We children had always wanted a real Christmas tree—a tall, lavishly decorated one, like other families had. It would have “singing” lights, silver tinsel, and glass ornaments dressing its snow-topped branches. And, of course, beneath it would be overflowing with presents.

But another December had come and our living room remained bare. New Christmas decorations were way too pricey for a large missionary family like ours, so Mom pulled out the storage boxes and made the old decorations look as good as new. Then she went to work on handcrafted “stockings” made from shiny red paper and trimmed with cotton balls. My little sisters helped cut and paste. There were 12 stockings—one for each of us kids—and Mom strung them up on the staircase banister. My two brothers managed to revive the colored lights for yet another year, and they strung them on the veranda.

For a Nativity scene we molded little clay figurines, then baked and painted them. Someone gave us a set of three cherubs that were the perfect match until we kids—all determined to keep rearranging the figurines until we found the perfect look—knocked over one of the cherubs and he lost his head.

Then one evening Dad came home and announced that he had bought a Christmas tree. Curious and excited, we all gathered in the living room to inspect the tree. Our first real Christmas tree!

“Isn’t it incredible?” Dad was always so enthusiastic.

In actuality, it was a papier-mâché model of an evergreen, about a foot tall.

“That’s our tree???”

More sour expressions on 12 faces.

“It’s so skinny!”

“It’s kinda strange.”

“Dad, that’s not a real tree.”

“What do you mean? Of course it’s a real tree, honey. The inmates at the prison made it. It seems they can make almost anything! Isn’t it great?”

Dad hoped his enthusiasm would catch on. “And look, I bought a matching reindeer to go with it!” With some fanfare he produced the reindeer—also made from recycled newspaper.

That was just like my father! Even though he didn’t have much to spend on extras, he always tried to help those who had even less by purchasing some of their wares. The tree and the reindeer would help the inmates have a bit of money to spend on their families this Christmas, perhaps to buy small gifts or a better meal for their children.

As a chaplain in the national correctional system in the Philippines, he had collected many such handcrafted items. Last year, for example, there was an intricately carved battleship that sat serenely on our library shelf until my brothers went to war with it. The year before, our house had been filled with glass bottles containing miniature scenes—homes on stilts, tiny matchstick people, palm trees by the beach.

One of my brothers would collect newspapers and old magazines for the craftsmen, and my sisters and I would help sell their beautiful handmade Christmas cards. The profits went back to their families.
And now this—our “real” Christmas tree.

“I suppose we could fix it up somehow,” one of my sisters suggested. So we set it up on the phone table, which was the perfect size for it. Mom cut ornaments from cardboard—stars, bells, and candy canes. Glitter glue gave the tree a touch of sparkle. I remembered a pair of plastic doves, covered in white mesh, that I’d found in a wholesale store. The doves went up too. We strung colorful miniature lights, which flickered prettily over Mary, Joseph, Baby Jesus, and the two and two-thirds cherubs.

Christmas came all at once to our merry little home, and I’ll never forget it. That year in particular was a struggle for our family, but it was also one of the most memorable.

No, we never got our store-bought Christmas tree. Instead we got one that truly represented our family’s love. Our home was never outfitted with fancy décor, but it was filled with the laughter of happy children and the melodies of meaningful Christmas carols. Santa never fit in with our family, but you can bet we caught Mommy kissing Daddy somewhere near that tree. And as for Christmas presents, our parents gave us gifts that no amount of money could ever buy.

We spent many happy moments together as a family. Our parents taught us that Christmas was for giving of our hearts to others, and that the same selfless love should color our lives, not only at Christmas, but all year round—just like a real evergreen.

Nyx Martinez is a full-time volunteer with the Family International in Uganda.