The presents are piling up beneath my Christmas tree. If I sit in the dark with only the lights of the tree reflecting off the shinny paper wrapping, I am a child again. The year is 1965. “A few of my favorite things” is playing on a Zenith radio in the kitchen. I’m having visions of the best Christmas ever.

My favorite holiday pastime was to crawl around the edge of the pile so I could closely inspect each gift-wrapped box. Step one, pick up the box and feel the weight. Heavy was always valued more than light.

Step two, evaluate the size of the box. Big could mean my life was about to get a whole lot better, or it could mean nothing.

I saw my dad gift wrap one pair of lady’s underwear in a washing machine box one time. The total square footage of cardboard and wrapping paper used to disguise the contents inside is not always a good indicator of actual value or fun. Beware.

Step three, tilt, flip, or shake the box. Sometimes you get the sound of a thump, like maybe a ball rolled to the low end and tapped the cardboard side. Sometimes you might hear a metallic tinkle, like maybe someone filled your box with extra forks from the kitchen drawer. Then there’s the sound of “shish-shish-shish”, that rather soft and hushed shifting of underwear or socks, or maybe a sweater.

That box gets tossed to the back of the pile.

Step four, note the names written on the “To” and “From” lines. You might think that this should be step one, but you’d be mistaken.

The allurement of this game is to think of ALL the presents as gifts for you. Why shouldn’t they be? You’re bright. You’re worthy of everything available in the Sears catalogue. You left hints all over the house. If you’re getting everything you want, then it’s obvious that this entire pile is for you. Even so, you’re smart enough to recognize that even with a huge pile of presents, you might be a few gifts short of everything on your list.

But that’s okay. Nobody likes a greedy kid.

Almost 30 years ago, we took the kids to see Fantasy in Lights at Callaway Gardens. I had just started my job there earlier that year. Emily was 4 years old and had no idea what kind of fantasy this was going to be. She knew I worked at Callaway. She knew there were more lights than she had ever seen in her life, and though I had nothing to do with any of the lights, she made an obvious kid-like assumption.

We’re riding through the lights. The music is blaring. She’s standing in the front seat so she can see everything better. Tiny eyes all aglow.

“Papa. You did all this for me?”

“Yes, darling. This is all for you.”

That’s how I looked at the presents piled around our tree.

There’s nothing mysterious about the presents this year. I wrapped most of them and I already know what’s inside without squeezing or shaking or guessing. Besides, crawling around on the floor is not as easy as it used to be. Still, I like to sit in the dark and look at them.

As I’m contemplating and sorting out the feelings of the season, I am well aware, and have been for a long time, that Christmas is not about the gifts under the tree. Christmas is about that One miraculous love that enables us to enjoy the love of family and friends. I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.

Love is the best Christmas gift of all.

This will be my third Christmas without Beth. I am reminded of 45 other Christmases in which she has played a central role in my life. As we grew together, the gifts became less and less important because we knew the best gift was in having each other. And I have missed her.

In light of that, I think that I have tried to be aware of the things that God has done in my life since she’s been gone. There have been lots of gifts and unexpected presents along the way that have helped heal my heart and show me how to live in this new season of life.

It’s a hard task to turn the page on life. If you’ve ever known any kind of tragic loss, you know this. You miss them. You hold tight to the memories. You’re afraid if you let go, they’ll disappear forever. You wrestle with the guilt of even thinking about moving on, as if somehow you might betray them.

I don’t’ usually look for inspired life lessons in TV dialogue, but every now and then there’s a line that jumps out at you and you can’t ignore it. I heard this one last night.

The main character has lost his wife. It’s been a long time. He wrestles with what it all means. His good friend, who’s also known grief gives him some advice. I’ll probably butcher it, but it went something like this.

“You never get over a loss like this. You don’t forget it. You just tuck it away in a different part of your heart. You don’t get over it, but you do get through it. And the only way you get through it is to stop focusing on what you don’t have and start appreciating what you do have.”

I need to say this out loud and I need my kids to hear this, so I’m talking to them.

There’s no way I will ever forget your mother. That love can never be replaced. But I’m ready for the next chapter in my life. I’m weary of the guilt I carry for thinking about moving on with my life. This Christmas seems to be the time that God has given me to take the next step.

We will always remember her and celebrate her together. She gave you life and she gave you her full heart, just as she gave me her devotion and love. March 21st and May 6th will always be special days. The holidays and the vacation days and the regular days will be with us forever.

But I can no longer focus on what I don’t have. I hope you can understand this even though I know it’s impossible for anyone to understand who hasn’t been where I am. I know I never knew how hard this could be before now.

I met Marion for a reason. It wasn’t random, yet there was nothing contrived about it either. Meeting her was kind of like a gift. A Christmas gift that I didn’t know I needed. It came in August and the closer we get to Christmas the more clearly I see what’s inside.

I didn’t look through the catalogue this year. I didn’t leave any hints lying around the house. I wasn’t really even expecting anything special under the tree.

To love once is a gift in itself. To have a second chance at love is a near miracle.

It’s a new Christmas this year.