The house was dark, except for the kitchen light and the lights gleaming off of the Christmas tree as I pulled Precious, who was far past her bedtime, out of her carseat. In the gleam of those Christmas lights though, suddenly my baby girl was riveted to the lights. They'd been on all day, but now, now she suddenly noticed them and as still as could be she just stred at the tree.
Standing there, in my dark house looking at her beautiful face glowing with lights as she stared so intently, I began to tell her about a baby. A baby so precious and special that was once born to a virgin girl. A baby with a purpose. A baby, that was actually God. I told her how because of that baby, we now have hope in this life, and in a life to come where one day we'll actually meet this baby named Jesus. Jesus - the one who gives us hope.
And something in that moment changed something inside of me. I wanted to return the gifts, and do Christmas over this year - but do it right this time.
My only problem is, I'm not sure what "doing it right" looks like.
I want to celebrate Jesus. The one who gave me hope.