Everyone dreams of Christmas morning.

It’s the subject of songs and movies and stories and literal dreams.

I had dreams too. This Christmas was a simple one for us, and I knew it would be–my husband has worked nights most of the month, so we haven’t seen him for more than a handful of hours at once since November, and then he switched back to days today and he’ll work all of Christmas and New Years week, besides this weekend when we’re going up to New York (yay!)

We decided to celebrate Christmas early because the husband will be gone from 5:30am to 7:30pm on Christmas day, but, on our Christmas day, the crud hit–although praise Jesus it only hit my husband. He fought valiantly, but alas, sleep is one of the primary ways to stave off sickness when it comes knocking at the door, and my husband slept from after breakfast on Christmas day to lunch time the next day, and then from mid afternoon to early this morning when he had to get up for work.

Our whole Christmas weekend together as a family, gone.

Thankfully, it’s Christmas Eve Eve, which means we get a second shot. Although my husband is working, on Christmas morning a friend whose husband is deployed and her two sweet kids are coming over, and in the evening the most gracious couple from our church is having the kids and I over for Christmas dinner.

The lights are still up. The tree is still beautiful. The gifts the children received are providing hours of entertainment. Today I looked out my window and it was even snowing over our balcony! I think a neighbor many floors up must have been watering a plant or something, but whatever the mystery liquid was, it was turning to snow as it fell softly past my window–a small Christmas miracle.

Most of all, Jesus was still born.

So, maybe Christmas was a bit of a dud. I am reminded time and time again that joy is a choice, a practice based on what Jesus did for us and not what our circumstances might be.

Jesus changed everything. His birth, and ultimately his death and resurrection, mean we’re free. Christmas isn’t found wrapped in boxes, it’s found in freedom and joy and hope.

Some of the magic of Christmas is in the lights and the stockings and the delicious meal and the gifts under the tree. It’s in the laughter and the togetherness and bright eyes of little children as they almost explode with excitement. But really, the magic of Christmas is in remembering the ultimate gift, Jesus.

Christmas not being what I dreamed it would be doesn’t make it a dud at all.

After all, I’m sure Jesus’s birth wasn’t what his first time mother dreamed it would be either.

I now have this week of Christmas to breathe. The holiday baking is done, the gifts are already opened and put away, there are no fancy parties to throw and I don’t have to go to sixteen different stores to buy last minute gifts and groceries. It’s all done. Today, I built forts with my kids, drank tea prepared at their new play kitchen, sat back and watched them laugh and squeal and, also, fight about who got to go down the slide on their new climbing set first. But there was no holiday chaos, no expectations to be met. I didn’t even have to cook because our fridge is full of yummy Christmas leftovers.

I did have big expectations for Christmas. I always do–it’s my favorite day of the year–and those expectations did not become reality.

Instead I got to practice joy. I spent time with alone with my kids. During the week everyone else is going nuts preparing for the biggest holiday of the year, I will get some much needed rest and peace. Then, on the 25th, the kids and I get to celebrate Christmas again on a day we initially thought we would be alone.

Christmas wasn’t what I expected, but as God always knows, maybe it’s what I needed.