Yesterday, I dragged Jackson to a Christmas party on the other side of town.  Nearly 100 children were invited to attend and early reports suggested that Santa Claus would arrive at some point during the event. Jackson’s reticence was on full display as he sat quietly in the back seat and refused to engage in any conversation with me. His reluctance had little to do with the possibility of seeing Santa Claus or enjoying a wide selection of cookies, cakes, punch and other traditional confectionary. The party, he was told, wasn’t for him.

All of the children attending the party, I explained, lived in a nearby county. Though the affair was held at a local technical school, the event’s organizers arranged to purchase, wrap and provide Christmas gifts for each of the young invitees. Jackson struggled to understand why there would be no gifts for him, and more distressing for a five year old, why he was being forced to attend. Surely his kindergarten social calendar could yield a more satisfying activity on a Saturday morning. Alas, he was bound and coaxed as we navigated across the school’s campus, led by a trail of helium filled balloons.  We entered the building to the sounds of Christmas carols and were immediately met with an impressive display of Christmas gifts placed in orderly fashion around a large Christmas tree.

The party’s invited guests soon began to gather around the gifts anxiously waiting for their respective names to be called. Gifts were distributed in spirited fashion by an enthusiastic and playful geriatric who goes by the name of Claus. Adults snapped pictures while the children were bustled to the opposite side of the room to decorate gingerbread houses. This became Jackson’s sanctuary. With no prospects of receiving a gift, he determined to sample as many decorative candy pieces as possible. While in this objectionable station, Jackson found himself assisting the approaching children with the mechanics of making their gingerbread houses. It was here that Jackson met Jaycee. Though a year older than Jaycee, Jackson made sure that she was fully outfitted with all of the necessary supplies to create the perfect gingerbread house.

An hour later, we gathered around Jaycee and her family to verbalize a prayer for her father. Like all the other children invited to this event, Jaycee’s father is incarcerated. In all likelihood, he will spend the rest of his life in prison. As we prepared to pray, Jaycee withdrew from our circle and gazed at her mother with a look of distress. Jackson seized the moment, reached for her hand and confidently said, “It’s OK, Jaycee. We’re going to pray and I’ll hold your hand.” Without warning, Jaycee’s mother began to cry and we thanked God for his son and his grace. Silently, I thanked God for my son and his grace.

A short time later, we skipped out of the building with Jackson’s gingerbread house in tow – the event’s organizers insisted that he not leave empty-handed. As we crossed the parking lot, Jackson furnished this assessment. “Dad,” he said, “this is a great day.” On the way home, his dad silently treasured these things in his heart.

The postal carrier delivers our mail each day during the middle of the afternoon. This is the time of year when many of us send Christmas cards and pictures to family members, friends and people we hardly know.  Nowadays, we scramble to acquire mailing addresses because most of our regular communication is managed through email, Facebook, Twitter, and other social media outlets.  Whether we like it or not, mailing Christmas cards has become a progressively antiquated practice in recent years. Online shopping and digital greetings have encroached upon our holiday habits like the gentle sound of Jingle Bells reverberating  in the background of our favorite brick and mortar stores.

Without fail, we still receive a few holiday greeting cards each December from people we never see or speak to throughout the year.  Truth be known, I’ve opened a few of these cards and asked out loud, “Do we know these people!?”  “Sure,” Meridith replies, “That’s from your aunt’s uncle’s fifth cousin’s sisters’s brother.”  A wave of guilt washes over me as I try to recall the identity of the faces staring back at me from inside the card.  I feel less guilty about ignoring the greeting cards we receive from local realtors, landscapers, bankers, insurance agents, and exterminators.  These cards usually come with instructions to “Like Us” on Facebook.  I have no words.

We probably didn’t mail you a Christmas card this month, but take heart. We’ve spared you the discomfort of trying to remember who we are and the agony of finding a “Christmas Letter” tucked inside the greeting card.  You know – one of those painfully long letters that simply recap all of last year’s Facebook posts. Let’s be honest. How many of us actually read those letters? If you’re a parent or grandparent, you can’t vote. We already know that you relish every syllable and then pin the letter to the front of your mantle, or display it proudly on the refrigerator.  Fortunately for all of us, some things never change. I think my mother’s refrigerator still displays my 4th grade penmanship award. Ah, those were the glory days!

But for those who write, print and mail Christmas letters to people you barely know or remember, let me offer a kind and gentle word of advice. Save your stamp. It’s OK, really. Though it’s hard for us to embrace the possibility that someone won’t read our Christmas letters, consider that Brad Pitt’s most recent movie has only grossed $6.8 million. If nobody’s rushing out to see Brad, it’s fair to say they’ll likely by-pass your Christmas letter too.

Last year, most of my Christmas greetings came to me via text. I may be a curmudgeon, but I found it refreshing. This year, I’m hoping to utilize Twitter to express my Christmas sentiments. It takes work to edit your Christmas letter to a measly 140 characters! If you object and consider this an impersonal strategy, your push-back is valid. A text or tweet doesn’t exactly deliver the message in the most heralded or meaningful way. But maybe that’s where our problem begins.

Christmas isn’t about us and our story – it’s about Jesus and his story. Though I’m sure the content of your letter is titillating, regale us with your story over a cup of coffee, or in our living room where we can enjoy the corresponding gesticulations. The problem with social media is that it’s not very social. But while we’re getting to know each other, feel free to send a tweet. And so you don’t feel cheated, here’s our Christmas letter to you in less than 100 characters:  “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” – Luke 2:11.  Now that’s more like it!

P.S. For those who have an insatiable need for a Christmas letter, check back here in a few days. We’re planning to save a stamp and give you another blog to ignore.  All this, while Brad is filming his next movie.  You can thank us later.  Merry Christmas!