When I was a little girl my godmother, Aunt Camie, would give me a charm for a bracelet she started for me one Christmas. Every year I would wait with great anticipation to see what the charm would be—a candy cane, or a creche, or a sprig of holly—each with the year engraved in the back. The tradition died off in my teens, as did the joy that the little bracelet had once given me: no L.A. hipster would be caught dead in a gold Christmas charm bracelet! But then in my late thirties something sort of magical (and utterly predictable) happened: retro fashion and a tinge of nostalgia. Suddenly my charm bracelet was a touch point to my childhood and a foretaste of a life of faith that was to blossom in my thirties. Suddenly the red plaid full-length hostess skirt that my mother-in-law handed down to me was not ridiculous, but beautiful and Christmassy and timeless—a reminder not only of her elegance and early years, but of each of our passing years, marked anew each December with the gift of new life. Suddenly I was a servant of Christmas and not merely a recipient of its shiny, wrapped packages.
Today I wish the same for you. May your heart be flooded with memories of Christmas past, and in that wide-open state, may it receive anew the promises of grace given to us in Jesus Christ.