The Essence of Christmas
I watch the ambulance pull away, carrying my wife and 9-month-old daughter. My heart is racing, but I stay grounded, waiting for my sister to arrive to watch my 4-year-old twins.
My body is calm but charged, ready for whatever comes next. Earlier that meant dialing 911 when my daughter went unconscious.
Just an hour before, the house was filled with chaos and joy. The kids were running between the yard and our post-Christmas living room—a scene that looked like Santa and a tornado had a showdown and left the mess behind. Laughter echoed as they rode the wave of post Christmas magic—and the sugar cookies and presents high.
When my sister pulled into the driveway with my 8-year-old niece, I hugged her quickly, jumped into my truck, and started the drive to the hospital. Anxiety began to creep in, but I held onto Paul's reminder in Philippians: "Don’t worry about anything;instead pray about everything.” So I prayed, whispering to God between every red light. (I hit them all)
When I arrived, I walked into Room 5 of the ER and saw an army of nurses and doctors surrounding my daughter. She was breathing, but still needed oxygen After three EpiPen shots, life returned to her—bigger eyes, small smiles, and normal oxygen levels. A wave of relief and gratitude flooded over me as we were moved to the pediatric unit for overnight monitoring.
Less than 24 hours have passed since that call to 911, and my heart still races when I think about it. But what lingers most is gratitude.
Gratitude for the empathetic and skilled paramedics, nurses, and doctors, and the comfort of a first-world hospital.
Gratitude for a sister who lives 15 minutes away and made it in 18 (she has two kids)—no questions asked. And she even cleaned up the fight between Santa and the tornado.
Gratitude for my 8-year-old niece, who played with my 4-year-old twins, comforting them with her love and presence.
Gratitude for their grandma and grandpa, who live 30 minutes away. They welcomed them into one of their favorite places—a safe, playful, restorative refuge where they always find comfort (and cookies and movies before bed).
Gratitude for my wife, with whom adversity brings us closer and strengthens our relationship.
It’s easy to immerse ourselves in the Christmas story and, a day later, think about goals, resolutions, and plans for the next year.
Now, I’m stirred to step back into the love, peace, hope, and joy of Christmas—and carry that same spirit into the new year.
The same spirit as my sister, who didn’t rush over for a value exchange—I’ll do this if you do that—but out of unconditional love, no questions asked.
The same spirit as my mom and dad, whose doors are always open—day or night, rain or shine—as a safe haven for my children.
And I’m reminded of Jesus’s last act of service before his death: washing his disciples’ feet. A king washing the dirt, feces, and grime off his students’ feet.
This is what I’m reflecting on as my wife and daughter peacefully sleep.
Peace and love
Jordan