by JENNIFER GOODSON, LMHC, MA
Christmas has always held a special place in my heart, not because of the gifts or the glitter, but because of the memories stitched into every branch, every ornament, and every moment of those precious early years. My childhood was filled with wonder, color, and more Christmas trees than most people see in a lifetime. Thirteen, to be exact. Yes, you read that right. Thirteen Christmas trees inside our home.
The lights, the cinnamon, the roasted almonds baking in the kitchen…Christmas wasn’t a single day for us; it was a season. One that often began in October, when my dad would start dragging decorations down from the attic. Every tree had a theme: a lollipop tree, a teacup tree, a white tree with crystal wine glasses, and one covered with old-fashioned blown-glass ornaments, the kind with bubbles inside. Another stood adorned with vintage Santas and Rudolphs.
Each year, Dad took all five of his children to the Christmas shop at Downtown Disney, now Disney Springs, where he let us pick out one ornament. I’ve continued this tradition with my own kids. Now that they’re grown with homes of their own, I still buy them an ornament every year. Some habits, especially the sacred ones, deserve to be carried forward.
My memories spill into the classroom from fourth grade, where I made my ceramic Garfield ornament. And into the living room at home, where Mom hand-painted wooden angels and stars. I can still see them. . . simple, beautiful, and full of her heart.
But Christmas wasn’t just about decorations. It was full of people — grandparents, great-grandparents, siblings — and the room overflowed with both presents and presence. My parents were generous, thoughtful gift-givers. They bought and hid presents all year long. On Christmas Eve, you could catch Mom telling Dad, “Oh no, I forgot about that one!” as they searched for forgotten gifts tucked away months earlier.
Yet time has a way of reshaping traditions. As you grow up and have a family of your own, you build new rhythms. Now, as a grandmother, Gigi, I watch my daughter create her own traditions with her son, who is celebrating his very first Christmas. There is beauty in watching legacy continue in new hands.
But Christmas also carries a quiet ache now. My dad has been gone for four years, taken by glioblastoma brain cancer. His absence is especially heavy this time of year. He was the planner, the organizer, the one who made sure everything was mapped out far in advance. Without him, the holiday feels different, quieter, sometimes lonelier.
Every Christmas morning, I still wake up wishing I could call him and say, “Merry Christmas, Dad.” I see him in every Christmas tree, and every year, I buy a special ornament in his honor. The year he passed, I played Christmas music almost nonstop in the car just to feel close to him. Not everyone can tolerate Christmas music all year long, but for me, it was a kind of healing.
Christmas became bittersweet. The joy remained, but so did the memories. The year I was in third grade, all I wanted was a 35mm camera. Money was tight, so I didn’t expect it. But it was the first gift Dad had me open that Christmas morning and I cried. That moment taught me that love often goes beyond what circumstances say is possible.
Even until his final days, the gifts he gave were intentional, thoughtful, the kind that spoke without words.
Now, as I reflect on the season, I realize how easy it is to get lost in what doesn’t matter. Obligations, events, traditions that sometimes feel more like pressure than joy. We move from Thanksgiving to Christmas to New Year’s in one breath, hoping to keep up. Yet the heart of the holidays isn’t perfection. It’s people.
It’s love.
It’s presence.
It’s purpose.
Dad taught us that. Every Christmas Eve, he would take us to look at Christmas lights, carefully researching the best routes. We’d drive for an hour, soaking in the wonder, then head home filled with excitement for Christmas morning. That memory is more valuable than any wrapped box under the tree.
So yes, the holidays can be beautiful, draining, joyful, stressful, sacred, and overwhelming but if, by the end of December, you can look back and say you spent your time well and created meaningful memories with the people you love, then you’ve captured the true heart of the season.
And if you share my Christian faith, then you know that Christmas is, at its core, about the greatest gift of all. The birth of our Savior. A gift given in pure love.
That’s what I carry with me.
That’s what I hope to pass on.
And that’s what makes Christmas, no matter how many trees fill the room, truly meaningful.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Jennifer Goodson, MA, LMHC, is a licensed mental health counselor with an office in Winter Haven, FL, a Professor of Psychology at Warner University in Lake Wales, FL, and a transformational speaker. She holds a Master of Arts in Clinical Mental Health Counseling from Regent University in Virginia Beach, Virginia. For more information, visit www.pathwaycounselingservice.com.