The holidays play out in scenes in my mind. I picture the farm set against a wintry sky—the fields still, the giant oaks out front bare and quiet. There’s an empty page of a journal waiting to be filled and half-sipped cups of hot cocoa by the fire. The days leading up to Christmas sound like the kids playing cards at the table and football in the yard. They taste like a comforting casserole and freshly baked cinnamon rolls. And then there’s Christmas Eve, shining in the distance. I see our living room bustling, wrapping paper strewn across the floor, every corner filled with cheer and light and song. It’s these little holiday vignettes—and what it felt like to be there—that stick in my mind long after the season ends.
Reflecting on these snapshots of holidays past, a gallery of moments comes into focus. Some are loud and boisterous, others still and unhurried. Many are surrounded by people I love, but some are just me, in the quiet of nature or the comfort of a cozy chair. Some memories ring like silver bells, others closer to a whisper.
“Some memories ring like silver bells, others closer to a whisper.”
Every season holds a blend of the big and small, the milestones and the everyday, the photo-worthy celebrations and the not-so-picture-perfect moments. There’s something about the holidays that bridges the gap between these. I’m not sure why this is, but I think you feel the tension even more this time of year. If we let ourselves get swept up in the rush, it can feel like there’s only room for one—the full and festive or the rote and restful.
Here’s what I’m holding onto this season: All of these moments deserve a place on the walls of my heart and mind. All of them hold beauty worth reveling in. All of them are cause for celebration.
To you, this might seem obvious. Maybe you already love the rise and fall of the season, how it ebbs and flows between hustle and rest, work and play, merry and quiet. But for me, it’s not always natural to behold the seemingly ordinary or subdued moments in the same regard as the bright and beaming ones.
As the gatekeeper of our family traditions—aiming to do the same things we always have, if not bigger and better—I love the “dressing up” that’s encouraged and natural this time of year. Finding fresh delight in the way we decorate our home. Hosting and making the splendor of the season feel palpable through every thoughtful detail. Trying to create standout experiences that my kids will remember and tell their kids about someday.
Illustration by Lida Ziruffo
But as the years pass, I’ve come to realize the most precious memories are often the ones we only ever capture in our minds. Maybe there’s no physical evidence they happened at all, except for the fact that you were there—and you felt it. It’s these softer moments that give us life and ground us in presence. The days that held no agenda, the mornings I took slow, the smiles you won’t see in my camera roll because I was simply bearing witness.
I wonder what it would look like for us to have a posture of celebration toward all of it this season—not just the holiday’s high notes, but the low notes too. The empty date on the calendar? Celebrate the margin to rest or dream or be spontaneous. Your home so full of people it might burst at the seams? Celebrate the abundance that comes with loud laughter, full tables, and different perspectives. The shifting dynamic you didn’t see coming? Celebrate the growth that’s sure to follow, the way that only change can cultivate.
There’s a good chance that our holidays will hold a little bit of everything, many kinds of moments. What a beautiful thing. The richness of life often comes not from one-dimensional days, but layers of depth and newness and growth, and the same is true for the most wonderful time of the year.
No matter how your season may take shape—be it ordinary or awe-inspiring, a challenge or a refreshment, quiet or boisterous, or a little bit of everything—let there be more moments of every kind to capture and keep. And when we step back to look at the gallery of Christmases present and past, let’s revel in what fills the walls—and choose to see the gift inside each frame.
This story has been adapted from the winter 2026 issue of Magnolia Journal. To see it in print, pick up your copy here or on a newsstand near you. Then, start a subscription for inspiration year-round.
