What We Remember

I keep seeing that post on Facebook about how your kids won't remember what presents they got for Christmas this year; they'll remember the feelings and delight and joy of it all.

Tonight I asked Sam what is his favourite Christmas memory of all time. 

"Last year," he said confidently. 

"What happened?" I asked.

"I forget," he replied. 

😅❤😅

Turns out, it wasn't any one particular thing - just having his cousins here, and having Ash sleep in his top bunk. She's the eldest, and he adores her.

My earliest Christmas memory is from the house we lived in before I turned 5. I remember the tree, set up in the basement (I think?!), lit with coloured lights, and decorated with red and green and gold and silver balls and bells. And I was allowed, oh bliss of bliss, to sleep by the Christmas tree with my big sisters. We nudged our air mattresses all up against each others', and I think we used Dad's thick hunting sleeping bag to turn them into one big bed. Together and warm and cozy under a those magical twinkling lights - mmm yeah. It radiated Christmas magic.

That thing going around on Facebook speaks truth.

We don't remember the presents, we remember the love that gave them.

We don't remember how things look, apart from how they made us feel.

We remember togetherness and specialness and lights in the dark.

The traditions we cling to and the celebrations we create and recreate every year matter to us because they sing to our hearts the song of heaven: love.

Love came down at Christmas.

And everything that carries an echo of His peace and joy and generosity and light holds that Christmas magic.

Wishing you a good one, friends.

xo.