IT'S CHRISTMAS

Most families are quirky – at least in some ways. It’s what makes their family special, or unique. Some of these oddities especially appear when in the car. Some families try to see license plates from all 50 states. Some play games, like “20 questions”, “I Spy”, or the  “alphabet game”, where people try to sequentially see all 26 letters in the alphabet. Some listen to audio books, or sing and dance to their favorite music stream.

And then there’s my family.

While we have indulged in all of the above activities, we have a “special” tradition for December—one that outsiders might consider charming… or chaotic… or the reason they would choose to take separate cars if we were driving somewhere together. Anytime we spot a house with Christmas lights, the first person to yell, “It’s Christmas!” gets a point. There are no official scorecards, no trophies, and no running leaderboard. That doesn’t stop the competition (in our competitive family) from reaching Olympic levels of intensity.

By mid-December, our vehicle sounds like a heated auction where the only acceptable bid is shouting “IT’S CHRISTMAS!” at the top of your lungs. An inflatable “Bumble” (from Rudolph) can set off a chain reaction as long as it’s lit. A twinkling tree in a front window is enough to make everyone sit forward like sprinters waiting for the starting gun. And if we turn onto a particularly festive street, all civility breaks down. It makes daytime drives boring and sad in comparison – when the front yards’ inflatable snowmen aren’t inflated it looks like a Christmas graveyard of snowmen melted into puddles.

Our tradition may not be normal—but it’s ours. And honestly, it’s fun.

But all this light-spotting has a way of pointing me toward something deeper. Years ago, when I was flying regularly, I always loved the view at night—especially in December. Runways outlined with crisp white lights, taxiways glowing with calm blue, and neighborhoods beneath the aircraft twinkling like patchwork constellations of decorations. From the air, Christmas lights take on a whole new beauty. You see not just a house or two, but the entire sweep of brightness breaking into the darkness.

That big-picture view reminds me of a far greater Light—one not made of LEDs or strands of light wrapped around trees, but One who entered the world to bring true illumination. John says it plainly: “There was the true Light which, coming into the world, enlightens every man” (John 1:9).

Jesus didn’t just appear; He entered our darkness. The Light of the world took on flesh and blood as a baby. He came so we could see God—not in shadows or guesses or distant impressions, but clearly. Personally. Beautifully.

And Scripture tells us that when we truly see Him, something happens in us: Seeing Him transforms us.
 
Paul writes that as we behold His glory, we are “transformed from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Little by little as we look to Christ, His character shapes ours. His light pushes back our darkness. His beauty transforms our lives.  One day (and I’m still pulling for the rapture to happen soon) when we see Him face to face, “we will be like Him, because we will see Him as He is” (1 John 3:2). The sight of Jesus will complete what the Spirit has already begun.

So yes, our family may shout “It’s Christmas!” at every lit-up Rudolph or Frosty, but all those bright dots on dark streets—whether viewed from a vehicle or from 10,000 feet in the air—are just small reminders of the One true Light who came for us.

As we enter this Advent season, may your heart be filled with the wonder of His grace. May you see Him more clearly—His love, His character, His mercy, His truth. May that clear vision spark the kind of awe and transformation that only the Light of Christ can bring. Because in the truest sense, because of Him… it really is Christmas.