The Ache We Try to Decorate at Christmas
When celebration doesn’t quiet the longing underneath it all

This is the first of a short series of reflections I’ve been sitting with this Christmas season. Enjoy!
Christmas has always stirred something in me, and it’s not just the warm stuff people usually talk about. There’s joy, yes, and nostalgia, but there’s also something heavier that shows up every year whether I’m ready for it or not. A quiet ache that seems to sit just below the surface of all the lights and music.
We’re really good at covering that ache up this time of year.
We stay busy. We lean hard into traditions. We tell ourselves this is just how December feels, that we’re tired, stretched thin, maybe a little emotional. But if we’re honest, that ache feels older than the season. It feels like it’s been around longer than this year, longer than this job, longer than whatever circumstance we’re blaming it on.
I’ve felt it in seasons when, on paper, everything looked good. Work was moving forward. Ministry was active. Family life was full. There wasn’t some obvious crisis or collapse happening behind the scenes. And still, there was this low hum inside me that whispered something wasn’t quite right.
Not wrong exactly. Just incomplete.
It wasn’t rebellion. It wasn’t despair. It was more like realizing I was moving through life efficiently, responsibly, faithfully even, but somehow skimming the surface of something that was meant to be deeper and more rooted. Like checking all the right boxes while quietly wondering why the boxes never seemed to satisfy for very long.
Christmas has a way of exposing that. It slows us just enough to feel what we normally outrun. When the house gets quiet at night, when the celebrations wind down, when the expectations lift for a moment, that ache shows itself again.
And for a lot of us, the instinct is to hurry up and cover it back over.
But what if the ache isn’t something to fix or hide. What if it’s telling us the truth about ourselves.
Christmas doesn’t create the ache. It reveals it. And once you start paying attention, you realize how universal it is. Different stories, different beliefs, different paths, yet the same restlessness keeps surfacing. That alone should tell us something.
The question isn’t whether the ache exists.
The question is why.
I’ll keep walking through this in the next reflection.
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