I decorated my Christmas tree on Saturday. I love, love, love it. My ornaments make me smile. Many of them have meaning to me or sentimental value. Some of them are what, in New Thought speak, might be called “prayers.”

The gaudy gold sun makes me think of my book-in-progress because “sunshine” is in the title, for example. The blue and pink globe ornament I bought in Target this year tells me the world is my oyster, so to speak.

So imagine what my always-searching-for-meaning mentality was like when I came home at 8:45 last night to find the tree had fallen over in a big mess on my floor. What of my hopes, my loves, my prayers? I dreaded lifting it up and seeing what was shattered underneath.

As it turned out, I lost a treasured ball ornament with shoes handpainted on it, a gift from my sister that came in its own little velvet box. A glass Santa ornament was also shattered. The only other one that broke was a mini lamp ornament I bought last year, but I may be able to glue it back together. (Can I possibly resist likening it to ‘seeing the light’ after all?)

I painstakingly took all the ornaments off the fallen tree, stood it up, anchored it to the wall with some cord, and decorated it all over again. Twenty four hours later, I am looking at it and smiling all over again. Maybe I was supposed to find out just how determined I am to make those prayers happen.

Pretty darned determined, I’d say.