Thoughts of Christmas have changed for me over the years.

I remember when I happily dug out my parent’s Christmas albums, all three of them, after my mother said, “Of course, you can play them.” I believe this occurred before Thanksgiving that first year. I spun those albums on my small record player in my bedroom each holiday season until I grew up and left home. I ushered warmth and joy in with the music.

Christmas was magical throughout my childhood and many years into adulthood. I knew that the season centered around the birth of baby Jesus, and I dearly loved Jesus, but the sounds, sights, cold weather, snow (more often back then, so it seems), and the jingle of bells were my overall focus, all being a reminder of the red-adorned man and his reindeer who loved to bellow a hearty “Ho-ho-ho” as they visited each child’s home.

I never imagined the depth of what I would be focused on today, this December 24th. That God planted himself as an embryo in the womb of a virgin, Mary. That Jesus was born as a human, and he lived his life as a human. He experienced life as each of us does. He experienced our emotions—pain, joy, and love (just a few). He could have supernaturally felt each emotion and experienced what he did in his short lifetime of 33 years, but he chose to walk amongst us.

The real Christmas Story seems to be less popular today. Sadly, it is buried amongst folk lore—doubted and dishonored.

We owe our lives to our Lord. I am so grateful for what he did for us. Yes, the glitter of the season and all of the magical fancy man-made scenes are wonderful in the beauty of things, but they remind me of one thing—Jesus, the one who came to Earth to become our savior.