What a handsome Christmas tree we had bought at the local agricultural school! It stood tall in the corner of our living room. The stand was full of water, and all we needed to do was string the lights and hang the ornaments.

My wife traditionally places the lighted angel atop the tree. Next she carefully strings the lights from right to left all the way down the tree. The rest of us hang the decorations on the limbs.

This year we had everything in place when suddenly the tree fell over. Our older daughter was caught beneath it all. Lights went helter-skelter. Ornaments flew across the room. Water poured out of the stand, soaking into the carpet. A forlorn angel lay on its side beneath the branches. What a mess for a December

Saturday afternoon!

It was not with the best of moods that we hoisted the tree upright again. We moved it to another corner so the carpet could dry out. Once more we filled the stand with water. We straightened the angel atop the tree, strung the lights, and laced the branches with decorations.

To help lift our irritated spirits, we played traditional carols throughout the house, filling the rooms with melody. Someone made a fresh pot of tea. Someone else discovered cookies in the kitchen cupboard. Soon the front doorbell rang. Jay, our son, opened the door to find a neighbor standing there.

“Is your father home?” he asked. Jay invited him inside. I greeted my neighbor, wondering what brought him to our house that day.

“Do you think I could chat with you, perhaps even have prayer?” The man looked intently into my face. Because there was so much bustle in our house, I quickly reasoned that it would be best for the two of us to walk across to the nearby church sanctuary. I grabbed my winter jacket and the church keys as my friend followed behind me.

Once inside the church, he spilled out his woe.

“I need prayer. My family needs prayer. I knew when I passed your church sign that God told me to stop and ask for you to pray with me.”

I was curious about what was bothering this young man. Often we had waved to each other in passing. From time to time I stopped by with baked goods for his family. He had even spoken to me once about his alcoholic brother, asking me for counsel.

“It’s Christmas, yet my family is heavy in heart this season,” he began. His cheery Irish cheeks gave no hint as to the weight upon his spirit. “My wife got the news that she has cancer,” he said softly, not quite sure he had the courage to say those words. “She’s started chemotherapy. Her weight is affected. Her hair is going. Yet she has such courage. She puts on a strong front, particularly for the children.” There were six in the family.

We sat together on the front pew of the sanctuary. To our right the newly decorated church shone with bulbs and balls. To our left the baby doll representing Jesus lay quietly, peacefully. Each of the sanctuary windows had been decorated with a candle. Yet in the midst of this festive atmosphere two men’s hearts sank.

“I’m so sorry to hear this,” I said. “We must take this to the Lord.”

We left our places, made our way to the simple altar, and knelt. Our hearts spilled before the throne of heaven. In the calm of the church a serenity began to blanket our troubled souls. It became quite easy to pray as the Spirit of a loving God drew near to bring special comfort.

I heard this man sobbing beside me, especially when I mentioned his children in prayer. I knew this would be the heaviest part of his burden.

“Lord, be near these little ones in their private worlds of anguish. In their tears, talk peace to them. In their confusion, come with heaven’s understanding.”

Presently the Spirit released us from our prayers. Two men stood at the front of the sanctuary just a few feet from the wooden prayer altar. We knew that, for that moment, we had done all we could do.

Richard thanked me for being a praying friend as well as a neighbor.

“When you were praying, Pastor, a special glow of the Lord settled upon my heart,” he whispered. “The burden has been lifted considerably.”

We walked out of the church together – one man with a healthy wife and children ready to celebrate Christmas, and the other with a sick wife and grieving children ready to attempt to celebrate. I thought back a few hours to a fallen tree with lights scattering like disobedient children across our living room carpet.

We had become impatient; our day was not as perfect as we had planned.

Now I reconsidered the meaning of calamity. The tousled tree was nothing compared to a troubled neighbor. Yet in the hurt of this man I knew God was working to lift up the fallen, set aright the downcast, and bring help to the scattered children’s hearts. It would take time. It would take prayer. But in the end their lives would be straightened and lightened – in one of heaven’s ways or another.