He stood in cold, half buried in the snow, just staring at the perfect tree. His wife and children thought him insane when he said he was going to cut down their Christmas tree.

No one bothered to make the drive with him. They tried to convince him it was a waste of a day. But John Olin Walker would not be swayed, so here he stood, saw in hand.

"She's a beaut, " he said, his words drifting off into the frigid air. He approached it and as he got closer he realized this perfect tree was more suited to Rockefeller Center than the living room in the 2100 square foot Walker house.

John looked around. It was a beautiful view. The air fresh and crisp. The quiet only disturbed with the crunch of snow underfoot. A virtual Winter wonderland, he mused.

John had never cared what kind of tree they put up at Christmas. Always plastic, but several different colors had been draped with their coveted ornaments. White, green, silver, thick and bushy to pencil thin had stood twinkling in the living room over the years on Christmas morning.

This year, John decided they needed a fresh cut live tree. Nothing was going to stop him from finding one. Not a family who could have cared less or a dull handsaw or the fact that his feet had gone numb in the cold. He wasn't going home without a tree.

The sun slipped closer to the horizon and the bright white turned pink. Still John searched. There was a tree here. He could feel it.

When the last of the sunlight turned the blue to twilight's purple, he started back towards his old sedan by the gate. He kicked off as much of the snow as he could before swinging his legs in and closing the door.

He turned on the engine and waited patiently for the heat to kick in. The glow from the snow softened the edges of the world, and this past week had been nothing but hard edges for John.

The headlights settled on a small tree, leaning under the weight of snow. It was perfect. John laughed out loud and turned off the car. He grabbed the rusty saw and ran over to it. It was barely over 4 feet tall but it was perfect.

This would be the best Christmas ever. And, according to his physician, it would most likely be his last. John started to cut the trunk and shook off his mournful thoughts. Doctors were often wrong. God was full of surprises. He was good and miracles happened every day.

John grabbed the tree and started dragging it towards his car. Just when he had given up on the tree, there it was. It was a miracle.

Maybe next year, God willing, his family would join him in the search for the perfect tree.

God willing, that is.