What Christmas Means to Me

I grew up with Christmas. Christmas, to me, was a time to celebrate the birth of the Messiah, peace on earth, and goodwill to others. It was a time to enjoy our family. Presents were a part of that. Though Santa was known to visit in all his naughty-or-nice glory, we each knew that his gifts and those from others were not a reward for good behavior. They were the outward expression of our love for and appreciation of one another. We were a family, and that would never change.

Years passed, and I chose to worship differently from my parents. I light my chanukiah; they run the train around a little tree.


This year, though, I screwed up royally. Poor decisions from long ago, that seemed so small at the time, matured into potentially monumental consequences to myself and others. When it came time for presents, I didn't think I would get any—why shell out more for someone who has cost them so much? In the midst of my shame, I didn't want any presents. Yet my parents journeyed to share my Chanukah table, and when I opened the door, they presented me with...a present. We are a family, and that will never change. That simple action buckled my knees. I have learned some deep truths of unconditional love and forgiveness.

This year, that's what Christmas means to me. Even as the songs still into silence; the shepherds return to their flocks; and the kings reign once more in their palaces, my work will have only begun. I have been forgiven much. I will go and forgive others.