I thought that I would share this years Christmas thoughts as presented to my children, my nieces and nephews

Christmas Eve 2025

Tonight is one of the few nights each year when the world collectively slows down.

Phones grow quieter. Tasks loosen their grip. Food is held off until dinner, until after Mass.

Pensiveness and connection replace the do, the need, the want.

The sounds of children clamoring for attention echo through the house as traditional meals are prepared, meals that nourish the present while binding us to the past. Presents wait patiently, holding joy in reserve.

That’s how I remember my childhood.

Christmas Eve just feels different.

Not louder.

Not flashier.

Just… deeper.

And that depth matters. It’s necessary, especially for those of you in your teens and twenties.

You’re growing up in an age that quietly teaches one seductive lesson: you are the center of the story.

Your happiness.

Your brand.

Your feelings.

Your truth.

Your algorithm.

You, you, and more you.

But here’s the paradox, one psychology, philosophy, and faith all agree on:

The more tightly you cling to yourself, the smaller life becomes.

Jesus understood this long before self-help books and dopamine studies.

Two thousand years ago, his message was radical: life blossoms when it’s no longer just about you.

Christianity doesn’t say the self is bad.

It says the self is too small to carry the weight of meaning alone.

Life is heavy.

A shared burden distributes the weight.

Distributed weight creates balance.

And balance is one of the body’s great longevity tonics.

Jesus’ life was a living argument against self-indulgence masquerading as freedom.

He taught that fulfillment doesn’t come from getting more, being praised more, or insulating yourself from discomfort.

It comes from giving.

From serving.

From loving something beyond your own reflection.

It is okay to suffer.

The obstacle is the way.

Discipline really does lead to freedom.

That’s not a denial of the self.

That’s liberation from its prison and from its false allure.

Think about the happiest people you know.

Not the loudest.

Not the most successful.

But the genuinely grounded ones.

They’re rarely obsessed with themselves.

They’re tethered to something bigger: faith, family, purpose, service, truth, love.

They wake up with a reason that doesn’t evaporate when their mood shifts.

Jesus called this losing your life to find it

which sounds backwards until you live long enough to see how true it is.

Self-indulgence promises happiness and delivers restlessness.

Self-centeredness promises control and delivers anxiety.

Self-focus promises identity and delivers fragility.

Belief in something beyond yourself: God, truth, love, service, does the opposite.

It steadies you.

It humbles you.

It anchors you when life inevitably shakes you.

And it will shake you.

Some of you will succeed faster than expected and discover that success alone doesn’t answer the deeper questions.

Some of you will struggle and learn that suffering doesn’t mean failure.

All of you will face moments when life refuses to bend to your plans.

Good.

That’s when belief matters most.

Give more, especially then.

My father knew this. Intuitively. 

Just Give.

The story of Christmas isn’t about comfort or perfection.

It’s about God entering the world quietly, vulnerably, humbly.

Not in power, but in service.

Not demanding attention, but offering love.

That’s the model.

As I write this at 4:45 a.m. on Christmas Eve, I’m restless with desire, not for more, but for presence.

The desire to show up fully.

To give love.

To stay connected.

Char Char is sitting beside me right now.

He’s devoted to me, and I to him.

He’s happy.

And my giving to him gives me more than I receive on many days.

That’s good.

That’s love, when it’s bidirectional, it fulfills.

To believe in something beyond yourself isn’t to shrink.

It’s to mature.

It’s to step out of the exhausting performance of constant self-curation and into a life that actually gives back more than it takes.

Tonight, surrounded by family, warmth, and tradition, remember this:

Happiness isn’t found by polishing the self.

It’s found by truly being truly being in service of something greater.

That’s the heart of Christmas.

That’s the wisdom of Jesus.

And that’s a gift that doesn’t expire when the lights dim and the wrapping paper’s gone.

Hold these thoughts.

Let them marinate as you move through the challenges and beauties of life.

Today, you are deeply and viscerally loved.

Merry Christmas.

Uncle Chris and Dad