When Christmas Doesn’t Feel Joyful…
Finding hope and holiness in a season that feels heavy.
Many of us can look back fondly on the Christmases of our childhood. The beauty and wonder as the world around us transforms into a winter wonderland and the anticipation for that Holy Night builds. We don’t really even need to remember the specifics to remember the joy that the Advent Season and anticipation of Christmas brought. As adults that wonder is fading. There is a silent struggle to grasp that joyful feeling you once knew, while weathering the sorrows that weigh heavy in our hearts. If this is you, you are not alone. Hope and Holiness can be found in the places where we let Joy and Sorrow coexist.
As adults, we are expected to experience the Christmas season with the joy we once knew, while navigating the hidden pressures that life presents each year. The financial strain, the busy schedules, or maybe something heavier like navigating grief or loss. As women we are entrusted with bringing the beauty and wonder of Christmas into our homes for our families, but the weight of making it magical for others is the same weight that compounds our sorrows, and oftentimes leaving us feeling lonely and on the brink of emotional exhaustion. A season meant to bring radiant joy, brings back the ache of what once was, or what we hoped would be. The empty chairs at the table feel a little more noticeable. The traditions we used to cherish feel heavier than before. And even in the midst of twinkling lights and beautiful liturgies, there can be a quiet grief tucked beneath it all, a longing for peace, for healing, for the assurance that God still sees us in the places where our hearts feel worn and tender.
But it’s here, in this very tension, that the heart of Christmas speaks most clearly. Christ came into a world marked by sorrow, uncertainty, and longing. He entered the darkness to bring light, not to erase our suffering, but to dwell with us in it. And when we allow joy and sorrow to sit side by side, we make space for the kind of hope that doesn’t depend on circumstances, but on the One who came to be Emmanuel: God with us.
Reflect with me on the first Christmas. It wasn’t polished or picture-perfect; in fact, the Holy Family faced the same struggles of poverty, uncertainty, and waiting. Mary and Joseph had to navigate the difficulty of being displaced, searching for shelter, and hoping someone, anyone, would take them in. There were no twinkling lights, no warm gatherings, no perfectly curated traditions. There was only a tired couple, carrying both the weight of their circumstances and the promise of God.
And yet, this is where Christ chose to enter.
Not in comfort, but in obscurity.
Not in celebration, but in stillness.
Not surrounded by abundance, but in the simplicity of a stable.
The first Christmas shows us that holiness is not dependent on the perfection of our surroundings. God comes into the mess, the chaos, the uncertainty. He draws near to the ones who are weary, overlooked, or carrying silent burdens. Mary and Joseph didn’t experience joy because everything was easy, they experienced joy because God was with them in everything.
In the same way, the heart of Christmas can still reach us today, even in the places where we feel stretched thin, unseen, or sorrowful. Christ meets us in the reality of our lives, not the idealized version we wish we could offer Him.
So then what does Joy really mean?
We know the world tells us that joy is a “feeling of great pleasure and happiness.” But what it truly is goes much deeper. Joy is a steady, interior sense of well-being, contentment, and fulfillment that can exist even in the midst of sorrow—unlike happiness, which comes and goes with our circumstances.
Let’s reiterate that: this joy is one rooted in Christ.
It isn’t manufactured, nor is it dependent on perfect moments, clean homes, or flawless Christmas memories. This joy is found in the intellect. In the deep knowing of who God is, what He has promised, and the unwavering truth that He is with us. It is the quiet, steady trust that even if everything around us feels heavy, God has not abandoned us. It is the recognition that the Savior came precisely for hearts like ours: tender, longing, and in need of rescue.
Joy is not the denial of sorrow. It is the presence of Christ within it.
Rest assured, if this season is filled with more sorrow than joy, that does not make you less faithful. God will meet you exactly where you are, for His strength is made perfect in your weakness. He is not disappointed in your heaviness, nor is He waiting for you to “feel better” before drawing near. The manger itself reminds us: God enters into our poverty, not our perfection.
Your ache is not a barrier to Him. It is an invitation.
When we allow ourselves to bring our honest emotions before the Lord, we discover that He is already there, gently holding what we cannot. And it is often in these tender places that the true miracle of Christmas becomes clearer: Christ came for the weary, the burdened, the brokenhearted. He came for you.