Tonight we put up our Christmas tree. It was all fun and games until Olivia accidently dropped the star we put on top of the tree... and it broke. We were all disappointed, but this little 8-year-old was heartbroken. It was so sad to see the tears pour down her face during family prayer, and when I came up a few minutes later, sure enough, she was sobbing in a ball on her bed. When I tried to console her she cried out "But I ruined it! It's ruined!" Rip my heart out with a spoon level here. She didn't want us to just buy a new one, nothing could console her. We finally made a plan to dig the part that wasn't broken out of the garbage and use it as a Christmas decoration so we could always remember it. The sobbing calmed and we held hands downstairs to the trash, dug out the part of the star shell still intact, and carefully placed it where she chose on the bookshelf -- behind the sign that says "believe." As we walked back upstairs, I thought about Jesus Christ. We'd set up the tree to help us remember His birth. The star pointing the way, like it had for the wise men. I thought of how He was a man of sorrows, aquainted with grief. I thought of how well He understood the heartbreak of this tiny girl, that it wasn't silly to Him, that He knew it was heavy for her to bear. And I felt such gratitude in my heart for a Savior; full of mercy and complete love for all of us. As we talked of peacable things, Olivia stilled. I will keep that broken star forever, and keep it close to my heart. Tonight I learned something powerful about the Spirit of Christmas.