TEMPTED BY THE TREE

I have found in the woods a white fir of perfect heighth and form. If ever there was a tree that begged to be cut down and hauled home for Christmas this is it. Most wild trees are scraggly and unfit, but this one stands in the center of a sun-drenched, uncluttered clearing like the belle of a yuletide ball. Beautiful thick boughs with waxy green needles taper to a sharp point like a church steeple, and its branches sweep out over the snow in such a way that it does not require much imagination to picture brightly wrapped presents underneath.

But alas it is just a pebble's throw outside the camp's property on land belonging to the County Park where cutting down trees is strictly prohibited. Satan has tempted me with it. Oh, the siren song of a free Christmas tree. Sin always costs more than the advertised price. It never costs nothing. "A tree like that might cost you $50.00 at a lot," Satan whispers.  "La Noblesse Oblige," he reasons. "Just say it was on the camp's property. Nobody will know."  Like my ancestors, Adam and Eve, I am tempted by the tree. Am I not made of dust? I have returned to the tree often enough in my thoughts, that I felt it necessary to post about it here for the purposes of accountability. I feel weak like gollum in the presence of this tree. I'm afraid that one of these days I might just find myself, with saw in hand, a pebble's throw outside of the camp's property, and justifying the unjustifiable with a hardened heart.