Seventh-grade cheerleading.

I’d finally achieved a status-changing moment. I’d made the squad, and it was time to buy the coveted uniform. The school provided the skirt, but we had to purchase the sweater. This was back in the day when Izod Lacoste crew-neck sweaters were all the rage. Remember those basic sweaters with the cute little alligator in the corner? That tiny emblem carried big meaning. It whispered “elite,” “trendy,” and “definitely more expensive than the one hanging on the rack right beside it.”

At twelve years old, that little alligator symbolized everything right in my junior-high world —until we walked into the mall and my mom turned over the sweater’s price tag.

She did the math quickly. And in a split second, my utopic junior-high dream of owning that designer sweater evaporated.

“Jennifer, we are not spending $30 more for that sweater just because it’s a designer name when I can get the same exact sweater at JCPenney without the alligator on it.”

“But Mom… the cheerleading coach said it has to be a yellow Izod sweater. I cannot be the only one with a different sweater!”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

Her words did not comfort me. We left the mall with a generic yellow sweater, and I was convinced my cheerleading career was doomed.

Little did I know she was about to give me a life lesson that would shape not only my view of finances but my understanding of true worth — one I’d later pass down to my own children (with the same pushback).

At twelve, I needed the reminder that our value isn’t defined by stuff, the brand names we wear, or the money we spend. Our character isn’t shaped by “keeping up with the Joneses” — or by a logo on a sweater. Indeed, “People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7 NIV).

Decades later, it’s a reminder we all need.

That evening, my mom grabbed a pair of my dad’s Izod socks — yes, socks. She snipped off the alligator and sewed it onto my cheerleading sweater.

I. WAS. MORTIFIED.

Can you even believe she would do that? Is your seventh-grade self feeling my pain?

But — voilà. An identical sweater for a fraction of the price.

Had I kept quiet, no one would’ve known. But of course, I made a global announcement to the entire seventh grade. And yet, that moment left a mark. A mark for life — for the better.

From an early age, my mom taught me the value of living within one’s means. She modeled budgeting, comparison shopping, and saving where we could so we could spend where it mattered. She knew the difference between wants and needs. She knew when quality was worth paying for — and when it wasn’t. That cheer sweater was a perfect example. I would never wear it again, so why break the bank?

This memory resurfaced several Christmases ago when our teenage son asked for Ralph Lauren clothing. With five children and very little money, we kept to a strict budget, so I asked him, “Knowing our limit, would you like a few brand-new items, or do I have your blessing to hit the thrift stores and get you an entire Polo wardrobe for the same price?”

He thought for a moment and then agreed — as long as I promised to pick out “cool” things.

The result? Ten, instead of two, Polo items under the tree — many practically new.  Years later, we still honor a simple Christmas budget even though grandbabies could have anything they wish for. We’ve learned that experiences, slow moments, and shared traditions matter far more than any stack of wrapped gifts. Ask your family what they remember about last Christmas — it’s almost never the presents. It’s the presence.

But every December, the world tries to convince us otherwise. Leading up to Christmas, I feel the frantic race — not just to fill the calendar but to fill the empty space beneath the tree. It’s so easy to slip into the pressure of more: more gifts, more deals, more rushing.

Yet when we feel obligated to purchase gifts we can’t afford, we drift from the heart of the season. Debt steals joy. Comparison steals peace. But presence — real presence with family, friends, and the Lord — cultivates something that lasts.

And the simplicity of the manger continues to speak. Jesus arrived in humility, not surrounded by shiny packaging. His coming wasn’t extravagant in appearance, yet it was the most extravagant act of love the world has ever known. There is freedom in embracing a slower, simpler, spiritually deeper Christmas — a celebration where we model stewardship and gratitude, and where love isn’t measured by our credit card statement.

Instead of being swept into the holiday whirlwind, let’s anchor ourselves in the truth that Christmas is not about accumulating but about adoring. Scripture reminds us in Luke 2:10–11, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.”

That is the message worth celebrating, worth passing down, worth shaping our spending, our schedules, and our traditions.

And sometimes, all it takes is a yellow sweater and a stolen sock alligator to remind us what truly matters — both then and now.