Dear Friends,

Christmas Day is three nights and a wake-up away—the final countdown where we squint at what’s left on the shopping list, quietly decide who we definitely don’t need to buy for, finalize the guest list, and mentally label which conversation topics are absolutely off-limits this year. You know the ones.

And yet, in the middle of the hustle, there’s so much beauty. The Christmas tree stands like a scrapbook of our lives—ornaments collected over the years, some meaningful, some questionable, all twinkling under lights that somehow make everything feel softer. Gifts wait underneath, lined up like they’ve been rehearsing for weeks, ready to be torn open by anxious little hands.

One of my favorite memories is waking up to giggles and whispers, presents gently shaking as the kids claimed them: That one’s mine… and that one too. I stumbled out of bed and announced the rule of Christmas morning: “Step back. Mommy and Daddy need coffee first.”

They crowded around the tree on their knees, doing their best to contain themselves. The coffee pot—bless its heart—slowly steamed like it was playing a cruel joke on their patience. The kids’ chatter grew louder and more joyful by the second. Little ones hung upside down on the sofa while the older kids ran back and forth checking on us in the kitchen, begging, Please can we open them now?

“Just one minute,” we promised.

I might as well have said an hour.

My son threw his head back dramatically—Oh my gosh, hurry! — then sprinted back to the living room to guard the beautifully wrapped packages as if his life depended on it.

Finally, coffee in hand, we gathered around the tree. The kids sat cross-legged, hands out, eyes wide, waiting for their names to be called. I passed out gifts one by one while they carefully counted—because heaven forbid someone got one more gift than the others. And then, all at once, chaos erupted. Wrapping paper, bows, and tissue flew through the air like confetti. Christmas music played in the background. It felt like a Hallmark movie—live, unscripted, and louder.

How many words are there to describe the mix of happiness, disappointment, and pure joy on their faces? They were thrilled about the PlayStation and deeply unimpressed by the extra socks from Grandma. Fair enough.

Then my husband disappeared into the garage and rolled in the bikes we’d hidden from the twins. They popped up like jackrabbits, abandoned their gifts mid-unwrapping, and ran straight for them—their very first bikes. They could barely climb on and had no idea balancing was part of the deal, but none of that mattered.

My heart was full. My husband had done it all—built what needed building, installed every battery, and tucked away every instruction manual “just in case.” He was just as surprised as the kids were by what Santa had brought, standing there with that same wide-eyed wonder, quietly making sure the magic worked just right.

At that time, Christmas felt loud, busy, and slightly overwhelming. Looking back now, I realize those were the simple days. I should’ve stayed on the sofa longer, embraced the confetti mess, and worried less about schedules and guests. I should’ve lingered in the laughter and discovery instead of rushing to clean up and move on to the next thing.

Now my children are older. The excitement looks different. The conversations have changed. This year, I want to savor this, so I think I’ll sit at the table a little longer. I won’t rush the small talk or the jokes. I’ll breathe in the moment—because I know how quickly this too shall pass.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” —Psalm 90:12

So, my friends, have a Merry Christmas. Sit in the moment. Let the mess wait. Laugh a little longer. And breathe in the joy God has placed right in front of you.

From Your Friend Me,

With love and a full cup of coffee “Merry Christmas”