Secret Tree and Charitable Tangent

December 2012: Lanterns in Waiting
Photo by Sarah Cloud Peterson

The Christmas trees in my life have always been for the children, or for the cheerful young souls inside the adults. Bright, thoughtful, sturdy ornaments; favorite fictional characters and hobbies; a mélange of mediums and memories; a rainbow of lightbulbs; Disney princesses rubbing elbows with wooden salmon. Well, okay, salmon don't have elbows, but you get the picture.

And I think that is the way a family Christmas tree should be. Sometimes I admire elegant coordinated trees of frosted glass, gilded plaster, minimalist globes, and French ribbon -- careful constructs of blue or burgundy or shimmering bronze. But they don't grab my heart.

Despite this position, I harbor a secret longing for a tree decorated head to toe in my tastes. Just a small tree, with tiny gold lights. A Sarah Tree, hung with jewel-like cloisonné and ethereal blown glass in fantastical shapes; with delicate silks and embroidered velvets in Renaissance hues. I'd have to lock it away in my study. It would be a selfish, decadent tree.


December 2012: Fleurs de Lys in Waiting
Photo by Sarah Cloud Peterson

For years I've wanted to make a shopping spree at World Market, filling a basket with their sumptuous and exotic ornaments. I never did, though, because there wouldn't be room for them on a family tree. We have plenty of ornaments already, with auras of thought and memory. Last winter, however, I gave in to temptation, allowing myself a small starter spree among the 50% off  post-Christmas displays.

My best find, along with the Chinese lanterns and the silk fleurs de lys: a trio of ornaments inspired by India:


December 2012: India in Waiting
Photo by Sarah Cloud Peterson

They remind me of my decades-long fantasy of visiting India. More importantly, they remind me of my sponsored child, Sangita, in Uttar Pradesh.

I'll say some words about ChildFund, formerly Christian Children's Fund. For as long as I can remember, my parents have sponsored a child or two through the Fund. It's a very real and personal way to help a family, an entire village; and to help a child feel wanted, special, and interesting. You can send letters, photos, and flat trinkets like stickers or little books or ribbons. The child or their family, possibly with the help of a translator, will write back with news or send drawings.

ChildFund is, I feel, particularly open and responsible about its stewardship. 82 cents of every dollar go to programs to help children; only 11 cents toward fundraising, and 7 cents toward management and other general purposes.

Shortly after I had my first baby, I asked for my own sponsored child for Christmas. I was showering attention and resources on my baby, but I needed the balance of supporting a helpless child who was born into less. My parents gave me the funds for that first year.

Like my parents always have, I chose a young girl. Let's face it: girls and women have a harsher time in our world. Sangita is still with me, almost a teenager now, progressing in school, and sending me bright marker drawings of peppers, carrots, and flowers. The translator tells me about the family weddings and village festivals Sangita celebrates, and what her parents are doing for work throughout the year. I receive annual reports on health and wellness improvements in the village, and the numbers are actually pretty good.

With Sangita's birthday and holiday money, her father buys fresh frocks and sweets for her, and the occasional livestock. Her favorite color is red. When I come across a length of pretty red ribbon, I send it to her.

Balance. Sangita and her family make me think about balance and perspective.

I will appreciate the privileges I have the luck to enjoy, and I will try to experience a textured, fulfilling life. It would be a shame to push away such luck, or to scorn the rewards of hard work and (fairly) clean living.

But -- I will remember to spread it around. Find some balance. Maintain perspective. Sangita's father can buy livestock for what I'd spend on a tube of MAC lipstick. I can sponsor Sangita for another year on the funds I'm so tempted to send to Zappos for a pair of perfect party heels. The point is not to deprive myself of certain reasonable pleasures, but to think. To weigh. To navigate a path between ridiculous self-indulgence and demoralizing self-sacrifice.

Sometimes I will buy the lipstick. Or the special wine, or the good chocolate, or the pretty ornaments. But my credit card bill will also be sprinkled with donations. Sometimes, after months of rationalization and saving my pin money, I will buy the perfect shoes -- if I've already set aside the funds for the sponsorship.