Christmas Reflection
Christmas has been many things to me over the course of my life, each chapter defined by where I was, who I was, and what I believed. It’s not just a holiday—it’s a mirror reflecting the seasons of my soul.
As a child in a Lutheran school, Christmas was pure, untouchable, holy. It was about Christ in the manger, the shepherds guided by the star, and the profound meaning of a Savior’s birth. I remember the hymns, the Nativity plays, the sermons that made the story of Jesus come alive. It wasn’t about gifts—it was about grace, about the miracle of light piercing through darkness. Back then, my Christmases felt like an unbroken connection to something bigger than myself. I sang joy to the world at a catholic church this past weekend and it bought back so many memories.
That connection faded when I transitioned to public school in the fifth grade. Suddenly, Christmas became about getting the gifts—the thrill of unwrapping boxes stacked under the tree, the joy of waking up early and tearing through wrapping paper like there was treasure hidden inside. I won’t lie; there was magic in that, too. But it was a different magic, one that came with shiny toys and fleeting excitement. The deeper meaning of the holiday got buried in my long Christmas list and Santa!
When I became a young parent, Christmas transformed again. It wasn’t about me anymore; it was about my kids—specifically my youngest. I became consumed with getting them the best gifts ever, ensuring their eyes lit up brighter than the Christmas tree. I wanted their joy to outshine any I had ever felt. But deep down, I know now that I was trying to give them something I thought I’d lost: the wonder, the magic, the love that I once felt but hadn’t held onto.
As I’ve aged and grown into an older parent, the holiday shifted once more. It became less about things and more about time and time seemed to be at a minimum. I realized that gifts would break, trends would fade, but the moments we spent together were priceless. My focus turned to being with my kids, carving out space to connect, laugh, and reminisce. Yet, even with that, I’ve sometimes found myself wrestling with a sense of emptiness. The busyness of life has a way of pulling everyone in different directions, and the holidays often feel like it becomes more of a problem then anything else.
Now, I find myself yearning for something even deeper—a return to the roots. I want Christmas to be about Christ’s birth again, a time to honor the reason we celebrate in the first place. I want it to be about love, gratitude, and time spent with the people who matter most. And, as I look to the future, I’m trying to build a tradition that will outlast me. I want my family to know—without question—that part of their holiday belongs to the Family. I want them to remember not just the gifts or the meals but the conversations, the prayers, the love that held us together especially after we have fallen apart.
If I’m honest, right now, I feel lost. The holidays don’t feel as meaningful as I want them to be. It’s as if I’m standing on the outside of something beautiful, trying to find my way back in. But even in that, there’s hope. Christmas is, after all, about redemption and renewal. Restoration is the word of the month at the gym and it was established before writing this blog. It’s about starting fresh, finding light during the dim moments, and building something valuable from the ground up.
So this year, I’m starting small. I will spend time with my family, however I can, and plant the seeds of a tradition I pray will grow into something unbreakable. And through it all, I’ll hold tight to the truth I’ve come to know: Christmas isn’t just about what was—it’s about what can and will do in the now