wish you could send us a sign,” I cried out, loud enough that my voice echoed among the eaves. I immediately felt foolish. Did I really expect an answer?
I picked up some decorations and grabbed the tree by its trunk. I should put this in the trash, I thought.
Instead, I was overcome with a sudden urge. I carried the tree over to an outlet and plugged it in.
All at once, the fiber optics lit up. The tree began to spin. And a carol began to play.
“Joy to the word, the Lord has come,” it sang.
The tree hasn’t worked all the time since…only at certain moments, on Christmas. But whenever it does turn on and sing, we think about John and his magic touch. It’s like he’s still fixing things—helping our broken hearts to heal.
