Hallelujah, Jesus is born! It's time to pull out the mobile devices, snap the cutest picture of baby Jesus and Mary, and hit the send button to let the world know the true Messiah has arrived. Well, maybe that's how it would have been done today.

When our kids were younger, our fridge became a winter wonderland decked with jolly art. From glittery ornaments to handprint reindeer, these masterpieces were like little treasures. Displaying them brought us (and them) a daily dose of holiday happiness. 

Our girls would come home from school, often covered in glitter and paint, excited to show us their latest holiday masterpiece, then plead with us to find real estate on the fridge to display it. 

If you ever doubted you’ve been given influence, I present to you Exhibit A: Remy. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this fellow, he is the Elf that resides on our shelf during the holiday season. And, yes, for all you Pixar fans, he was indeed named after the cooking rat from the movie Ratatouille. I figured it was only fitting considering this elf rats out my kids’ bad behavior to the jolly old man living in the North Pole.

At the end of this year, the music streaming service Spotify will send out to its subscribers "Your 2023 Wrapped." It's a fun way to relive your year in music. From how many minutes of music you streamed to your favorite genre, they highlight every stat imaginable. Considering my family of four shares one account, our look back list presents us as if we were the most eclectic music listener ever. We go from teen pop to 90's grunge music and then over to 70's classic rock and finish it off with either gangster rap, electronic, country, or indie folk. 

Watching my child’s joyous reactions when opening up their gifts on Christmas mornings are memories I truly cherish. But, I would be lying if I don’t think fondly of Christmas morning before kids. There was none of this waking up before the crack of dawn nonsense. No one squealing with excitement and hitting you with pillows to jolt you from your slumber. You were able to wake up “early” (somewhere between 9 and 10 a.m.), brew a cup of coffee, open presents at your leisure and then relax in your pajamas all day while you binge-watch “A Christmas Story” marathon happening on TNT.

Decorating the Christmas tree is a special moment for our family. After a home-cooked meal, we get into our flannel pajamas, put on a holiday music playlist, and set the background of our television screen to a crackling fire. With the smell of hot chocolate in the air, I pull down the boxes from the attic.

My consecutive streak is still intact. It happened again today when I braved the crowds and went Christmas shopping at Target. I'm undefeated when it comes to picking the shortest, yet somehow longest, line in the store. No matter which line I stand in an issue always arises. A return. A price check. Someone who doesn't understand how to swipe their card. A person paying in change. The last individual in all of Wilmington who still writes checks (they exist). And if that doesn't fail, the register will inevitably glitch.

With it being December, we find ourselves squarely in the "I-want-itis" season. Scientists say the disease begins to ramp up starting in late fall, with it is peak potency occurring in the last few days leading up to Christmas. The condition seems to spread and gain its strength through television commercials and slick marketing. Researchers haven’t pinpointed its source, but they do note it appears to spread more rapidly in the toy aisles within Target. 

Forgetfulness is one of my spiritual gifts. I lose track of my keys and wallet on the regular. My wife knows that without a list in my hand to jog my memory, I’d wander around the grocery store aimlessly. Before the invention of Facebook, it was a foregone conclusion that I would forget loved ones’ birthdays. My uncanny ability to be absentminded gets me in trouble, especially during the holidays – which reminds me, I forgot to water my Christmas tree… again.

Christmas causes anxiety to well up inside me. Why? Because I’m a horrible gift-giver. I tend to pull my hair out thinking of what to put underneath the Christmas tree for my loved ones. Most holidays I’ll walk around Target like a lost puppy, overwhelmed by the pressure of choosing the ideal gift. After hours of going back and forth over items, I throw up the white flag of surrender and pick up a gift card on my way to the checkout line. Now, some of you will argue that there is nothing wrong with gift cards. After all, the person who receives it can spend it on something they want. But, if you ask me, gift cards are playing it safe.

Before Amazon wish lists or pinning ideas to your Pinterest boards, there was the Montgomery Ward Christmas catalog. Every holiday season my mom would plop it down on the kitchen table, hand me a pen and tell me to "have fun." I would then start circling practically every toy in sight to the point I'd get carpal tunnel syndrome. Even though I knew only a few presents would make their way under the tree, it was still fun to fill my heart with hopes, dreams, and wonder.

Even for someone like me who can be more Grinch than Buddy the Elf, I couldn't help but smile at the box of Christmas joy left on my doorstep. The note attached informed me that I had been Elf-ed. A neighbor dinged and dashed while dropping off a package of holiday sweets and toys. All of this took place unannounced, unexpected, and unforeseen.

Oh, how I wish I could experience the first line in "Twas The Night Before Christmas" where no creatures were stirring, not even a mouse. A few minutes of quiet is at the top of my holiday wish list. Why? Up until middle school, our youngest daughter, Paige, had a hard time going to, and staying, asleep. Unfortunately, she's a sleep dictator in that when Paige can't get some shuteye, no one can.

The Christmas holidays are a time of delightful unpredictability. The joy of ripping open a gift to find that one thing you didn't even know you wanted, surprise carolers who show up at your doorstep, the laughter that erupts during an impromptu snowball fight, mystery Santa sightings around town, and the sheer wonder of witnessing your neighbor's house transformed into a dazzling light show spectacle – it's all wonderfully unexpected.

In the Christian life, we are forced to navigate the uncomfortable tension between grace and truth. Trying to find an appropriate balance between the two results in a lot of conflict—both within ourselves and in our faith communities. 

We have a tendency to measure our sufferings against what others have experienced. If we believe we have endured “greater” hardships than those around us, we tend to get bitter. We come to view those with “easy lives” as whiny, ungrateful, and naive. We look down on them for struggling, and we label their problems as “superficial.” We become proud of the spiritual insight we’ve gained from our trials. We assume that those with “trouble-free” lives must have lesser faith. But worst of all, when we’ve navigated deep pain, we tend to feel more entitled to God’s favor. We think that He owes us more, because we have had to battle “more demons” than those around us. It’s the same attitude as saying: “I’ve been toiling in the hot sun all day, so I deserve more than the people who sauntered in at 5:00.” 

We all have flaws; none of us are immune to struggles. We often receive this statement in two vastly different ways. Some of us relate immeasurable more to our weaknesses than our strengths, to the point where we define ourselves by our shortcomings. This mindset, where all you can see are your faults, leads to despair.

In the midst of life's messiness, where challenges, difficulties, and weaknesses often seem to weigh us down, we find ourselves wondering how we can leverage our lives for the kingdom. The common misconception is that we must first have everything in order, achieve a level of maturity, or attain perfection before God can work through us. However, the stories in the scriptures reveal a different truth.

Full transparency: I've never been one to make my bed. As a teenager, my mom's mantra as she would shake her head and close my door was always, "his room, his mess." We won't speak of the college apartments and dorm room experiences. It's as sketchy cleaning-wise as one would expect…

Either God thinks highly of our family, or we aren't getting the memo He's trying to send us. We've gone through a great deal over the past year and encountered our fair share of disappointments and struggles…