As I write, the reds and golds of Autumn are just barely holding out. The trees are releasing the last of the most vibrant leaves. They float to the ground, their fading colors blanketing the earth.
But there is one lonely tree that has only just begun to show its colors. This month, her buds will open and the colors will begin a most vibrant month-long display. By November’s end she will be the most beautiful of all trees.
Her branches ablaze with color. Her “leaves” pouring forth praises to the One who brings her branches to their own kind of life.
We call her the Gratitude Tree.
She’s part of the reason I don’t decorate for Christmas at all until the day after Thanksgiving. I need these weeks to linger over Autumn with gratitude. To join with nature in preparing my heart and home for winter. To me, there is something sacred about this waiting after the hubbub of Halloween and its distractions.
I approach it with intentionality and its own kind of purpose. I light candles more often. I revisit some of my daily rhythms. And I count gratitude. I add a new “leaf” to the tree each day. The rest of the family adds as they feel moved and guests in our home often participate too. It’s a tradition we started somewhere around 2010. To be honest, some years have been more successful than others (I’m not always the stellar on follow-thru as some of you may know).
In her book, One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp captures the spirit of my November hopes well. She says, “Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I’ve ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing…. Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away.”
August, September, and October are usually busy months. November is my forced pause. Not just a pause for the pause-sake. But for the express purpose of focusing on gratitude. To slow my roll and notice all the little things in front of me. Ann goes on to say, “Gratitude for the seemingly insignificant—a seed—this plants the giant miracle.”
Some years I continue the practice in a journal even after we take the tree down. I know my propensity to rush and miss things. To focus only on the hard things. To try to dull my ache by keeping my head down and pressing on. Counting gratitude helps me halt some of those joy-crushing tendencies during the other months too.
In many ways, our November tradition seems more important this year than ever. The roots of the Gratitude Tree reach deep into the fabric of our family. Her leaves are the simple testimonies of grace upon grace. Reminders of all the good gifts that we have received this year – even in a year like 2020.
These weeks are a thanksgiving. They prepare us for the Thanksgiving.
(In this age of comparison and picture perfect social media and hyper-tribalism, I feel I must add a disclaimer. I just want to say that I don’t think you’re a horrible person if you decorate for Christmas on November 1. This is simply what I do to combat the noise, take a pause, and make the most of my November. I share it to encourage you and to give you a peek into a tradition that has become meaningful for me. Nothing more, nothing less.)
