The quiet question Christmas left behind.
It’s December 26th. Christmas Day has passed.
The house has taken a deep exhale after the hustle and bustle. The calendar is inching its way toward a new year.
And still—I find myself lingering.
I’ve been sitting with a thought that wouldn’t let me go—sparked by a message a friend shared, about a week ago, reflecting on the humility of Jesus’ birth.The message named how the Son of God arrived not as people expected or wanted—not as a powerful conqueror or political king—but instead as a baby. Vulnerable. Dependent. Ordinary.
That image stayed with me. And it kept drawing me deeper.
Over Christmas, I found myself on a long road trip, and on that drive, I discovered a Christmas album I hadn’t heard before—Smile in the Mystery by John Mark McMillan—and as the miles passed, its lyrics began to echo my friend’s words. One song, in particular, held the paradox for me: Baby Son.
“We thought You’d come with a crown of gold…
But common born in mother’s arms.”
The song gives language to the tension between expectation and reality—between the Jesus we want and the Jesus who actually comes.
From the very beginning, people needed Jesus to be something.
Do something.
Fix something.
Which, when you really think about it, is almost absurd.
To demand anything of a newborn—completely helpless, dependent, unable to meet anyone’s expectations—is unthinkable. And yet, this is how the long-awaited arrival of Jesus was received by so many—a Messiah burdened with demands before He could even lift His head.
A Different Kind of Arrival
That contrast brought me back to a moment I’ve never forgotten: the birth of my first niece—the first baby in our family.
When she arrived, I remember seeing her for the first time and feeling as if my heart tore open—in the best way.
There were no expectations.
No demands.
No agenda.
I had never felt a love like that before. Even before I became a mother myself, that moment ushered me into something new—an expanded capacity to love, to receive, and to be changed.
By wonder. Awe. And an undescribable sense that ‘all will be well’.
How different that posture is from the one so many had for Jesus.
And, if I’m honest, from the one I often have too.
The Questions That Follow Christmas
As Christmas fades and a new year approaches, I sense a growing curiousity. Am I receiving Jesus with awe and wonder? Or do I have a list of demands of my own?
Do I need Him to fix and smooth over tension in relationships in the year ahead?
To provide clarity or momentum for the work I care deeply about?
To heal tender places quickly, so I don’t have to sit with what’s unfinished?
Beneath all of it is a deeper question—not about outcomes, but about posture.
Am I too receiving Jesus as a means to an end—
or as someone who, simply by being received, changes me?
Hope That Grows in the Dark
Another song stayed with me on that drive: Silent Night (Smile in the Mystery). It weaves the familiar Christmas hymn with a quieter confession—that hope often grows invisibly, in places we cannot yet see.
“Invisible the hope grows
In the dark where nobody knows…”
This feels especially true after Christmas—when the celebration fades, ordinary days return, and nothing looks resolved—yet something holy is still unfolding beneath the surface.
Receiving in a Way That Transforms
What if, this year, we received Jesus the way one receives a newborn?
Not for what He can accomplish— but for what happens within us.
Not for what He can fix— but for how hope grows in us, quietly and over time.
Not even for the comfort He might bring— but for the way our hearts are reshaped by wonder rather than driven by demand.
Maybe the truest transformation ahead won’t come from what we ask Jesus to do rather from how we allow our hearts to open once more.
As if tearing open.
As if making room.
As if love itself has arrived—and that is already enough.
Dear Friend,
In the quiet in-between, I invite you to join me in listening to these two songs and holding one or two of the reflection questions below—slowly, without rushing.
Wishing you a gentle passage into 2026.
Blessings,
Esperansita
Links to Reflection Songs:
Baby Son – John Mark McMillan
Silent Night (Smile in the Mystery) – John Mark McMillan
Reflection Questions:
What am I asking Jesus to be or do as this new year approaches?
Where might I be carrying expectations into my relationship with Him?
What would it look like to receive Jesus in a way that allows me to be changed?
Where might my capacity for love be quietly expanding—even now?
