My Mother Never Liked Christmas

My mommy never cared much for Christmas after she lost her daughter, Wanda, and later her own mother. The joy of the season had been touched by grief. She never wanted to put up a Christmas tree, yet every year she did it anyway—for me. That was love.

Now she is gone, and I am the one left behind, missing her more than words can say. Still, just as she did for me, I do my best to make Christmas special for my son. The tree is trimmed, the gifts are placed beneath its branches, but more important than any present, he knows why we celebrate Christmas.

Every year I tell him about Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I tell him how He came into this world to save us from our sins. I tell him how He willingly suffered unimaginable pain, humiliation, betrayal by a trusted friend, mocking, beatings, and the agony of the cross. I tell him how His blood was shed on Calvary so we would not be lost, and how on the third day He rose again in victory over death.

I tell the Christmas story every year because I never want my son to forget the true meaning of Christmas.