There’s only one kind of Christmas tree for me. 

These days, it seems that endless varieties of Christmas trees abound.  Small firs perch unobtrusively on tabletops.  Artificial trees offer a realistic look (without a realistic mess!).  Flashier options include trees that light up in various hues, trees constructed entirely from sparkling tinsel, or even inflatable trees to be placed on a lawn. 

But my family and I have always celebrated Christmas with one kind of tree—a real, living evergreen, one with soft branches and a sturdy trunk and the aroma of all the boreal woods.  So every year, on Thanksgiving afternoon, we hop into the truck and head to a magical place—the Christmas tree farm. 

This is a place like no other, a haven where these trees of winter have been quietly stretching taller all through the long summer months, like a living experiment in faith.  Young Virginia pines march in orderly rows across the rolling hillsides; gaps in the rank and file indicate where a tree has already been claimed by a searching family.  The trees range in size from stately giants over twelve feet tall to more slender specimens about my height.  My favorite are the fluffy infants that don’t even reach my knee.  It’s as if all the hope of Christmas resides in their tiny branches.  

Every tree is distinctive and special, yet only one can come home with us.  The selection process is taken seriously, and it’s not uncommon for us to spend several hours at the farm, patiently wandering through the rows of trees and debating their finer points:  is this one bare on the back?  Does this one have limbs sturdy enough for ornaments?  What about this one—does it seem too short?  Does that one over there perhaps have greener needles?

At the end of the day, we will choose one of the trees to join us for our Christmas celebration, and we’ll return to claim it once December begins.  As the sun dips below the horizon and our breath clouds in the freezing air, we’ll load our choice in the bed of the truck and drive slowly down the winding dirt road, and I’ll look over my shoulder for one last glance of those stalwart evergreen trees, so straight and proud, with the evening stars beginning to tangle in their branches.  And for all the days till Christmas, our chosen tree will sparkle in our living room, adorned with tiny lights and festive decorations—a little piece of the wilderness in our home.

Of course, evergreen trees aren’t found only on tree farms.  As I walk through the winter woods, I encounter them quite frequently.  And they always appear remarkably striking.  After all, by this point in the year, the trees around them are merely skeletal frameworks—silvery limbs bending barren, the remnants of their leafy crowns scattered across the forest floor.  These are the deciduous trees, known for emblazoning the woods with vivid hues each autumn and afterwards relinquishing their leaves to conserve energy, hoard nutrients, and avoid damage from snow accumulation on full leafy branches.  Their show in autumn was spectacular (I even devoted this post to it), but now, they appear completely lifeless, as if all their energy fluttered away with their leaves.

Against this backdrop of seeming death, the evergreen glows with the polar opposite—abundant life.  The miracle is in their name—they are “ever-green” and do not shed their leaves on a seasonal basis.  Indeed, in some species, a needle might remain on an evergreen for twenty years!  They’re specially designed to weather the harshest conditions winter can fling at them.  All of their characteristics, from a pyramidal architecture that discourages snow accumulation, to an energy-efficient leaf shape, to a waxy foliage coating that ensures optimal moisture retention, enable them to manufacture food for themselves even during the harshest times.  While other trees drowse in dormancy, struggling to survive inhospitable conditions, the evergreen not only survives—it thrives.  

When I see an evergreen tree, I’m awed by its amazing design, and I’m grateful for its vivid green in the otherwise drab winter world.  However, I’m also reminded of a startling and impactive truth—in the summer, both deciduous trees and evergreens look the same.  

Imagine if visitors from an always-summer region near the equator explored a northern hardwood forest in near-July.  Would they be able to distinguish which trees would soon turn bare and brown?  In summer, all trees are leafy and fertile, flourishing in ideal conditions.  Untrained observers can’t possibly predict that in a few short months, some trees will become nothing more than barren sticks.  The luxurious days of the growing season lack that one defining feature that would reveal the inner characteristics of the tree—adversity. 

My friends, I notice the same phenomenon in our society as well.  After all, during the “summers” of human lives, all people—godly or not—may react to their circumstances in quite similar ways.  When the bank account is hefty, the marriage is happy, the promotion is granted, or the doctor’s appointment is excellent, prosperity tends to mask the deeper distinctions.  Indeed, in such times, the scales can seem a bit uneven:  the most defiant atheists can appear to enjoy just as wonderful a life as the most devout of God’s children. 

But one day winter comes. 

The bank account dwindles, the marriage sours, the career plummets, and the diagnosis is frightening. Conditions are not ideal.  Summer is over.  And suddenly, the divide between God’s people and the world becomes as sharp and obvious as the disparity between the two types of trees.  What makes the distinction so clear-cut?  Simply this—when all the world fades away, God’s people remain strong.  

Consider the case of two completely different men—Judas and Peter.  In the good times, both seemed much the same.  Both were members of Jesus’ elite following, both engaged in evangelistic work, and both ultimately betrayed their Master.  However, in that dark abyss of guilt and fear, the difference between them was dramatically illustrated.  When he was at his lowest point, Judas succumbed to grief and hanged himself in despair (Matthew 27).  Peter, however, sought and received the forgiveness of Jesus and went on to become instrumental in the founding of the church (John 21).  Both looked the same—until winter.

Or consider Psalm 37.  Penned by David, this psalm is referred to by Charles Spurgeon as “the great riddle of the prosperity of the wicked and the affliction of the righteous.”  In his lifetime, David had seen plenty of injustice; after being anointed king by Samuel, he spent at least fifteen years fleeing from a crazed tyrant who ruled his land and sought his life.  Even after he ascended the throne, he was constantly plagued by conspiracies and was forced to leave his capital after his own son Absalom staged a coup.  Yet this psalm opens with this gentle injunction:  “Fret not yourself because of evildoers; be not envious of wrongdoers!  For they will soon fade like the grass and wither like the green herb” (v. 1-2 ESV).  Winter is coming, David assures us, and the prosperity of these people will be as transient as autumn leaves, while God’s people will still stand strong.  

This psalm touches on an evident truth:  it’s easy to derive strength and support from our circumstances.  To be happy, says the world, all that is required is for our lives to go our way.  However, the trademark of Christians is our ability to remain unmoved by our circumstances.  Our hope is not found in the bank account, the marriage, good health, or our careers.  Our hope is found in the promise of Jesus Christ, by Whom we inherit all the riches of God.  

And that is the secret of the evergreen.  When all other trees bow to the pressure of changing seasons, the evergreen stands tall and strong in the winter woods, drawing from a strength greater than itself.  In the same manner, we as God’s children remain “like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season…[whose] leaf does not wither” (Psalm 1:3 ESV), no matter what trials we may undergo.  

And when eager tree-seekers converge on the Christmas tree farm, they are unwittingly paying homage to this truth.  Whether in the form of branches over windows, wreaths upon doors, or trees within houses, the evergreen is considered the universal symbol of Christmas.  Although the spiritual application behind these practices has long been ignored by the world, the evergreen’s association with Christmas actually began as a reminder of the eternal life we possess.  When the ultimate winter comes to this world and all that we cling to vanishes, when we depart this coordinate in time and space for the unknown realms of eternity—in this moment of seeming death, we will be revealed in our most vibrant life.  Like the evergreen, we will be forever vibrant, unmoved by the greatest trial this fallen world can impose, rooted safely in the love of our God and warmed by the rays of His Son.

That’s why I love the evergreen this time of year.  I always enjoy wandering in the winter woods around Christmastime; in fact, my family has a very special tradition of hiking in the forests behind our property on the afternoon of Christmas Eve.  We’ll roam the leafless slopes and wander alongside the steel-gray streams.  We’ll glimpse the shy deer in their drab winter coats and head homeward just at dusk, when the air seems to crackle with excitement and the Christmas lights on our house are twinkling through the approaching darkness.  And as we hike, we will see plenty of evergreens, as straight as the pillars of the heavens, cradling the stars close to their hearts—and we will smile.  Because the evergreen reminds us that two thousand years ago, the deepest darkness man has ever known was shattered by the wail of a newborn baby and the soft crooning of a very young mother.  The most bitter cold man has ever known was warmed by the adoration of angels and the worship of humble shepherds.  And the greatest burden man has ever known was lifted by that same baby, now a man, who in spite of ourselves loved us to death—and back to life.  And because of that baby, because of our Jesus, we are rooted in a wellspring of eternity that the world can only envy.  We never need fear the “winter,” because we are held safe through the storms of this life and loved fiercely in the joy of the next.  Because He lives, we shall live also—ever-green in His love!

Did you enjoy this post? What does the evergreen mean to you? Let me know in the comments! Also, all of these beautiful photos were taken at the lovely McAlpine Christmas Tree Farm in Bismarck, Arkansas.

Last but not least–a Christmas surprise is on the way! Keep an eye out for a very special email coming soon!