Cleaning, Cooking, Hosting. Repeat.

Cleaning, cooking, hosting. Repeat.
Cleaning, cooking, hosting. Repeat.
Cleaning, cooking, hosting. Repeat.
Cleaning, cooking, hosting, cleaning... exhausted.

“But isn’t that what Christmas is about?” someone asked when I mentioned this year’s Christmas schedule.

“No, actually, Christmas is about Jesus—not turkey and cleaning up after said turkey,” I replied, almost too quickly. I could hear myself sounding a bit Grinch-like, and I cringed at the tone.

“Don’t get me wrong,” I added quickly. “I absolutely love gathering with family. But why must we put so much pressure on this one week?”

No one seems to have an answer. The societal pressure to “gather” for Christmas is almost suffocating. Don’t misunderstand me—I would be thrilled to gather with family any time, in any month. But why do we use Christmas as the excuse, especially (and here’s where I know I sound salty) when many of those pushing for the gathering don’t even celebrate Jesus? For them, it’s just about the family meal and presents.

Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m venting. But here’s what I do know.

Christmas is about Jesus.

It’s about the God of the universe stepping into our world—not with pomp and grandeur but in the humblest way imaginable. A baby, born in a stable, surrounded by animals and shepherds. It’s not about perfect turkeys, shiny gifts, or spotless floors. It’s about a perfect Savior who came to give us the ultimate gift: His life, His love, and His grace.

“Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord” (Luke 2:11).

I get it, though. The demands of the season can feel overwhelming—decorating, cooking, making everything just right. But here’s the thing: Jesus didn’t come into a perfect, Pinterest-worthy world. He came into a messy, broken one. His arrival reminds us that it’s okay if our lives (and homes) look a little messy too.

“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14).

This peace—real peace—doesn’t come from checking off every item on a to-do list. It comes from slowing down to remember why we’re celebrating in the first place. When we focus on Jesus, the pressure starts to lift.

So this year, I gave myself permission to pause. To leave the dishes in the sink a little longer. To savour moments with my family without stressing over the crumbs under the table. To make room in my heart for the One who made room for me.

Because Christmas is about God coming near. It’s about love wrapped in humility, hope cradled in a manger, and the light of the world shining into our darkness.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).

So yes, I’ll clean and cook and host. But I’ll also make time to rest, reflect, and rejoice. Because the greatest gift has already been given, and it’s one that never fades, breaks, or needs returning.

I pray that your Christmas was filled with joy, laughter, and moments to soak in the miracle of Emmanuel—God with us.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, dear friends! As we step into 2025, may we celebrate the true reason for the season with hearts overflowing with gratitude.

“Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!” (2 Corinthians 9:15).

Santa's coming...but Jesus!

While Brian and I were away a few weeks ago, I learned that one of the specialties of Budapest is beautifully carved wooden Santas. Each one is unique—and quite pricey. We decided that as a special souvenir, we would get a small ornament for our tree.

To be honest, I don’t have a single Santa in my house, but for some reason, this Santa felt different.

When we returned home and I placed this special Santa on our tree, it brought back one of my earliest Christmas memories—a memory that wasn’t exactly a happy one.

I was raised by a single immigrant parent whose family of origin didn’t celebrate Christmas. Sure, there was gift-giving, but there was no Santa and certainly no talk of Jesus.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I do remember the first time I became aware of Santa. At school, the other kids were buzzing with excitement—Santa was coming! I saw him in cartoons: a big, jolly stranger who magically came down chimneys, out through fireplaces, and left presents under Christmas trees. It sounded too good to be true, but I couldn’t help feeling the hope and excitement that maybe, just maybe, Santa would come to my house too.

Then it hit me: we didn’t have a fireplace. Panic set in.

Determined not to let this stop Santa, I decided to help him out. On Christmas Eve, I left a plate of cookies, a glass of milk, a carrot for Rudolph, and, as an extra-special treat, a box of Smarties (because it was Santa’s first visit to my house). I even unlocked the front door so he wouldn’t have any trouble getting in. I didn’t tell my mom about my plan, of course. I hid the goodies on a small table beside the tree.

But, as she did every night, my mom locked the front door before going to bed.

When I woke up on Christmas morning, I ran to the tree, expecting to see new presents and an empty plate. But nothing had changed. The cookies, milk, carrot, and Smarties were still there. The door was locked. Santa hadn’t come.

I was crushed. How could my mom lock Santa out? I was miserable, and my poor mom was utterly confused. It wasn’t a nice Christmas for either of us.

Looking back, I realize it was easier to blame my mom for my disappointment than to face the truth: Santa wasn’t real. That Christmas, I learned a hard lesson—when we put our hope in the wrong things, we’re bound to be disappointed.

Years later, I learned to place my hope in something, or rather someone, who never disappoints. I put my hope and faith in God. Unlike Santa, God is real. He is always with us. He is a God of abundant love, unshakable joy, and enduring hope.

Santa could never make promises like these found in Scripture:

“And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm, and steadfast.” (1 Peter 5:10)

“…but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:31)

“To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory.” (Colossians 1:27)

This special Santa on my tree will now serve as a reminder that points me back to Jesus!

This Advent season, don’t put your hope in things that might disappoint. Instead, place your hope in Jesus—Immanuel, God with us. He is the true source of love, joy, and peace.

Keep your fork

Have You Heard the Story About the Fork?

There was once a woman who had been diagnosed with a terminal illness and given just three months to live. As she prepared her affairs, she invited her pastor over to discuss her final wishes. With grace and thoughtfulness, she shared her plans: the hymns she wanted sung, the scriptures she wanted read, and even the clothes she wished to wear. She also asked to be buried with her favorite Bible.

As they finished, the pastor prepared to leave, but the woman suddenly lit up, remembering something important.

“Oh, there’s one more thing!” she said with a smile.
“What’s that?” he asked.

She replied, “I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand.”

The pastor was momentarily taken aback, unsure of what she meant. But the woman’s eyes twinkled as she explained:

“In all my years of attending church potlucks, there was one thing I loved hearing most as the main dishes were cleared: ‘Keep your fork.’ That simple phrase always meant that something better was coming—dessert! Maybe velvety chocolate cake, maybe deep-dish apple pie. I knew it was going to be something special, something sweet and satisfying.

So, when people see me in that casket holding a fork, I want them to wonder, ‘What’s with the fork?’ And then I want you to tell them: ‘Keep your fork—the best is yet to come.’”

The pastor, moved by her words, hugged her tightly. He knew her time on earth was short, but her confidence in the promise of heaven was a testimony that would inspire many.

At the funeral, as friends passed by her casket, they noticed her beautiful dress, her well-loved Bible, and the fork in her hand. Over and over, they asked the same question: “What’s with the fork?” Each time, the pastor smiled. During the eulogy, he shared the story, and hearts were stirred by the message: Keep your fork—the best is yet to come.

This past week, I lost a dear friend to a long battle with cancer. She was faithful, strong, and courageous, and her unshakable trust in God humbled all of us who knew her. Shortly after her passing, a mutual friend sent me a picture of a fork hanging on her Christmas tree. The caption read: “Peggy is enjoying dessert.”

Amen and amen.

So, next time you reach for a fork, let it remind you, oh so gently, that spiritually speaking, the best truly is yet to come.(Hebrews 11:16; Hebrews 13:14; Ephesians 2:4-6; Colossians 3:1; Philippians 3:20; 1 Peter 1:3-4)