A Season of Quiet Reflection
This is the first Christmas in more than ten years that I have not put up a tree. I haven’t watched a single Christmas movie or listened to a holiday song on the radio. I barely noticed the lights on the houses or the decorations around town. This year, I didn’t send cards or brave the stores. I sent Amazon gift cards to a few loved ones, simple, practical, and honest. It felt more truthful than pretending to feel festive when my heart wasn’t in it.
Life at home is quiet. Much of my day is spent writing and caring for my mother, whose presence means more to me than words can fully express, and my beloved dog, Sonny. My mother is often tucked away in her own world of Facebook videos and headphones, and the weight of cooking, cleaning, and daily responsibilities can feel especially heavy when carried alone in the silence. Sonny sleeps at my feet, patiently waiting for the warmth of spring, when we can once again resume our long walks.
I find myself missing the rhythm of family. My kids and grandkids are busy with their own lives now, and while I am always happy to help with rides or get-togethers, the distance can be hard. Recently, when a family gathering happened without me, it was a sharp reminder of how much I value those connections and how much I miss being in the middle of the laughter. My son is working hard on the third shift and is unavailable much of the time. Another son lives on the other side of the world. My oldest daughter is gone now. Her absence is a weight I still carry with me quietly every single day.
This Christmas feels heavy, and the sadness lingers. It reminds me of how difficult the holidays were during my years of addiction. I thank God every day for my six years of sobriety. Being sober does not mean life is always easy, but it does mean I am finally present enough to feel it all, the heavy and the light. I’m thankful for my recovery friends and meetings. Even though the fire of early recovery no longer roars, it still burns. I am still here. I am still standing. I am still sober.
If it weren’t for my pool leagues two nights a week, I would be incredibly lonely. I recently went to a teammate’s Christmas party, and despite the noise, I genuinely enjoyed the company. Whether it is league night or shooting a game with my dad and a few buddies at his house, those moments have become a lifeline for me.
Writing remains my passion, though I still wrestle with doubt. My Etsy sales have dropped, and business has been difficult, which has contributed to the melancholy of the season. I am trying to remember that the true value of my work is not found in a checkout cart; it lives in the people who tell me my words touched their lives.
I feel worn down by the state of the world and the division that seems to grow louder every day. It hurts to feel a quiet distance between myself and people I once felt close to. I sometimes wonder if we understand the Savior the same way. The One I follow teaches unconditional love for all, the kind that moves toward others rather than away from them. I try to live that out as faithfully as I can, but if I am honest, I too fall short.
As I reflect, I am reminded that Christmas, at its heart, is the celebration of God entering the world quietly and humbly. It was never about noise or spectacle. It was about love arriving without demand, hope showing up without force, and grace offered freely to a weary world. I hold these principles close, and I am deeply grateful for my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I know that this season of sadness will pass. I hold a deep faith that God is working in the quiet spaces of my life, and I believe with all my heart that brighter days are ahead in the coming year. I am not giving up. I trust that God still has good days ahead for me, and I believe He will continue to walk with me through the difficult ones as well.
Thank you for taking the time to read these reflections. Sharing them here helps me carry this season more honestly.
With that in mind, I want to share a poem I wrote about the Christmases of my childhood, a time marked by simpler, more pleasant moments. It is not a religious poem; my family wasn’t particularly religious growing up, but it carries the love and memories that linger long after the boxes are packed away. I hope you find something familiar in it, and maybe even a smile.
The Christmas I Once Knew
I remember the glow as we drove through the night,
Searching for Christmas in houses with lights.
Snow on the backroads, drifting so free,
A season of wonder for my family and me.
From attic to living room, year after year,
Came boxes of memories filled with cheer.
That old plastic tree stood proud in its place,
With handmade reminders and joy on my face.
On every window, the stickers were pressed,
Even the bathroom was fully dressed.
The King sang of blue on an 8-track machine,
While Frosty and Rudolph lit up the screen.
We tossed and we turned in the warmth of our bed,
Then banged on the walls that could wake up the dead.
We tore through the paper as the sun reached for the skies,
Dad looked at Ma’s shopping with shock in his eyes.
We’d gather with laughter at Grandma’s place,
And never once noticed the lack of space.
Boots lined the doorway, snow tracked the floor,
And love filled the rooms, like years before.
We shared in a meal set out on display,
Then headed back home at the close of the day.
Those moments now live where old memories do,
And I’m grateful for the Christmases I once knew.
🎄 If you enjoyed this, here are a few more Christmas poems and stories you might like.
Thank you for reading and sharing my words this season.
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