This Christmas wasn't like others. We didn't have a tree and I didn't make many gifts. We didn't celebrate Advent the way we have in past years. Our house wasn't decorated. Wade and Kristen and their kids weren't with us on Christmas morning.
We woke up and opened our stockings. And I felt sad because I didn't have many gifts to give--which is something I really love and look forward to.
But then we read the Christmas story. And as I sat on the couch and watched Emma sit in her Papa's lap and listened to them take turns reading paragraph by paragraph, I realized that everything else didn't matter nearly as much as I thought it did.
This is Christmas. The story of Jesus. Passed down from one generation to another. Shared and discussed and remembered.