It was Christmas Eve. Everything was done. The cut sugar cookies, colorfully decorated by my family and friends a few days before, lay neatly stacked between parchment paper in containers. Gifts, wrapped in sparkles and shades of green, red, and gold, waited quietly under the tree. Luminaries, a neighborhood tradition, dotted the curb in front of our house, ready to light at sunset. In an hour we would leave for church, a favorite service of the year graced by the melodies of traditional carols and readings, then punctuated with the soft candlelit glow of “Silent Night.” In the meantime, while my husband finished up at the office, my three sons traversed the neighborhood delivering cards, gifts, and holiday greetings.

 
I fell into the sofa, a bit exhausted from the holiday preparations only mothers really understand. But I could rest and enjoy thisevening. My own mother was giving me a great gift: a night to just show up. After church, we planned to have dinner and “do Christmas” with my parents. I offered to contribute to the meal, but she insisted I do nothing. “Just bring yourselves!” she smiled. I was so looking forward to the evening. And the idea of Christmas morning, cozy and joyful, appealed to something deep within me. I could hardly wait. 

Yet, in all this anticipation and potential joy, I felt a pang of sadness I could not shake. As I sat in my house alone, I gave it some thought. (I’ve learned not to ignore those feelings. They only grow bigger when shoved down or ignored.) Confused, I asked myself, “Why do I feel so sad?” Quickly, I realized the answer. In 24 hours it would all be over, just as all the Christmases before. I’ve had 44 of them so far. Weeks of preparation, and soon I would be left with cleaning up the paper, cutting off tags, finding places for all the new things, and eventually dismantling the tree and decorations, stuffing everything back into plastic bins until next year. I so wanted the happiness to last. My sadness was grief over how fleeting the joyful moments pass.

As he so often does in his goodness, God cut through the sting of that moment with truth and grace. Christmases come and go, yes. But the greatest gift that came to me through the first Christmas does not. In 24 hours another day will pass and life returns to normal. But… the next day is also a gift! And the day after that. And the day after that. All the way into eternity. The reality is that Christmas brought a person. And that person brought the gift of eternal life—days that never end. My Jesus’ birth, life, death, resurrection, and salvation change everything. Although the moments of joy are fleeting, he will give more moments in this life. And he will give have many, many, many more moments and much more joy for all eternity when he sets us entirely free from the constraints of time and broken hearts. Eternal life starts now. As Elisabeth Elliot once said, “All that was ever ours, is ours forever.” 

Jesus came into that moment—truth and grace—with light and life that dispels the darkness and shadow of death. Just like that first Christmas. A bright star shining in the dark sky. The true light born into the night. No wonder the angels sang, filling the shepherds’ cold, inky field with the glory of heaven. The good news keeps coming in various tones and shades, in my life story, and in the Great Story that goes on and on.