My Christmas Angel
and the hope of a newborn baby boy
I bought this little angel tree-topper in 1990 for a couple of dollars. It is small and the materials are cheap. Sloppy paint on the eyes has them looking in different directions, and the twisted pipe cleaner arms hold a single burned out lightbulb. It’s a struggle to get it to stay on the top of the tree. It’s no Wendell August or Balsam Hill tree angel. Today, you’d likely find something similar in a Dollar Store.
None of that matters—she’s worth more than gold to me.
“Fine. You can go live with your mom.” My step-grandfather’s voice rang through the hallway. I was 16 at the time, and it didn’t matter that I hadn’t lived with my mom since I was four, when she left my brother and me on the doorstep of a welfare office in Reno, Nevada. She couldn’t save herself from domestic violence, but she refused to let her new husband beat her children.
My step-grandfather had shoved a black lawn bag in my face. “Pack your shit. You’re going tonight.”
I had just finished my sophomore year of high school in a small town, excelling as an honors student, employee of the month at a local burger joint, and elected class treasurer. But when I was kicked out and forced to move to a much larger city, the culture shock was overwhelming. The new high school had thousands of students, compared to the hundreds I was used to. Without the positive influence and support of my former friends, and with a mother who wanted my approval more than anything, I spent the next few years running wild.
The truth is, I desperately needed therapy to address abandonment, emotional abuse, and childhood sexual trauma. At the time, I might have been labeled promiscuous, but in reality, I was searching for love, acceptance, and approval. I was searching for my lost hope.
And then, I ended up pregnant and alone. You might think that was my rock bottom, but you'd be wrong. That event was actually the moment when hope began to take root. My son arrived at a time when I had lost the will to fight for myself, and he gave me something worth fighting for. I promised him I’d be the mother I had always needed.
For our first Christmas together, I bought this angel. At the time, I was a 19 year-old on public assistance, struggling to make ends meet. The angel felt like a splurge, and I’m sure I sacrificed something else just to afford it. Food stamps didn’t cover diapers, and the $350 welfare check barely covered rent. Those early days with my son were incredibly hard, but they were also the most pivotal in my life.
Flash forward 30+ years, and I'm in a very different place. My now three kids are grown, and we look forward to their visits. My husband and I (and our dog) are lucky enough not to struggle to make ends meet. We have the food we need, and our house is warm and safe.
Over the years, my grown up kids have offered to buy me a fancy new tree-topper, but I've always refused. You see, when I place this sweet little angel atop the tree every Christmas, it reminds me to be humble. It reminds me to be generous and kind to others, and that status isn’t everything. More than anything, it reminds me of that tiny baby boy, who, so many years ago, brought great hope into my heart.
Friends, sometimes hope appears as a simple angel on a Christmas tree. For some, it’s the joy of hearing your child laugh for the first time in a long while, or watching a plant sprout from a seed after a long winter. For others, it’s the return of the sunrise, offering the strength to face another day. Hope might also be found in a loved one’s recovery from illness, the job promotion you’ve been waiting for, a new friendship, or a timely visit from someone who knows exactly when you need them.
Sometimes, though, sometimes hope comes in the form of a baby boy, born to an unwed mother.
this is SO SO beautiful. Got goosebumps reading it- what a testament to the power of hope. Merry Christmas!
Beautiful message of hope. That little angel atop your tree is priceless. May your holidays be filled with love and peace.