My memories of Christmas Eve all go back to a sensation, a tingling sense of anticipation, about what was to come the next morning. It always seemed to make sleep impossible and the night never-ending.

And that was just about the presents.

Beyond the gifts, my family wasn’t particularly observant about the baby Jesus, who was treated as a nice story that lingered in the background while the wrapping paper flew about the living room. And Advent? Well, that was a word I never heard at home, and I was never particularly attentive to it in my early days as a Christian.

Then I got married – to a preacher’s kid from hardy Lutheran stock and a family that lived by the church seasons. Particularly Advent.

For my wife, Christmas would be amiss without Advent, and she challenged me to make that season a real part of my Christmas.

And then our children arrived, along with the Advent calendar. For 16 years now, the nightly ritual has been the same, with each of our children taking turns reading each of the booklets about baby Jesus. And if mom and dad somehow forgot to read one night, they were the ones who set us straight. They loved, and still love, to read the stories.

Yes, they still anticipate the presents that will arrive Christmas day. But their anticipation is different from that of my youth, shaped by those little booklets that remind us that the story of Jesus’ arrival on Earth is the transformative moment in human history. That is why Advent, this time of anticipation, this time for hope amid the darkness, carries so much more for me than I ever felt as a child.

Thanks to my wife and children for teaching me this lesson. Thanks to God for the gift of His Son, and the redemption of our lives.

May God bless you all this Christmas.