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Maybe Christmas isn’t light because life suddenly feels light.
Maybe it’s light because life feels heavy.
Because this season has a way of amplifying what’s already tender.
Grief doesn’t take a holiday.
Loneliness doesn’t pause for December.
Relational tension doesn’t resolve itself just because the lights are up.
And unanswered questions don’t soften simply because the calendar says celebrate.
For some, that weight looks like:
• empty chairs at the table
• strained conversations with family
• unanswered prayers lingering that feel loud
• exhaustion you can’t explain
• joy mixed with quiet sadness
• embracing reality that’s so different from your expectations
If you’ve ever felt like you’re supposed to feel more joy than you do right now—
you’re not behind.
you’re not failing Christmas.
you’re not missing the point.
Christmas was never meant to be a performance of managed emotions.
It doesn’t ask you to negate what hurts, minimize what’s unresolved, or manufacture a version of yourself that feels more acceptable for the season. The story of Jesus entering the world doesn’t begin with clarity or closure—it begins in uncertainty, disruption, and deep human need.
That’s not a contradiction of the season.
That is the theology of it.
Isaiah calls Him Wonderful Counselor—
not because He offers quick fixes,
but because He enters the places we don’t know how to carry alone.
He doesn’t rush grief.
He doesn’t shame questions.
He doesn’t demand emotional tidiness.
He sits with you.
He listens.
He speaks peace into what feels fragmented.
So maybe Christmas isn’t about feeling less weight.
Maybe it’s about discovering you don’t have to carry it by yourself.
The intensity of life doesn’t threaten the hope of Christmas—
it reveals why Jesus came.
Light didn’t wait for the darkness to leave.
It stepped right into it.
And He is still doing that now. 🤍
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