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Christmas and the little things . . .

When I was young, Christmas was about elaborate extravagances. As I grow older, it is now about the little things.

Like Christmas trees and the kindnesses of good-hearted people.

On a trip to New York City the week before Thanksgiving, my sister, niece and I took a break from shopping to gaze admiringly on the enormous tree in Rockefeller Center.

“When are you putting up your tree?” Louise asked.

“I’m not,” I replied. I was on too many deadlines with too many writing projects including two new books and too many business trips loomed ahead. “No time.” I shook my head. “Plus, I’m lost without Arthur to pick it out and deliver it.”

Arthur Carter and his family had closed their nursery in recent months. He had always made certain that I had a perfect tree the day before Thanksgiving.

“You have to have a tree!” Louise proclaimed. Debbie, my best friend, lectured hard repeatedly to convince me differently. I agreed that I needed one because it’s always my favorite part of Christmas but it was just another stress, one that I could eliminate. I was sad but firm in my decision.

Repeatedly, though, I thought of my friend Reid and how I would be letting down that dear, sweet man.

“When are you putting up your tree?” Reid asked during lunch a decade ago.

“I’m not,” I replied. I had just gone through a divorce and was in no mood to deal with a Christmas tree. I couldn’t imagine the hassle of finding one, dragging it home by myself and struggling to put it into a stand.

“You have to have a tree!” Reid exclaimed.

I shrugged. “No, I don’t. I’ll be fine.”

A couple of weeks later, Reid called one Saturday morning. “Good! You’re home!” he said cheerfully. “I’m on my way to your house. I have a surprise.”

When I opened the door, Reid stood there with a beautiful, full tree in hand. That morning, he had bought three: one for his family, one for his in-laws and one for me.

“Get your tree stand,” he commanded. I happily scurried up the stairs to find it in the attic. He then proceeded to cut limbs, situate it in the stand and put the lights on it. He left the decorations to me.

It was the most beautiful, thoughtful gift I have ever received. I shall never forget it or the meaningfulness of it.

Never have I enjoyed anything more than that Christmas tree. It cheered me up and added beauty to my life at a time that I needed it. Since then, I have always, without fail, had a tree.

As I contemplated not having one this year, I thought repeatedly of Reid’s generous act of kindness and how I would be interrupting a tradition that he had proven was so important to me.

I felt disloyal and ungrateful.

The day after I returned from New York, I found a hand-written note in my mailbox. It read in part, “I’ll get you a tree if you want. 7-foot slim. Call me.” It was signed, “Arthur.”

Again, an act of kindness that brought joy to my heart and tears to my eyes. I ran to the phone and called him. “Yes! Yes! I want a tree,” I squealed to dear, sweet Arthur. “I wasn’t going to have one. Now, I will, thanks to you. Thank you so much.”

“Same tree stand?” Arthur asked.

“Yes.”

“I”ll trim it and have it ready. I’ll bring it tomorrow,” he replied.

Christmas. To me, it’s about the little things, the stuff that money can’t buy. Like the thoughtful kindnesses of friends who take the time to care.

Gestures of love are so much better than extravagant gifts.

Now, if I could only convince Mama of that.

[Ronda Rich is the best-selling author of “What Southern Women Know (That Every Woman Should)” and “My Life In The Pits.” She lives in Gainesville, Ga. E-mail her at southswomen@bellsouth.net.]