The Joy of Giving: Reflections on Christmas Past

When I dig through my mental attic of Christmas memories, it’s not the shiny packages or big reveals that steal the spotlight. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my share of surprises—like the year I got a watch that lasted just long enough to survive Christmas dinner—but those moments pale next to the joy of giving. The memories that really stick are the ones where I got to play a small part in someone else’s Christmas miracle.

Let me tell you three stories that shaped the way I see the season of giving.

I was a teenager when I found out that a family from our church—a family I had known since birth—was staring down the barrel of a gift-less Christmas. Times were tough, and their parents had quietly confided in my folks. Now, I couldn’t stand the thought of that family waking up to find nothing under their tree. It gnawed at me like a bad itch.

At the time, I was working and had been since nine years old and hoarding my pay like a squirrel stocking up for winter. But instead of new sneakers or video games, I decided my savings had a bigger purpose. I hit the stores and picked out gifts for each family member, imagining their smiles as I shopped. Then, on Christmas Eve, I donned a Santa suit—because why not add some flair?—loaded the gifts into my friends car, and delivered them stealthily to their doorstep like the jolliest ninja in history.

Driving away, I felt a joy that no gift I’d ever unwrapped could match. It wasn’t about applause or recognition (I never told them it was me and this is the first time admitting it other than to my friend that drove as well as Mom and Dad). It was about knowing I had a hand in making someone’s Christmas morning unforgettable. That’s when I learned one of life’s sweetest lessons: the real magic of Christmas lives in what we give.

Fast forward a few years to married life, and my wife and I caught wind of some nieces and nephews facing a Christmas tree-less holiday. Now, I don’t know about you, but a Christmas without a tree feels like a campfire without marshmallows—just wrong.

We sprang into action, hunting down the perfect tree—a real beauty, full and lush, the kind of tree that practically jingles when you see it. We hauled it over to their house, left it on the front step like an overgrown green gift, and slipped away, knowing they’d wake up to something special.

The tree wasn’t just about the lights and ornaments. It was about saying, “You’re seen. You’re loved. And Christmas is a time to remember that.” We ended up pulling off this Christmas tree caper twice, and each time, the joy was just as bright.

The third story is less about me and more about the pure joy I got to witness. My niece, Bug, had one wish: an American Girl doll. You know the kind—beautiful, overpriced, and the centerpiece of every little girl’s Christmas dream. Bug wanted that doll like I want a beer after a long day.

That year, someone in the family made it happen. When Bug unwrapped her dream, the room practically shook with her squeals of joy. She hugged that doll like she’d just won the lottery. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she cradled her treasure, and I swear, for a moment, the whole world felt brighter.

That moment wasn’t just about a doll. It was about love poured into a gift, about a little girl feeling seen and cherished. It was a picture of what Christmas is all about: joy fueled by love.

So why am I telling you all this? Not to pin a medal on my chest or toot my horn, but to share the truth these moments taught me: the best parts of Christmas aren’t in the things we receive. They’re in the things we give. Whether it’s playing Santa for a family in need, surprising someone with a towering tree, or watching a little girl’s face light up over a doll, these moments remind me of God’s generous heart. When the Israelites were hungry in the wilderness, He didn’t just scrape by with scraps. He poured out manna and quail, meeting their needs with abundance.

At Christmas, God gave us the ultimate gift: Jesus Christ. Born in a humble stable, He came to meet not just our daily needs but the deepest hunger of our souls. And when we give—whether it’s a wrapped gift, a warm meal, or simply our time—we’re mirroring that divine generosity in our own small way.

Looking back, the gifts weren’t about price tags or wrapping paper. They were about love and thoughtfulness, about creating moments of connection and joy. This Christmas, I’m challenging myself—and you—to focus less on what’s under the tree and more on the heart behind it. Whether it’s helping a neighbor, sharing a meal, or just lending a listening ear, every act of giving reflects the love that began on that first Christmas night.

Because at the end of the day, the greatest gift isn’t what we unwrap. It’s what we give away. And in those moments of giving, we catch a glimpse of the joy that makes this season truly magical.

If you’ve ever wondered what Christmas and wandering through a desert have in common, buckle up, because Exodus 16 is about to blow your gingerbread-scented mind. Picture this: the Israelites, fresh out of Egypt, are trudging through the wilderness, hangry and whining like kids on a road trip with no snacks. God hears their complaints (because He’s not deaf, even if they were loud enough to wake Moses) and rains down manna and quail like a divine Uber Eats.

Now, this isn’t just some cool Old Testament miracle. When you hold it up next to the Christmas story, the connections practically sing “O Holy Night.” Manna in the wilderness, Jesus in the manger—both shout about God’s hospitality, provision, and grace. So, let’s break this bread (pun very much intended) and see how these ancient crumbs lead us straight to the heart of Christmas.

Manna wasn’t just food; it was proof that God had the Israelites’ backs, even when they acted like ungrateful toddlers. Every morning, they woke up to a heavenly breakfast delivery, just enough for the day. Fast forward to Bethlehem—whose name, fun fact, means “House of Bread”—and we meet Jesus, the ultimate Bread of Life (John 6:35). Coincidence? Not a chance.

While manna kept stomachs full in the wilderness, Jesus fills the deepest hunger of the human soul. And isn’t that what Christmas is about? Breaking bread together, whether it’s Grandma’s rolls or Aunt Sue’s lumpy mashed potatoes, is a way of celebrating God’s provision.

Christmas Takeaway: Next time you’re sitting around the holiday table, think about how God fed the Israelites one day at a time and how He sent His Son to sustain us for eternity. And hey, maybe pack an extra plate of cookies for that neighbor who could use a little love.

When the Israelites got dramatic about their lack of variety (because heaven-sent bread wasn’t fancy enough), God didn’t smite them—He gave them quail. Talk about over-the-top generosity! Similarly, the gift of Jesus isn’t just meeting a need; it’s extravagant grace wrapped in swaddling clothes.

At Christmas, we mirror this in our gift-giving. Sure, your handmade soap or festive socks might not rival God’s blessings, but the thought counts. Every gift is a chance to reflect the overabundance we’ve received.

Christmas Takeaway: Be generous this season—not just with presents but with your time, patience, and kindness. And if someone gives you socks, remember: God gave quail, so at least try to be grateful.

Here’s a detail I love about Exodus 16: God listens. When the Israelites start their wilderness rant, He doesn’t roll His eyes or tune them out. Instead, He acts with compassion. Fast forward to the Christmas story: humanity cries out for a Savior, and God responds by sending Jesus.

This is a great reminder that sometimes the best gift you can give is your ears. People need to be heard—whether it’s your aunt’s “quick” story about 1973 or your friend venting about life.

Christmas Takeaway: Listen. Really listen. That simple act of attention can be the warm hug someone didn’t even know they needed.

When God provided manna, it was more than food; it was reassurance. His presence transformed the wilderness into a place of refuge. The same thing happened in Bethlehem. Jesus wasn’t born in a palace—He entered the world in a humble stable. Yet, that stable became a beacon of hope.

Hospitality doesn’t require a big house or a Pinterest-worthy spread. It’s about making people feel welcome, whether you’re serving a feast or reheated leftovers.

Christmas Takeaway: Be like that stable. Open your doors (or at least your heart) to someone who could use a little light in their life.

Manna in the morning was God’s way of reminding the Israelites He was with them. Centuries later, a star over Bethlehem lit the way to the newborn King. Both are powerful symbols of God breaking through the darkness to bring hope.

And those Christmas lights on your house? They’re not just for aesthetics—they’re a reminder that God’s light still shines, guiding us through life’s wilderness.

Christmas Takeaway: Be someone’s light. A kind word, a helping hand, or a simple smile can illuminate someone’s dark day.

Exodus 16 teaches us that gratitude is more than saying “thanks”—it’s trusting in God’s faithfulness. Manna was a daily reminder for the Israelites to rely on God, just like Christmas is a yearly reminder to celebrate the greatest gift of all.

Christmas Takeaway: Take a moment during the holiday chaos to pause and thank God—for the big things, the small things, and everything in between. And maybe encourage your family to do the same.

Whether He’s providing manna in the wilderness, quail in the desert, or a Savior in a manger, God’s hospitality is always over-the-top. This Christmas, let’s carry that spirit forward. Listen more, love generously, and make everyone who crosses your path feel like they’ve come home.

Because at the end of the day, Christmas isn’t just about receiving the gift of Jesus—it’s about sharing His love in ways that turn ordinary moments into something holy. So, go ahead, be someone’s manna this season. You just might be the miracle they’re waiting for.