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Posted on November 28th, 2006 // filed under The Daily Blah
This past weekend two notworthy things happened. On Saturday we as the Hunter clan went to get a Christmas tree, and on Sunday evening, I went to my very first HNRC service here in the great white north. (Dad and I went to the HNRC church with Aaron’s family down south, but seriously, that was totally different. This was scary.)
I was thinking about it and it’s too difficult for me to decide which is more steeped in tradition: the HNRC or our family’s annual Christmas tree pilgrimage. Each year for over a decade my family has hit the highway and driven 45 minutes north to the same tree farm in Cedar Springs, listening to the very same hourlong Adventures in Odyssey Christmas special cassette tape along the way up and snacking on hot chocolate and cookies on the way back south. At the farm, we all pile out of the suburban (or, back in the day, Dad’s red extended-cab pickup) and set out on our treck through the snowy (or this year, un-snowy) pine grove in search of The Perfect Tree. Now, every family member has their own ideas about what makes The Perfect Tree. Some of us like long brushy needles, others like short pricky ones. Some think the perfect tree is skinny, others of us think it ought to be at least 5 1/2 feet in diameter so it takes up the whole living room. So, especially nowadays as some of us get older and more opinionated, the tree-choosing procedure is fraught with lobbying, debate, and negotiation. It only ends when one party gets so sick of wandering around in the forest that they just give up, or (more frequently) people start complaining about how they can’t feel their extremities so Dad just drops down on the ground and starts cutting down the nearest tree.
The thing about Christmas trees is that they always look smaller in the field. You spot the perfect tree about four rows down, run over to claim it as your own, and upon getting there, realize it’s about five feet taller than the ceiling in your house and wider around than your dining room table. And the trees that look perfectly unimpressive and piddly standing in the field are really the perfect size and shape for one’s living room. So it’s a tricky business. I remember the first year we visited the farm after deciding to do a live tree, we didn’t think to bring a tape measure and upon getting the tree home, I think we had to chop a couple or few feet off the top and bottom and all but take the front door off to get it in the house. We learned our lesson after that.
Of course, no Hunter family tradition is performed without the camcorder rolling. So then–for your amusement (I promise it’s amusing) I present this short film so creatively entitled, “The Great Christmas Tree Hunt 2006″
So yes. I hope you enjoyed that little video peek into Christmas Traditions with the Hunters. And now, to move on to the second part of my post–Sunday evening I was on my way to church when my phone rang. It was Aaron, but I didn’t answer it because I was about to negotiate a couple of four-way stops and merge onto the highway. (Such daring maneuvers require all of my concentration.) Upon arriving at church and checking my voicemail, I found that the reason for his calling at the rather uncharacteristic hour of 5:00 on a Sunday was to invite me to hear a guest preacher at his church. So I decided why not, and hopped back on the highway. Thing is, I was dressed for Harvest’s Sunday evening service, which meant a dressy top and black pants. Whoops. I didn’t realize my folly until I actually got to the church. Then, I wanted to turn around. But I didn’t. Instead I went in and stood in the narthex and waited and waited and waited for Aaron to get there while lots of people walked past and saw my evil pants and streaming locks of blonde hair.
Even though I’m no stranger to traditional reformed churches (having attended a Protestant Reformed church for 10 years of my childhood) I would still consider attending Heritage a cultural experience just about as enlightening as attending my friend Devin’s pentecostal church a few months ago. Seriously, I love having friends who go to all different churches, because visiting them is great fun.
Is there some unwritten rule that says that if your church has a pipe organ (or wants one), then you must sing everything at half-tempo? Because I could enjoy an organ, if it wasn’t so loud and so slow. But holding each note for an average of four seconds is kind of difficult for me. I suppose people do it because…it’s tradition.
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