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Maybe Christmas isn’t meant to skim the surface of our lives.
Maybe it’s meant to meet us right where we actually are.
Like, truly are. All of us. Every part.
If we are being honest, I think this season has a way of showing us how quickly we try to button things up. To stay composed. To keep moving. To smile through what feels heavy so we don’t disrupt the moment or disappoint anyone. To tell ourselves, we will deal with that later. We don’t even realize the consequence of doing that is forsaking the communion that Christmas embodies.
Wholly known, fully loved, intimately abiding in Him.
So many of us are walking into Christmas carrying ordinary but weighty things—full calendars, tired bodies, quiet grief we don’t know how to name, financial pressure we’re managing silently, relationships that feel tender, prayers that haven’t been answered, and the daily responsibility of showing up even when we feel worn thin.
But the kindest way we can honor Jesus this season isn’t by holding it together better—it’s by laying it down. By loosening our grip and entrusting the things we’ve been carrying, managing, and holding close back into His hands. Not with polished prayers or perfect words, but with simple honesty.
Jesus didn’t come so we could perform our way through Christmas. He came so we wouldn’t have to carry life alone. His joy isn’t loud or forced—it’s steady and restoring, meeting us beneath the layers and reminding us we don’t have to be guarded to be safe.
So maybe the hope of Christmas isn’t that life suddenly feels lighter. Maybe it’s that we’re invited to lay our lives down—right as they are—and trust them into the hands of a God who chose nearness over distance. That’s what Christmas is really about: not holding it together, but being held.
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