The approach of Christmas was marked during my childhood by the smell of a snowmobile running warm in the cold of Minnesota winters. Every year my dad would ask who wanted to go with him to find a Christmas tree, and every year as the moment of pulling up the layers of wool socks and bundling up to the nose approached, one-by-one by siblings said no, and I again got to go. I would sit in front of my dad, my helmet bobbing against his chest as we shouted Christmas carols, and I savored the snow flying into my mouth. The search for the tree was as memorable as the lifting of newspaper to unwrap each ornament and place it on the tree.

But at Christmas we discover more than the perfect tree with snow to be brushed off before it’s taken in. We unwrap more than the ornaments, shiny and memory-laden. We unwrap Christ, discover Him over and again.

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