Posted by on Dec 15, 2011 in Photographs, Sacred Artifacts | 0 comments

My wife loves Christmas. I don’t have the courage to tell you how old she really is, but each December, she becomes a five-year-old again.

She never gets tired of the hustle and bustle of it all. The presents, the cards, the wreaths, gift bags, wrapping paper, ribbons and bows, it goes on and on. And I love watching her. As she hurries from stores to homes to events, all who get caught in her wake become more . . . more . . .well . . . Christmas-sy. I’m not sure if that’s a real word but it’s exactly what they become.

With all she does, her greatest achievement each year is the Christmas tree. No store professional could do a better job. And her crowning glory is the angel tree topper she’s had forever. It was hand made by her great- grandmother . . . a blend of cotton and spun sugar that looks like porcelain.

This year had been no different. It was close to midnight by the time the tree was ready for her beloved angel. However, this time, as she unwrapped it, somehow and in an unknown way, one of the wings had broken off. It weighed nearly nothing and it was the most fragile ornament I had ever seen. The simple fact it had survived this long was a miracle in and of itself. It nearly broke my heart as she trudged upstairs to bed. At the top of the stairway, she gave me a brave smile and said, “We’ll finish this tomorrow.”

After she went to bed, I studied the angel for a while and had an idea. I spent the next thirty minutes in the garage, looking in my box of miscellaneous stuff that I could never throw away. After all, you never know when you might need a one inch level or a box of yellow screws.

Finally, I found what I was looking for and I could only pray it would still work after all this time. I spent the next few minutes with the angel and my tube of glue in hand and then went to bed myself.

The next morning, I awoke early and prepared everything. When my wife came down the stairs and saw the tree, she started crying with joy. Her angel, wings and all, sat in its rightful place. She was about to ask me how, when I showed her the tube. I’d had it for years and have no clue where I bought it, but there on the side, it read “Miracle Glue”. And I guess . . . it is just that. It not only mended an angel’s wing but it fixed the hole in my middle-aged, five-year-old’s broken heart.

 

~J.K. Ingersoll~

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