As winter settles in, my son Oliver has been captivated by dreams of wolves. He describes how the pack stands guard over him at night, and I can almost picture them, fierce and watchful, following him into the kitchen every morning. He stands there, barefoot among his imaginary companions, asking for breakfast. After what feels like an eternity of restless nights, he finally sleeps soundly. Since the wolves came into his dreams, nightmares have vanished.
This year, however, I’ve let go of my own dreams—specifically, my belief in God.
With Christmas approaching and no church services to attend, my husband, Jake, and I have been discussing our holiday plans. Instead of filling our calendar, I find myself struggling to find meaning in the void left by my former faith. It’s my first Christmas as an atheist, and I can’t help but mourn the traditions I’ve set aside.
Growing up, Christmas was steeped in religious significance. I eagerly anticipated the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, just as much as I looked forward to unwrapping gifts the following morning. I cherished the warmth of standing between my parents in a sea of festive sweaters, cradling a candle and singing hymns, envisioning our voices rising together to a higher place. I always dreamed of sharing that experience with my own children.
When Oliver was born, I filled his nursery with Bibles and Christian literature, but when it came time for bedtime stories, those books gathered dust. I found myself skimming through pages, feeling uneasy. It was during one of those moments, with Oliver on my lap and the Bible spread open, that I realized something important: my love for the religion didn’t translate into belief.
Now, a few months after my departure from faith, I find myself contemplating Christmas more than ever. Will my children find the same beauty and wonder in the holiday that I once did? Or will celebrating a secular Christmas feel like reminiscing about a trip to Disney World—fond yet ultimately hollow?
The answer, surprisingly, lies with the wolves.
This Christmas, our family will pile into the car and head north. Nestled in the northeastern corner of Minnesota, within the Superior National Forest, lies a sanctuary for wolves. Jake will park outside the interpretive center, and I’ll unbuckle the kids from their car seats. Together, we’ll rush inside, shedding our winter layers in the lobby, where the air is filled with the scent of damp wool and the squeak of our boots on the floor. Oliver’s eyes will sparkle with excitement.
I don’t need to teach my kids about beauty; they recognize it already. I don’t have to hold onto old traditions to infuse meaning into our Christmas. As long as we’re together, it will resonate.
We’ll gather in front of the glass exhibit, mittens off, hands intertwined. The kids will wriggle between us, sticky fingers and faces from peppermint treats, eager to catch a glimpse of life beyond the glass. Outside, snowflakes will dance like stars, and before us, the wolves will be waiting.
In this moment, I find comfort in the thought that meaningful experiences can thrive outside the confines of tradition. For more insights on this journey, feel free to explore our other blog posts, such as this one on pregnancy. Additionally, if you’re looking for resources on home insemination, check out Cryobaby, an authority on the topic, or visit Drugs.com for excellent support on pregnancy and infertility.
Summary
This year, for the first time, I will celebrate a secular Christmas after leaving behind my religious beliefs. My family will create new memories centered on togetherness and the beauty of the season, finding joy in experiences rather than traditions. As my son Oliver dreams of wolves, we will embrace the magic of the holiday in our own unique way.