Christmas, Family, and Nothing Is Free

Originally published on Substack. 

​Last night, I caught myself pausing in the living room.

In just a few hours, my kids will step out of their rooms—still sleepy, still innocent—and turn the corner to a living room filled with presents. There will be that unmistakable twinkle in their eyes. Pure joy. Anticipation. Wonder.

And I couldn’t help but ask myself the question every parent eventually does: Will they remember why we celebrate Christmas—or only what they receive?

They know the story. We’ve told it. We’ve read Bible scriptures. We’ve prayed together. But knowing and remembering aren’t the same thing. One lasts a season. The other lasts a lifetime.

That tension—between gifts and grace, celebration and substance—is what makes Christmas so powerful and so fragile at the same time.

Christmas feels different as I get older.

​When you’re young, it’s about the gifts. When you’re building a career, it’s about the pace. But when you’re raising a family—while quietly carrying the weight of parents who passed too soon—it becomes something deeper. Heavier. More eternal.

I miss my parents more during this season than at almost any other time of year. They helped lay the bricks in my path. Not all of them were gold. Some were chipped. Some were heavy. But they mattered. And without them, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

Loss has a way of clarifying priorities.

It strips away the noise and reminds us what actually endures: faith, family, love, and truth. It also reminds us that our time here is borrowed—and that how we use it matters far more than how comfortable we make it.

That’s where Christmas meets reality.

Christmas Day isn’t about nostalgia or tradition for tradition’s sake. It marks the most extraordinary claim in human history: God entered His own creation as a man.

Jesus Christ wasn’t a symbol. He wasn’t a metaphor. He wasn’t a moral teacher who showed up to offer life hacks. He was—and is—God made flesh.

The humility of that moment should stop us in our tracks.

The Creator of the universe chose dependency. Chose vulnerability. Chose to be born not into power or wealth, but into obscurity. Not because humanity deserved it—but because we needed it.

And here’s the part we don’t like to talk about much anymore:

Nothing about that was free.

Not grace. Not redemption. Not salvation.

Christmas points directly to the cross. Jesus paid the ultimate price so that we could be reconciled to God. That truth alone should permanently shatter the modern lie that anything of real value comes without cost.

Love costs. Forgiveness costs. Sacrifice costs.

And salvation cost everything.

That lesson matters far beyond theology—it shapes how we live.

It reminds us that responsibility precedes reward. That meaning comes from service, not self. That freedom without truth collapses into chaos.

It’s also why I believe so deeply in faith, family, free markets, and federalism. Not as slogans, but as systems that respect human dignity, responsibility, and choice—while acknowledging our limits.

We flourish not because government directs us, but because people—imperfect people—are free to love, give, fail, repent, and try again.

Voluntary exchange works not just in markets, but in life itself. We don’t notice it most days because, for the most part, it works quietly. Parents sacrifice for children. Friends show up when it’s hard. Communities carry one another when they stumble.

That’s grace in action.

As a father, my prayer tonight is simple.

I pray my kids remember the joy—but more importantly, the reason. I pray they never confuse the gifts under the tree with the Gift that made Christmas possible. I pray they understand that love isn’t measured by what we receive, but by what we’re willing to give.

And I pray that when they face hardship, loss, or uncertainty—as we all do—they stay anchored in Christ, not convenience.
Because being centered in Christ doesn’t remove the storms. It gives us something solid to stand on when they hit.

I’m deeply grateful for this community—more than 45,000 strong—made up of people from many walks of life who care about truth, liberty, and human flourishing. Your willingness to engage, challenge, and think deeply is a blessing I don’t take lightly.

As we celebrate Christmas, my hope is that we slow down just enough to remember what matters most.

Not the noise.

Not the excess.

Not the temporary.

But the eternal hope born in a manger—the One who paid a price none of us could afford, so that we might live with purpose now and joy forever.
​
Merry Christmas. May God bless you and your family—today and always.