Chubby little preschooler hands wrapped around treasured ornaments as I tried my best to oversee the decorating of our tree.

My boys were young, barely out of diapers and — try as I might to make some sort of magic out of decorating — the noise of my young sons arguing over who would hang the ornaments meant the whole experience felt more like barely-controlled chaos than magical memory-making.

“I need a break,” I whispered under my breath and to my husband. Then, I hastily locked myself in my room for a moment to reset and calm myself from overstimulation.

It was there, in the quieter-but-not-all-that-quiet space that I realized the weight of pressure had settled on me. I was reminded of something deeper: Christmas was never about creating magic. It’s always been about resting in the miracle. The miracle of with — God with us. 

The story of Christmas is not one of glittering perfection or elaborate plans. It’s the story of a quiet, unassuming night when God chose to step into our world, taking on the form of a newborn baby. A baby, small and fragile, held by a young mother in the simplest of settings. No grand entrance, no dazzling display — just the everyday miracle of with. Immanuel with His young mother. God with us. 

In this season of motherhood, I often find myself striving for the grand, the special, the unforgettable. Elaborately-written rhymes that create a scavenger hunt for birthday presents. Steam train rides and small-town parades to kick off the Christmas season. I want my children to feel the magic. But what if the best thing I can offer them isn’t magic at all? What if, instead, I choose presence? What if I choose to slow down and be fully with them, to honor the miracle of God’s presence by offering them mine? 

Isaiah 7:14 (NIV) says, “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.” Immanuel means God with us, which means this truth — God with us — is the heart of Christmas. It’s a tender reminder that we don’t have to manufacture something extraordinary. For, the extraordinary has already come. God has come near, not in flashes of brilliance but in quiet, humble closeness. And, in response to this miracle, I can offer the same to my children. Rather than trying to create the perfect Christmas, I can rest in being a mother who chooses to be her children in the mess, the noise, the everyday moments. 

When I think of that first Christmas, I picture Mary cradling her newborn, wrapped not in luxury but in love. Her quiet presence was enough because it mirrored the very nature of God’s heart — a God who didn’t come with fanfare, but with nearness. That’s the gift I want to give my children this year. Not mere perfection, not more things . . . but more of me.

So, this year, I’m letting go of the pressure to make Christmas magical. I’m choosing to step into the miracle of “God with us” by being fully present with my children. I want them to remember not the perfectly decorated house or the stack of presents, but the warmth of a mother who slowed down, who listened, who laughed with them and looked into their eyes.

I want my home to echo the heartbeat of that first Christmas — simple, humble, and full of love. A place where my children feel seen, not because I created a magical wonderland, but because I gave them the gift of my attention, my time, my presence. 

This Christmas, let’s release the need to create something magical. Instead, let’s honor the miracle of God with us by being with our children, our families, and those dearest to us. Let’s show them that they, too, are seen, loved, and valuable — not for what they do or what they bring but simply for who they are. Just as Christ came to be with us, we can choose to be with the ones we love.

May our presence offer a love that reflects the greatest miracle of all.

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