My Small Heart Grew Three Sizes

The last few years have been rough for me. This isn't a post about that - there won't be any posts about that - but it's important context here. Because with the bad years have come bad Christmases, and that's an aberration for me behaviorally.

We used to throw big, open Christmas celebrations. We'd open up the house, and anyone we knew could come and stay as long as they'd like. We'd give away gifts to everyone who entered, sometimes peanut butter sandwiches I'd carefully wrapped that morning for comedic effect. There was food and music and laughter all day, and it was incredible. As life's gotten more and more difficult, though, my enthusiasm for celebrating the occasion of the Savior's birth has shamefully waned, and these last few years I've been positively Grinchy about the whole thing. No music, no tree unless you force me into it. Nothing.

But this Christmas is different somehow. I can't tell you why. It hasn't been a better year in 2025 than it was in 2024. If anything, it's been worse. But I'm sitting here writing these words in the light of my little fire hazard of a tree with soft instrumental carols playing in the background. Our gifts are already purchased, assembled, and ready to go. I feel Christmas - the love of the Savior inside me - in a way I have not in a very long time. It's nice to remember who I'm supposed to be again.

Merry Christmas, everyone. May the love of our Emmanuel be with you the rest of this year and on into next.