I love Christmas—the story of the Babe born in Bethlehem, carols, decorations, children’s Christmas concerts, and delightful food. The enticing aromas of sticky buns and cookies are the forerunners of the celebration in our home. Each year, though, as I grasp the first shiny ornament to hang on the prickly tree, I wonder if I will survive the Christmas frenzy. Isn’t this supposed to be the season of peace and joy? Do you need hope as much as I do?

There is a massive disconnect between my visions of peaceful repose as worshippers kneel before the Christ Child and the frenzied season I experience. What is wrong with this picture? And so, I opened my Bible and read the story of that first Christmas again.

What I found was hope. I saw hope enter the world as that baby’s cries pierced the night so long ago. Hope for the drug addict hunched in a ball on the cold sidewalk, trembling for want of his next fix. Hope for the young woman facing a frightening and uncertain future. Hope for the older man with cancer that is slowly invading his body. Hope for a broken and hurting world. That is why that baby came to earth, not to create an impossible ideal or an overwhelming frenzy to create the perfect celebration.

Mary gave birth to that child, not in a palace but in humble surroundings, a stable, and he came with grace. No celestial armies with flaming swords accompanied Him to bring judgment to the earth. Jesus, humanity’s avenue to peace with God, the embodiment of hope, lay in that manger, wrapped in a tiny blanket.

Nearby, the same night, an angel announced the birth of the child to the shepherds, saying, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”(Luke 2:10b–11). They rushed to visit this miraculous newborn, and, having seen Him with their own eyes, they left to spread the news of what the angel had said. It was no ordinary night, no ordinary child, and He changed the world.

After the shepherds departed, the biblical account says, “But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” (Luke 2:19). What did she ponder as she nursed her infant surrounded by the scent of manure and damp hay? How far ahead could she envision? Her child, the Son of God, would eventually die to fulfill His calling, death on a rough cross so that we could have forgiveness of sins and eternal life. And her heart would be torn to shreds in the process. But her obedience paved the way for hope, which became a reality that night.

In light of that, does it matter if my house and decorations aren’t up to the standard of Architectural Digest (and never were)? Does it matter if I don’t bake all the cookies I have in the past? Does it matter if I don’t attend every event offered this season, even though I want to experience them all? Maybe what matters is allowing time to adopt Mary’s approach and reflect on how I can best share the message of hope—that Jesus is the Saviour of the World—and act on it.

This beautiful and frantic time of year can induce exhaustion and overwhelm and easily overshadow the simple message of hope writ large in the birth of that baby. But I’m learning that cultural expectations and God’s are different, which gives me hope.

I pray that you and I can rediscover God’s peace and joy throughout the season and possibly tame the frenzy. May you not just survive but thrive, and above all else, may His presence be your companion.