How a Holiday Flunky Found Christmas Joy

I cannot lie. I stink at Christmas. 

Some years, I don’t even like it.

First, there are the presents. I have friends who intuitively know how to find the perfect gift for everyone they love. I so envy them. I feel such pressure to find just the right gifts that I dread the start of the holiday season. 

Then, if I manage to find a decent gift, I feel the pressure to wrap it—just so. It’s not enough to have substance, there must also be presentation. 

My children will tell you they always know which packages are from Mom. Each has an extra square of wrapping paper taped to the bottom to cover the place where the paper doesn’t quite meet in the middle. 

And those big, sparkly, wire-ribboned bows? I can barely tie my tennis shoes, let alone create something stunning to adorn my packages. 

I’m not very good at decorating, either. My friends start scouting for trendy new additions to their décor as soon as Hobby Lobby sets out its Halloween/Christmas display in August. Not me. I postpone it as long as possible unless I can talk one of my artsy daughters into helping me. If I didn’t have grandchildren, I’d skip the Christmas tree altogether.

For years, the angst I felt about all things Christmas stole the joy from my celebration and made me dread it long before the December calendar page flipped.

Maybe you’re a Christmas flunky too. Maybe you despise our culture’s pressure to make every Christmas bigger and better than the one before. Perhaps you too feel the desire to slow down, simplify, and savor, but you’re not sure how to make it happen. 

More than anything else, you want to experience the joy of Christmas. The day “God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son.”

Several years ago, I reached a crisis point in my Christmas celebration. The noisier and busier the season got, the emptier I felt. As a believer in Christ, I, of all people, should love to celebrate one of the most joyous events in history, but my heart was far from joyous. 

During my quiet time one morning, God led me to John 3:16, the classic verse of Christianity and Christmas. I lingered over the words, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son . . .” 

I pictured what it might be like to send my son or daughter to die for the sins of the world, and my heart broke. What an enormous sacrifice God made on my behalf! Selfless, costly, and completely non-reciprocal.

I remembered how my young daughters would ask, “If Christmas is Jesus’ birthday, why do we get the presents?” 

“We give because Jesus gave first,” I’d say. “Our gifts to each other are gifts in Jesus’ name.”

That morning, I looked around at the gifts I’d bought for family, friends, coworkers, and even the mail lady. Although the household money I’d used was as much mine as it was my husband’s, I couldn’t say the gifts were sacrificial. We’d budgeted the money, and I certainly hadn’t done without anything significant to purchase them. 

As I pondered the sacrifice God made on my behalf on that Christmas so long ago, I felt a strong desire to give something in the name of Jesus that cost me something. I wanted to give sacrificial and meaningful gifts in Jesus’ name. 

A plan began to unfold in my mind. Our family budget includes mad money for myself and my husband—personal money we don’t have to account for. I typically use mine for lunches out with friends or special treats. Sometimes I squirrel it away for a bigger, frivolous purchase. 

As I thought about how I could give sacrificially in Jesus’ name, the Holy Spirit reminded me of my mad money. The conversation in my head went something like this:

I could sacrifice my mad money.

Hmm, I guess I could do without it for a week.

What about a month?

A whole month? No lunches out with friends? No Starbucks runs? No Chick-Fil-A? Well, that would certainly be a sacrifice . . . 

After God revealed to me how I was to give sacrificially, the next question I asked was what?

What could I do that would be extra special, personal, and meaningful? Something to honor Jesus and my family members? What could I do to honor them in Jesus’ name?

As I prayed, the ideas started coming.

My husband, David, has a passion for evangelism and a love for children. I chose to donate money in his name to Samaritan’s Purse. The funds covered the cost of discipleship lessons for six children who received Christ because of Operation Christmas Child shoeboxes. He’s also a foodie, so I donated money to pay for meals at a local homeless shelter. 

My oldest daughter was a commuter student at the university in town that year. Students had to park in metered spaces and walk long distances to class. They often didn’t get back to their cars until long after their meters expired. 

“The only thing worse than feeding a meter and walking to class is returning to find a traffic ticket on your windshield,” she grumbled on more than one occasion. In her honor, I took a roll of quarters to campus and fed every expired parking meter I could find.

As I prayed about how to honor Christ in my youngest daughter’s name, I remembered how, earlier that year, she had come home crying. She’d witnessed another driver hit and kill a stray dog crossing the road. In light of that tragedy, I donated some of my mad money to the local no-kill shelter.

As I prayed about each gift and sought God’s insight for something appropriate and meaningful, I felt my cold Christmas heart grow strangely warm. Every time I took money from my personal stash and implemented a new idea, my heart swelled. By the time I had completed my Jesus gift ideas, my joy bubbled over. I’d never had so much fun “buying” Christmas gifts.

On Christmas morning, after all the other gifts had been opened, I asked my husband and daughters to search the Christmas tree for an envelope with their name on it. 

“This is my Jesus gift to you this year,” I said. “To honor Jesus and to honor you.” 

My husband found his note and read it aloud.

“Because of you, six children will learn more about Jesus, and six men will eat Christmas dinner today.” A wobbly smile flickered across his face as he wiped a tear that escaped from the corner of his eye. 

My eldest daughter found her note and cheered. “Because of you, fifteen students didn’t get parking tickets during final exam week this year.”

Daughter #2 went last. “Because of your tender heart toward helpless animals,” she read, “I’ve paid the fees for two puppies to be adopted from the local shelter.

We hugged, sniffled, and smiled. 

In the years since, I haven’t always given “Jesus gifts,” but I have learned to ask God to show me meaningful ways to honor Him as I honor those I love. Instead of making plans and sticking Jesus on top like a last-minute bow, I ask God to direct and inspire my activities so He’s at the center. I hold each decision to the twin plumb lines of, “Does this glorify Jesus and point others to Him?” and “Does this inspire me to worship and enjoy Him?” 

After all, as my daughters so eloquently pointed out, “It’s His birthday!”

—Written by Lori Hatcher. Used by permission from the author. Click here to connect with Lori.