Mike’s Christmas Tree
Christmas is about slowing down enough that we can see each other.
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel
I first saw his Christmas tree at the beginning of December, under the overpass of a highway that divides a fancy Houston neighborhood from a fancier one. I was stopped at a light, city traffic all around and city noises a cacophony in my ears. I was headed to Costco to get 16 apples that would be devoured within a few days; the frozen Japanese noodles my son loves; the body soap that would keep my family clean.
My mind was running sprints through my to-do list and, to be honest, I was irritated with all I needed to do. I was coming off a couple of hard weeks at work without much downtime, and having no downtime makes me crabby. I didn’t make it through the green light, so I stopped again, sighing with irritation.
It was then that I looked out my front left window and saw his tree.
On the southwest corner of the underpass his Christmas tree stood proudly, the vibrant green standing out against the lifeless grays and browns of concrete around it. A few white snowflake ornaments were visible from where I sat in my car. There looked to be a blanket at its trunk, a Christmas tree skirt on the sidewalk. And a chair – a few feet away.
It is not uncommon in the city to pass people who are unhoused. For many months in the Spring, this particular underpass was the home base for someone who kept his sleeping area so organized that it fascinated me. The blow-up mattress was made every time I passed, the blanket folded, the pillows in place. Plastic tubs were stacked neatly by the bed. I never met the person who stayed there, but I always wanted to hear his story. He has since left, and I missed my chance.
It is also not uncommon in life to pass by people of all walks of life and not really see them. Lost in our own to-do lists, errands, frenetic lives, we can drive by humans without seeing them. We can walk by humans without seeing them. Even within my own inner circle, months can pass by without reaching out to check on my friends, my family, my acquaintances. I fail to send the thank-you note. I forget the birthday. I miss the opportunity to check on someone I know is struggling.
This particular man and his Christmas tree have touched my heart every single time I’ve driven by this month. I have yet to see a better symbol of what Christmas is supposed to be about than this man’s tree under the overpass. Sometimes when I pass, it brings a tear to my eye as I say a prayer for him and for others who are unhoused. Sometimes, it just makes me smile.
Now that Christmas is fast approaching, I’ve been increasing the speed of my Christmas shopping and errands. But this year, there was one gift I was more excited to give than the others. I went to Whataburger and got a couple of gift cards. I put them in tissue paper with red snowflakes on it and put it in a small bag decorated with a holiday wreath. I wanted him to have a gift under his tree.
I parked at the gas station across the street and walked across the three lanes of the frontage road. He was sitting in his chair, wrapped in a blanket, but stood up as he saw me coming. He put out his hand politely, “I’m Mike,” he said.
As I tend to do at this stage of my life, I just started crying as I told him how much his Christmas tree has meant to me this season. I told him that his tree had blessed me so much and that, to me, it was a symbol of what Christmas should be all about. In this moment where I thought I might bring him comfort, the opposite happened. He put his arm around me and said, “Yes, Christmas is about how we treat each other.”
I write this now not to humble-brag about my gift-giving. I write this article, with Mike’s permission, to encourage you to see people this Christmas season. See their struggles and their triumphs. See their humanity. Offer kindness where you can, as it will come back to you tenfold when you do.
No matter how many beautiful Christmas lights and trees I see this year, none will be as beautiful as Mike’s tree. And I’ve already received the best gift of the year – a hug from Mike as I became tearful – and a reminder: Christmas is about how we treat each other.
Photo by Julie Miley Schlegel, taken with Mike’s permission
The advice and opinions herein are by no means meant to be a substitute for professional medical advice. Please contact your personal physician, mental health provider or health care professional for medical advice. Opinions are my own.