The Christmas Angel

“Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights.” — James 1:17 (KJV)

When I was a child, Christmas just wasn’t Christmas until our angel took her place at the top of the tree. Every year, we’d take turns naming her, though for the life of me, I can’t remember what name I chose when it was my turn—or what my brother picked either. But there’s one year that stands out clear as day in my memory.

Daddy had just finished stringing the colored lights around our tree, and Mama was putting the finishing touches on the garland of popcorn and paper chains we’d made in school. When it came time to crown the tree, Daddy lifted my little sister, Valerie, high into the air so she could place the angel on top. I can still see her hands trembling with excitement, her dark hair brushing just below her ears, the same color and cut as the angel’s. Daddy smiled and said, “We should name her Valerie—she looks just like you.”

And from that year on, the angel had a name that stuck.

Her gown was a soft cream-colored chiffon, elegant and delicate, especially for something made in the early 1960s. She seemed almost magical, glowing gently in the light of the old-fashioned bulbs that hummed softly overhead. It’s hard to believe that little angel is now about sixty-five years old and still brings joy to our family every Christmas.

Valerie still has her—carefully wrapped in tissue paper and tucked away safely for most of the year. But every December, she unwraps that fragile treasure and gently places her atop her own Christmas tree. Now her grandchildren watch in wonder as she tells them the story of “the Christmas angel,” and of the year Daddy lifted her up toward the heavens to place it there.

Though I didn’t get to keep our childhood angel, I carried the tradition into my own home once I had children. When they were small, I bought a Christmas angel of my own and, just like Mama and Daddy did, we took turns naming her each year. As the years passed and the tree themes changed, so did the angel. Each one had her own style, her own sparkle, and her own name chosen by one of my kids.

It became a little family ritual we all looked forward to. The kids still laugh about it to this day, remembering the names we came up with. I think one year, when they were teenagers, the angel ended up being named Clarice. I asked where that name had come from, and one of them grinned and said, “From The Silence of the Lambs!” I shuddered at first—but then laughed, too. Leave it to my kids to find humor in tradition.

Through the years, the angels may have changed, but the meaning behind them never did. They’ve always represented hope, light, and love—the same qualities that first Christmas night brought into the world.

Just as Daddy once lifted my sister toward the top of the tree, I’ve realized that our Heavenly Father lifts us up, too—gently, lovingly—helping us shine where He’s placed us. We may feel fragile at times, like those old angels wrapped carefully in tissue paper, but in His hands, we’re always safe. Each Christmas, as I unwrap another angel and place her on the tree, I’m reminded that love and faith endure, generation after generation.

Christmas isn’t about what’s under the tree. It’s about Who came to dwell among us, the true Light that still shines in every home and every heart that welcomes Him in.

Dear Heavenly Father,
Thank You for the memories and traditions that remind us of Your goodness through the years. As we lift our eyes to the angel atop the tree, may we remember the night You sent Your Son to lift us out of darkness and into Your marvelous light. Help us to treasure the laughter, the stories, and the blessings that bind our families together. Let Your peace rest upon our homes and Your love shine through us this Christmas and always.
Amen.