Christmas Without the Checklist

Last week I had a conversation with someone I hadn’t spoken to in over a year. We originally met through a mutual friend, Devin Hess. A few Christmases ago, Devin set out to help a family in need - Brittainy and Fatu — whose youngest daughter had endured more medical hardship than most adults will ever face.

Through self-funding and crowdfunding, Devin raised over $60,000 to help relieve some of that burden.

A close friend of mine, Tanner Murri, and I drove down to document the moment Devin delivered the money and the gifts—donations from individuals, local businesses, even Walmart.

It was one of those moments that stays with you. A reminder of what generosity looks like when it’s lived, not optimized.

So when Fatu and I caught up, it was humbling to revisit that season together. Naturally, the conversation turned to Christmas.

How are you guys doing? What are you doing for the holidays?

But the conversation went somewhere neither of us expected.

Fatu and Brittainy are both incredibly driven people. Ambitious. Purposeful. And as we talked, we realized something together—sometimes that same ambition causes us to bite off more than we can chew.

Even Christmas, of all things, can become something to manage instead of something to experience.

Part of the challenge, I think, is how commercialized Christmas has become. Shopping is effortless now. Same-day delivery is normal.

It’s almost mind-numbing how little thought or effort it takes to send a “last-minute” gift or a “stocking stuffer”—an e-gift card, a Crumbl cookie delivery, something quick and frictionless.

I’m guilty of it. One hundred percent.

But the more I think about what Christmas actually means - and the impact I want it to have on my life - the more I realize how important it is to define success.

What does fulfillment look like at Christmas? What does reflection look like? What does gratitude look like for our family—for our legacy?

Because I can tell you right now: the forty Amazon boxes sitting in my basement will almost certainly mean nothing a year from now.

So what will we remember?

What will make this Christmas different from the last?

If the answer is only material possessions, then the meaning is fragile. It fades as soon as something breaks, or as soon as the honeymoon phase wears off. True meaning—at Christmas and in every other facet of life—comes from connecting to something greater than ourselves.

I’m preaching to myself here.

On an early morning, we departed to the foothills, only to find the roads were closed. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes roads close. It’s a metaphor for life, really. Because when another door, or in this case a road, is blocked, you find other ways to keep going.

—

Fact: The checklists aren’t necessary.

Visiting every aunt and uncle isn’t mandatory—unless it genuinely aligns with your definition of a successful Christmas. But if it leads to chaos, frustration, resentment, or exhaustion, then maybe it shouldn’t be done.

And that doesn’t just apply to Christmas.

It applies to everything.

If what you’re doing consistently leads to headaches, worry, unnecessary stress, frustration, and chaos—if it’s draining rather than life-giving—then it’s worth asking why you’re doing it in the first place.

Not all stress is bad. Some stress sharpens us. But there’s a difference between purposeful strain and uninvited, unnecessary stress. And I think so much of that unnecessary stress comes from what I’d call the have-dos.

The things you “have to” do.

But who decided that?

Who said they needed to be done?

Somewhere along the way, we accepted a set of obligations without ever questioning whether they served us, our families, or what we value most. We turned presence into performance. Celebration into compliance.

Christmas, to me, was never meant to be that.

It’s about being present.

Not presents.

Presence.

When you’re fully there—with the people who matter most—what more do you actually need?

Time is the gift.

Attention is the gift.

Stillness is the gift.

And maybe the most meaningful thing we can do this Christmas isn’t to add one more obligation to the list, but to let one go.

Because being present is the present.

—

To be honest, I don’t know where this is supposed to live.

Maybe it’s something I share on the podcast. Maybe it’s just a letter to myself.

But Christmas is right around the corner, and I feel like this is something I need to say out loud.

Because Christmas can be chaotic.

And the truth is, we’re all walking into it carrying very different things.

For some people, Christmas is joyful. For others, it’s the heaviest time of the year.

Right now, I know people who have lost loved ones. People who are sitting with grief that hasn’t even had time to settle yet. People walking through traumatic medical crises. Parents who are spending the days before Christmas not wrapping gifts—but sitting beside a hospital bed, praying their child survives the night.

In those moments, the things we thought mattered… don’t.

The gifts.
The plans.
The schedules.
The boxes waiting to be opened.

All of it fades.

And that’s part of why I keep coming back to this idea: Christmas means something different to everyone.

And that’s okay.

What I’m really trying to remind myself - and maybe someone else who needs to hear it - is this:

It’s okay if you don’t check every box this Christmas.
As a matter of fact, it’s okay if you don’t check any of them.

Christmas is not about the have-dos.
It’s not about the must-haves.
It’s not about meeting every expectation or showing up everywhere you feel obligated to be.

It’s about being present.

And remembering why this season exists in the first place.

Because it didn’t start with shopping lists or schedules or perfectly planned days.
It started with something much quieter.

With someone greater than us.
Someone who descended below all things.
So that we could have hope.
So that we could have a better outcome.
So that we could have a better life than the one we could ever manufacture on our own.

Christmas, at its core, is about hope showing up when things are heavy.
Light entering the dark.
Presence when the world feels overwhelming.

So if all you can do this year is be still…
If all you can do is sit with the people you love…
If all you can do is breathe, pray, and be thankful for another day…

That is enough.

You don’t need to earn Christmas.
You don’t need to perform it.
You don’t need to prove anything.

Presence is the gift.

And sometimes, choosing not to do everything, is the most faithful thing you can do.