With all the shopping, the pressure to decorate the perfect home and tree, the gifts, and the endless parties, it’s easy to get swept up in the season and miss the heart of Christmas. I love pausing to focus on its true meaning. If it were up to me, we’d sing Christmas carols all year long, like Chris Tomlin’s “Noel.” 

And then there’s the line from “O Holy Night” that always stops me:

But for reasons I can’t quite explain, the holidays have a way of undoing me a bit, stirring up old struggles with the fundamentals—my worth, my identity. And there’s one question I always dread hearing: “What are you doing for the holidays?" It reminds me of the traditions I don’t have and the gatherings I won’t attend. Growing up without extended family, coupled with complicated family dynamics, often makes the holiday season feel especially lonely. Being single and childless adds another layer of challenge to Christmas. There are moments when the quiet feels louder, and the celebrations around me highlight what I’m missing.

However, I am also a person filled with hope in the Lord. For my entire adult life, I’ve considered it a privilege to serve with ministries reaching people around the world who have not had the opportunity to respond to the Gospel— to see them given the chance to hear, respond, and say ‘yes’ to Jesus’ invitation. I’ve watched the Lord restore hope with my own eyes—in Central Asia, South Asia, the Middle East, and East Africa.  I’ve seen people discover, through Christ, their God-given worth and identity—often for the very first time. This is where true hope is found. That same hope fills me today—a hope that overflows, knowing that through Christ, God has made a way for us to be in relationship with Him and to live, even in a troubled world, with deep and lasting hope, joy, peace, and purpose. This is the hope I celebrate during the holidays.

We can all struggle to hold onto hope when we’re painfully aware of what’s missing—whether it’s family, companionship, health, stability, or a dream still unfulfilled. Longing has a way of magnifying the absence. Yet in those quiet, lonely moments, God gently restores what doubt tries to bury. He reminds me of all I have—and, most importantly, who I am. My hope is anchored in these unshakable truths:

Even in the moments when loneliness feels heavy, I still sense that I’m not alone. The Lord is near, dwelling with me. 

“The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us” John 1:14.

In those quiet, still moments, He tenderly reminds me that my worth has nothing to do with what I do or what I have, but everything to do with Him. 

If the holidays stir old questions or doubts, you’re not alone. My prayer for you this season is that He would anchor your hope in Him, and fill your innermost being with the assurance of your God-given worth and your identity as His beloved child—loved, known, seen, and included.