Christmas Day was quiet here. Quiet, but full.
We’ve cultivated a still Christmas purposefully since some of the first years of our marriage. I know that many (most?) people enjoy the rush of an early morning gift exchange under the tree, bundling off to various friends and relatives after breakfast, and returning home satisfied with a day’s worth of food, drink, and company well after dark.
Somehow, that was never quite us. I don’t have a thing against it at all; both my husband and I grew up with those celebrations, and I think it’s every bit as meaningful and beautiful as our low-key version of the holiday.
Maybe it’s the introvert in me. Maybe it’s my inability to feel the full depth of God sending His Son to dwell amongst us without some space, some air to fill with the awe of it all. I’m not really sure. But in any case, I prefer a slow, peaceful Christmas Day at home.
And that’s what we had.
There were gifts.
And there was food. (Lots and lots of food.)
There were games.
And there was street hockey (of course).
Most of all, there was Jesus. Wonder at His birth, joy at the meaning. Our day was wrapped in a blanket of peace…and He was that peace.