When the Boxes Go Back in the Attic
What If Christmas Was Meant to Shape Us Longer Than the Season?
I packed up the Christmas decorations today.
The lights and garland came down.
The ornaments went back into their carefully labeled boxes.
The stable was dismantled and the Nativity was placed back in the garage where it will sit quietly until next November.
It didn’t make me sad exactly.
Just…a little down.
I think what I miss most is the warmth of Christmas.
Not just the lights or the decorations, but the way the season feels. Christmas was always a fun time growing up. It felt lighter. Safer. Like something good was coming. And even now, all these years later, something about the season still pulls us closer together.
Once the decorations are gone, our house looks…ordinary.
The yard is plain.
The facade is quiet.
Nothing about it hints at how full it felt just days ago.
And I love our home—I really do. But to quote Sam the Snowman, “I love this Christmassy time of year.”
Because something shifts.
We spend more time together as a family. All four kids in one room feels like a gift you don’t rush past. Decorating the tree. Watching Christmas movies. Sitting together without everyone drifting off to their own corners.
Some people find all of that stressful.
Karen and I find it grounding.
The Nativity That Needed Work
This year, I redid my grandparents’ Nativity set—the one they gave me years ago. It was made in the 1960s. The lights inside don’t work anymore, but the big spotlight I place on it each year burns bright.
Every piece had to be repainted. Every figure needed attention. Sixty years in the weather will do that.
Chloe helped me with more than one of them. Side by side. Brush strokes uneven. Paint on our hands. Quiet conversation while we worked.
That Nativity didn’t just get restored—it got shared. And now, it means a bit more to Chloe than it did before. The camel looks brand new, and she's super proud of that.
And now when I look at it, I don’t just see plastic, blown-mold figures.
I see Mary and wonder if she really knew what she was going to endure.
I see Joseph and think about the responsibility he accepted without fully understanding where it would lead.
And I see the shepherds—lowly, ordinary, working the night shift—being the first ones invited into the story. I imagine them looking at each other and asking, “Why us?”
I relate to that.
And the longer I sit with it, the more I’m reminded that the manger was never meant to stand alone. It all points to the cross. Christmas isn’t the whole story—it’s the beginning of it.
Small Moments That Stay
We received a gift card for Christmas to a sushi restaurant and took the whole family out to eat.
It wasn’t fancy.
But it was joyful.
The smiles from people in the restaurant—the way they watched our kids, the comments they made—made me proud in a quiet way. Proud of who our kids are becoming. Proud of who we’re becoming together.
Brighton and I also served as golf cart drivers for our Christmas Eve services. Cold air. Short rides. Simple work. Christmas music playing from our phones while we handed out small candy canes to say, “Merry Christmas.”
But it was meaningful.
Those are the moments that don’t photograph well—but they stay with you.
Keeping Christmas on Purpose
I think about that line from A Christmas Carol—how Scrooge kept Christmas all year.
I don’t think that meant decorations.
I think it meant posture.
People seem more patient at Christmas. Kinder. Slower. More aware of each other. There’s an old Elvis song—“If Every Day Was Like Christmas.” I don’t hear that as sentimental. I hear it as aspirational.
Because intentional is always better than sentimental.
Feelings come and go. Intentionality acts even when the feelings don’t lead the way. Not bypassing emotions—but caring enough to act anyway.
That might look like:
family time with no screens
year-round game nights
movie nights
giving gifts for no reason at all
I’ve even thought about letting each kid choose one thing they want us to do or experience together as a family this year.
If I’m honest, I think they’d choose Karen cooking one of her great meals, all of us at the table, and finishing the night with a game.
That feels a lot like Christmas to me.
Carrying the Season Forward
I don’t think keeping Christmas all year means recreating the season.
I think it means protecting what the season reveals.
The warmth.
The togetherness.
The way we slow down enough to notice each other again.
It means choosing presence when the calendar tells us to hurry.
Choosing intention when the feelings fade.
Choosing people when distractions are easier.
The decorations are packed away now.
The yard looks plain again.
The house feels quieter.
But the things that mattered most don’t have to disappear with the lights.
Family time without screens.
Meals that linger.
Games that stretch late into the night.
Moments that don’t need a holiday to justify them.
Christmas reminds us of who we’re called to be.
Not just once a year—but every ordinary day that follows.
And maybe that’s how you keep Christmas all year.
Not by holding onto the season…
but by living what it taught you.
That was soooo good…sooo good 🙏🏽