Quote

Merry Christmas 2019

Yet with the woes of sin and strife

The world has suffered long;

Beneath the angel-strain have rolled

Two thousand years of wrong;

And man, at war with man, hears not

The love-song which they bring;

O hush the noise, ye men of strife,

And hear the angels sing.

“It Came Upon a Midnight Clear”, public domain

May your Christmas be blessed, and may we all cease our strife in the new year and hear each other, carrying with us the beauty of the Truth of the season.

Disruptive Traditions

A Christmas basket created by an former colleague and gifted to my parents years ago.
A Christmas basket created by an former colleague and gifted to my parents years ago.

During our first year of marriage, Karen and I began sorting out what the family dynamics would look like as we approached the holidays. Thanksgiving has always been the big event for her side of the family, and Christmas for mine. The thing about our families is that they live far enough away that we have never been…and never could be…close to both of them regardless of where we live. As we moved here and there over the course of the last ten years, we basically split the difference and focused on spending as much time as possible with whichever set of parents was closer. Until we had our first daughter, we decided that the equitable thing to do was to simply alternate. One year we traveled to my parents for Christmas and hers for Thanksgiving, the next year we switched. This served us well until it was three of us instead of two.

After our first daughter, we decided that we would designate holidays. Since Thanksgiving is more important to her side of the family, we began traveling to her side then, and always to my side for Christmas. This arrangement seemed to work for everyone involved, and it has stayed that way until we moved back to New England a few years ago.

The interesting thing about how we handled the holidays is that spending one at home really wasn’t something for which we were ever prepared. We never gave it much thought, with the exception of one year that Karen was in a new job and didn’t have the vacation available to travel. Otherwise, when the holidays arrived, we were out of town. When we had our oldest, we decided she would learn to travel early (she did great, by the way).

When we were still living in North Carolina and were pregnant with our second daughter, though, this shifted in an epiphanic way. Karen was too late in the pregnancy to travel that Christmas, so we had been planning one at home for several months. We put effort into the event, planning food and stockings for our daughter in ways that we just hadn’t before. How would we intentionally integrate our Christian tradition? How would we eschew materialism? We hadn’t had to be intentional about these things before.

That Christmas morning, our daughter awoke so excited she literally forgot how to climb out of her bed. Having breakfast together, opening gifts, playing and being together through the day…yes, we missed being with family, but we felt like a family of our own in a way that we hadn’t prior to that Christmas. This waypoint shifted the way we look at how we celebrate Christmas.


Since settling back in New England three years ago, we’ve had mixed success in traveling for the holidays. This year, we had our first conversation around what traditions we would bring into the marriage for Christmas celebrations. What will our children grow up with in the way of traditions? Ten years into our marriage, this is the first time we had entertained this discussion. It was difficult. While we share a common faith, our family backgrounds and solidified preferences in how we practice that faith are actually quite different, and this is at its most obvious when thinking about the holiday season.

We currently have a somewhat working arrangement for Advent and Christmas, which we’ll re-assess again next year. I think that it will take some time get this right. I am not a fan of tradition or routine, but I find that I crave them at Christmas. I was even defensive of some things that my family did during my childhood that just wouldn’t translate for ours. Moving past that, it’s important to have these traditions, especially faith traditions for the holiday. What it teaches, the depth that it cultivates within the context of our rampant consumerism…it is so important for our children to grow up with a foundation.

When it comes to Christmas, I don’t exactly know what that foundation will look like. At least not yet.

When we arrive at a decision, though, it will be our tradition.

I just wish we hadn’t waited so long.

Holiday Retrospective

Photo of a Christmas basket gifted to my parents years agoChristmas does odd things with time.

After a frantic rush of activity with gift-buying, parties, and performance schedules, time suddenly seems to expand as the last Sunday of Advent draws to a close. The act of lighting that fourth candle seems to be the beginning of this strange effect. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day are subsequently disconnected from any day of the week.

This season, Sunday still felt like a normal weekend, and it wasn’t until after that we stretched into Christmas Eve. Christmas Eve, though, was not a Monday, nor Christmas Day a Tuesday. It’s as though they stood outside of time, much like the time altering event that we celebrate, when the Word became flesh and a dwelt among us.

Karen and I stayed up until the early morning hours of Christmas Day struggling to assemble the larger gifts, only to be awakened before 7 a.m. by our children bouncing with excitement that could no longer be contained. Over breakfast, I was talking with my parents, who recalled staying up until 4 a.m. one year putting together an elaborate toy with which I still recall playing. I could recall, I told them, a specific set of Christmas mornings: finding Luke Skywalker next to Christmas cookies that “Santa” had eaten from, tearing back wrapping paper to find Optimus Prime, opening the coveted set of sneakers in high school. Those mornings reached through to me from the past, just as real today, intertwining with our children’s joy at princess costumes and toy dinosaurs.


After Christmas, we travelled to spend time with my parents. It’s always surreal to visit that same house in which I grew up. Sometimes the memories take on a life of their own. This year, that wasn’t so much the case. This year it was the past continuing to meld with the present. I sat one afternoon in the quiet of the living room, taking a break from the activity, and I watched our oldest daughter run through the kitchen, grinning ear-to-ear, sliding in her socks around the corner before continuing to charge full-speed into whatever adventure came next until she was out of sight, in much the same way that I used to in that very same kitchen. I experienced so much joy as a child in that house, and thought about how fitting it is that my daughter can now do the same.

I have so many memories of my father working at family through my childhood. I remember him building part of that house as I watched, one my earliest memories. I remember him bringing in wood for the stove in the winters. So many Christmas mornings, so many Christmas gift outings.


Karen and I refer to our Christmas tree as a “memory tree.” We collect ornaments from our travels and life events, and it is with those, as well as ornaments gifted to us, that we decorate our artificial tree each year. Each year, I try to find time to reflect on these, even as we add new ones. There are so many layers to our life together.

Christmas lately seems as much about celebrating the past as the present of our family. Which is fitting, as we are celebrating the Child born to be the Sacrifice for us, who is still with us – through Him, by Him, and for Him. Our relationships, like Him,  stand outside of time…eternal, immeasurably more important than any gifts that might be exchanged. While my memories tend to key themselves to certain gifts associated with certain Christmas mornings, it is the bond that I formed with my family on those mornings that surrounds me now, a tangible expression of His love, and what I hope my children remember in their adult lives.

I hope that peace and goodwill followed you this Christmas season.

That Little Tree

Small ceramic Christmas treeThat little tree.

I remember it in my childhood bedroom. It carried the soft glow of Christmas from the rest of the house into where I slept. My mother had crafted it carefully and lovingly, intending it to be a gift to me, in a ceramics class that was her creative release. Though not inherently worth any money, it’s a fragile little tree, and I’ve always handled it with the utmost care. The memories that it carries with it, the intention with which it was created, endow it with a value far beyond any monetary appraisal.

I have carried that little tree with me everywhere I have lived since. I pack it away with special care at the end of each season, and I unpack it again when the temperature begins to fall. Perhaps because it always had a special place in my bedroom all of those decades ago when I lived in my parents’ home, it has always lived in my bedroom since.

I remember every detail of the Christmas decorations in our home. There were flickering lights, music almost constantly, and gold garland hung with artificial apples that framed our living room. I particularly remember one circular, flickering Santa that somehow gave the softest presence to a room when it hung in the window, overlooking a snow-covered lawn. The decorations mattered less than the feeling of a solid foundation to which they contributed. My family always loved Christmas, because of the central part that it represents in the history of our faith, as well as the generosity to which it gives occasion. Of all the holidays of the year, this was the one to which we gave the most energy, and so the close of each year was a special, peaceful, even holy time. I’ve carried that into my adulthood, not only as a nostalgic recollection, but as a practice.

Or, at least I have tried.

I wonder how these same sorts of memories are being formed for our daughters, what will stand in the fronts of their minds about Christmas when they are my age. At least during the Christmases of my youth, the opportunities, it seems, for the formation of important memories were carefully crafted. I’m not sure that we accomplish that. With the number of times that we have moved over the past few years, the pace of life that is at times unmanageable despite or best efforts, I fear that this intentionality slips from our grasp, however good our intentions.

Perhaps, though, I’m mistaken. Perhaps those opportunities for memories as I grew up were not crafted at all, but are the sorts of experiences that create wonderful memories on their own, however unplanned, facilitated only by the fact that I am fortunate enough to have a stable nuclear family. Should that be the case, then the opportunities for these foundational memories are simply present for our children, and I can only hope to make them as positive as I can.

When our oldest daughter, now six, was three years old, she gazed with fascination and a certain degree of longing at that little tree. I promised her that, when she was grown, she would inherit the tree. She spoke often of that promise for a while, though she doesn’t really mention it of late. I wonder what that tree will mean when I pass it on to her?

I wonder if I can influence that meaning at all.

I’m the Guy who Ruined Christmas

Christmas tree standing in my favorite apartment from years agoYes, it was me. Through a series of unfortunate events, it was ultimately my fault that Christmas occurred only as a cobbled-together quasi-event this year instead of that magical time with family for which we all hope.

Why, yes, it does sound like there’s a story behind that, doesn’t it? And it goes a little something like this.

While I managed to stay mostly involved in traditional Christmas activities such as tree-trimming and…well, mostly tree-trimming…I found myself so busy with work and the demands of a myriad of health concerns this year that I missed most of the gift-buying. Karen sort of filled me in on what we were getting the children and family members this year, and I managed to squeak out enough time to find what I wanted to buy her on Amazon and keep an Advent-reading plan. When I realized that Christmas was only a week away, and that we had, as always, plans to travel for the week to see my side of the family, I hadn’t even booked our travel yet. My to-do list exploded. I was every stereotypical over-worked American. My head was spinning with this really cool post that I had wanted to write here on the first Sunday of Advent (obviously that never materialized), and somehow time had become stagnant around that moment that never happened. I still thought I had three weeks when I had only days.

While I haven’t written about it here, this is has been far from a banner year for my health. I fought through pneumonia in April, an event which left me with two other medical conditions that are possibly long-lasting and took most of the year to diagnose at a considerable expense. Add to that the random cold, and not one but two broken bones (I’m not even making this up), and I was hoping that, as I victoriously crossed off my final item of prep to take our trip three days before leaving, that the misfortunes were at an end and I would be healthy to keep our plans.

I really should have known that wouldn’t be the case.

The cold that the girls carried home turned into bronchitis for me. Still, I thought, we can push through. Then we had to move our travel plans one day due to unpredictable New England weather. I made the calls, changed reservations, took some medicine and kept going. The morning that we were scheduled to leave, the rental car was in the driveway and bags were (mostly) packed.

And I could barely move.

Instead of traveling to see family, I spent Christmas Eve at an urgent care. By Christmas day, we were placed under house arrest by another storm. Even though we had opened our Christmas gifts early in anticipation of leaving, we awoke (me fever-stricken) on Christmas morning right here, in our apartment, having kept only the stockings that “Father Christmas” packed for our daughters as the only surprise. Instead of spending Christmas with their grandparents in person, the girls spent Christmas with them over video. At this point, we considered leaving the next day. Surely I would have been well enough by then (I wasn’t, incidentally), but that plan, too, had to be abandoned as a shifting forecast on the other end of the week would have placed us in the likely scenario of being at our destination for only one day before needing to turn homeward.

We returned the rental car, cancelled the hotel reservations, and called it a loss.

Now, obviously none of this could have been helped. Even if I had managed to somehow have kept myself healthy (given the year I’ve had, I would say that my best efforts would have fallen flat), any modality of travel that we had chosen would have been halted by the weather we experienced. Still, my parents haven’t seen their grandchildren in person in over a year now, and the level of guilt that I’m carrying for being the cause of that this year is a weighty burden. This says nothing of the fact that I really wanted to have some conversations about specific things with my father in person, and to just enjoy spending holiday time with family. While my condition (or at least the one that prevented us from traveling) has mostly resolved as I write this, I have spent every day this week (whenever I wasn’t running the snow-blower, that is) thinking wistfully of the laughter and warmth that we would have had with family had things gone according to plan.

In doing so, I’m reminded of exactly how blessed I am that there was family waiting, even though that waiting went unrequited this year. Many cannot say that. The loneliness that many face in this season I cannot fathom, and I attempt to assuage my conscience for having no time to confront this by giving to charities and church outreaches.

Still, after our power came back on from the first storm, I spontaneously ran around the room with my soon-to-be two-year-old on my back, as she bounced and giggled in my ear, and I realized that, despite the inevitable outcome of our best-laid plans, the most important things were here, easily within reach, if just a bit messier than I would have liked. The Incarnation that we celebrate over these next days has breathed life into our moments in the most common, and most miraculous, of ways.

I hope that your Christmas was peaceful.