A Curious Christmas (Part 5)
What We Are Given
Christmas Day arrives whether we’re ready or not.
The waiting gives way to morning.
The build-up loosens its grip.
Wrapping paper gathers in corners.
Plates stack up.
The day settles into itself.
And still, life carries on.
That’s what strikes me most this morning.
Christmas doesn’t tidy everything up.
It doesn’t wrap the world into something simple or complete.
It meets us where we are.
The story we tell at Christmas is small and ordinary at heart –
a baby, a family, a night like many others.
Nothing polished.
Nothing finished.
I think we expect Christmas to feel a certain way.
Peaceful. Joyful. Whole.
But maybe it’s allowed to feel mixed.
Tender in places.
Uneven.
True.
Because the gift at the centre of the story
isn’t a solution,
it’s closeness.
Not answers,
but presence.
Not a promise that everything will change at once,
but the assurance that we’re not alone in what hasn’t.
That’s what remains for me today.
Not certainty.
Not clarity.
Just the quiet realisation that love shows up in ordinary places –
around tables, in tired bodies, in moments that pass by too quickly.
This is where A Curious Christmas comes to rest.
Not with conclusions,
but with gratitude
for what we’ve noticed along the way.
The waiting.
The wonder.
The small acts of giving.
And now, the simple gift of today.
A small invitation
Let Christmas be what it is. Not what it’s meant to be.
Notice one moment today, however ordinary, and let it be enough.