The house is finally quiet.
For the last few weeks, it has been anything but quiet. It’s been a whirlwind of wrapping paper tubes (which double as lightsabers), the constant ding of the oven timer, and the frantic search for that one specific ornament that always seems to hide at the bottom of the bin.
But tonight, the lights are dim. The tree is glowing in the corner, casting soft shadows on the wall. And as I sit here with a mug of something warm, my thoughts turn to you.
I know we might not know each other personally. You might be reading this while you wait in the school pick-up line, or perhaps you’re stealing five minutes of peace in the bathroom while the holiday chaos rages outside the door. But in this digital space we share, we are connected.
So, before the big day arrives, I wanted to send a small wish from my home to yours.
To the One Who Feels Behind
First, let’s take a collective deep breath. If your cards aren’t mailed, or if they are still sitting in a neat stack on your desk (guilty as charged), it is okay. If the cookies are store-bought instead of homemade, they will still taste sweet.
Christmas does not live in the perfection of our execution. It lives in the messiness of our love.
My wish for you is that you can let go of the "shoulds" this week. Let go of the Pinterest-perfect table setting if it’s causing you stress. Let go of the need to make every moment magical. The magic usually happens in the moments we didn't plan anyway—the spilled cocoa that turns into laughter, or the quiet moment watching snow fall (or rain, depending on where you are).
To the One Who Needs Rest
We talk so much about the joy of the season, but we rarely talk about the exhaustion. You have likely been the magic-maker for weeks now. You’ve been the shopper, the wrapper, the baker, and the planner.
My wish for you is a moment of stillness. I hope you find five minutes to just sit and look at the lights. I hope you can put your feet up and let someone else handle the dishes. You have poured so much of yourself into this season; remember to save a little bit of that love for yourself.
To the One Who Finds This Season Hard
For many, the holidays are a magnifying glass for grief or loneliness. The empty chair at the table feels bigger this year. The distance from loved ones feels further.
If that is you, my wish is for comfort. I hope you feel wrapped in memories of love that never really leaves us. I hope you give yourself permission to feel whatever you need to feel—joy and sadness can sit at the same table. You don’t have to force a smile for the sake of the season. Your presence is enough, just as you are.
A Simple Tradition for Tonight
Now, I promised you one easy way to create a moment of warmth tonight.
We often think we need grand gestures to make Christmas special. We think we need tickets to the big light show or an expensive outing. But the things my kids remember most are the tiny, almost accidental traditions we’ve stumbled into.
Here is something simple you can do tonight, or any night leading up to Christmas. It requires zero money and zero prep.
The "Good Things" Jar (Holiday Edition)
You don’t even need a jar. A bowl, a mug, or a hat will do.
- Grab some scraps of paper and a pen.
- Gather whoever is home. It could be your partner, your kids, your roommate, or just yourself.
- Ask this one question: "What is one good thing that happened this year that you want to remember?"
It doesn’t have to be a big thing. In fact, the small things are better.
- “I learned to ride my bike.”
- “We found that great pizza place.”
- “I finally finished that book.”
Write them down. Fold the papers. Put them in the container.
Then, on Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, read them aloud.
It changes the atmosphere instantly. It shifts our focus from what we want (the presents, the food) to what we already have. It reminds us that even in a tough year, there were pockets of light.
From My Heart to Yours
As we head into these final few days, I hope your home is filled with warmth—not just from the heater, but from the people inside it. I hope you laugh until your stomach hurts. I hope you eat the extra cookie. And I hope you know that you are doing a wonderful job.
Merry Christmas, friends. Thank you for being here.