As the holiday season approaches, my son, Leo, has been captivated by the idea of mythical creatures. He often talks about how the unicorns watch over him while he sleeps. In the mornings, I can almost picture them, their horns glistening, trotting beside him as he bounds into the kitchen. Standing barefoot among his imaginary friends, he requests breakfast. After months of restless nights, he’s finally found solace. Since the arrival of the unicorns, he hasn’t had a single nightmare.
This year, however, I’ve set aside my own beliefs. As the temperature drops and Christmas draws near, my husband, Mark, and I are discussing our plans for the holiday. Without church services to attend, we find ourselves with extra time, yet I struggle to fill the empty spaces on our calendar. This marks my first Christmas as a non-believer, and I feel a deep sense of loss for the traditions I am leaving behind.
For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been a religious holiday for me. As a child, I looked forward to the candlelight service on Christmas Eve just as much as I anticipated the gifts waiting for me the next morning. I cherished the moments spent in the glow of candles, surrounded by my family, singing hymns together, imagining our voices rising to the heavens. I always dreamed of sharing this experience with my children.
When Leo was born, I filled his nursery with religious books and materials, but when bedtime stories came around, those books remained untouched. I couldn’t bring myself to read them; I would skip passages, feeling an unsettling tension in my chest. One evening, as Leo sat on my lap with the Bible open between us, it hit me — I loved my faith, but I didn’t believe a word of it.
Now, several months after my shift in belief, I find myself reflecting on Christmas. Will my children still find joy and wonder in this holiday? Or will a secular Christmas feel akin to visiting a theme park — a fond memory from childhood, yet devoid of deeper meaning?
Interestingly, the answer lies in Leo’s whimsical world of unicorns. This Christmas, our family plans to embark on a journey northward. Nestled in the serene landscapes of the northern woods, we will visit a wildlife sanctuary dedicated to the protection of these majestic creatures. Mark will park the car, and together we will bundle up against the cold, shedding our layers as we enter the warm lobby, greeted by the scent of damp winter clothing. Leo’s eyes will light up with excitement.
I realize now that I don’t need to teach my children about beauty; they already recognize it. We don’t have to cling to old customs to find significance in Christmas. As long as we are together, it will hold meaning.
We will gather in front of the viewing windows, feeling the warmth of each other’s hands. The children will fidget between us, their faces smeared with peppermint candy, peering into the dark enclosure, searching for life. Outside, snowflakes will twirl down like stars, and within our view will be the unicorns, living symbols of wonder and magic.
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In summary, this year’s secular Christmas may not hold the religious significance I once cherished, but it promises to be filled with love, joy, and shared experiences that create lasting memories for our family.