Dear Little Girl…
You made it through the noise.
Through the expectations.
Through the lists and the plans and the pressure to make it all magical.
And here you are now…The house is quiet this morning.
And sitting here, this truth feels holy and clear:
I don’t want to scroll past my life.
One son has already left.
Another will leave soon.
And the miracle I prayed for — all of us together under one roof — came and went in less than two days.
I didn’t realize how much I missed us until we had it again.
Not the perfect version.
Not the Instagram version.
Just us — playing games, laughing, talking, being human together.
Forty hours. I’ll take it.
I tried so hard to be present.
I really did.
But even in the middle of the joy, I felt the pull — the phone, the to-do list, the future creeping in. And now, sitting here in the quiet, I realize how easy it is to miss a moment even while you’re living it.
This Christmas taught me something tender and uncomfortable at the same time:
I learned the real gift isn’t what we open —
it’s the present moment we’re finally willing to receive.
The way a room feels when everyone is home.
The sound of voices overlapping.
The calm that comes when we stop reaching for the next thing and stay with what’s already here.
God meets us here.
Not in the rush.
Not in the comparison.
But in the quiet yes to now.
I’m learning that presence is not passive.
It’s a practice.
When my mind races or my heart tightens, I put both feet on the floor.
I breathe.
I notice what’s right here:
what I can see, hear, touch, smell, taste.
And slowly, my body remembers it’s safe to be here.
Because the present moment keeps me out of a past I can’t change
and a future I can’t control.
Scripture says it plainly:
“Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”
— 2 Corinthians 3:17
I’m beginning to understand that freedom doesn’t mean nothing hurts.
It means I don’t have to run from the moment I’m in.
Christmas didn’t end Thursday.
It’s still unfolding — in the quiet, in the ache, in the gratitude, in the breath I’m taking right now.
Maybe the invitation isn’t to recreate the magic.
Maybe it’s to receive it while it’s here.
So today, I’m putting my phone down a little sooner.
I’m listening a little longer.
I’m letting the gift stay unwrapped.
Because the real gift of Christmas isn’t what we open —
it’s the present moment we’re finally willing to receive.
