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Merry Christmas beautiful friend.

I wanted to share a quiet memory with you today.

One of the most memorable Christmases of my childhood was the year we did not exchange presents.

Not because we could not afford them.
But because my parents made a different choice.

That year, the money that would have gone toward gifts was used to buy coats, socks, toiletries, and food. We wrapped everything anyway. Carefully. Thoughtfully.

We did not go to a shelter.
We drove along busy streets.
And when we saw someone, we pulled over, stepped out of the car, and offered a gift.

I remember holding a wrapped box that was not meant for me.
And noticing how different the day felt.

There was no rush.
No comparison.
​No pressure hiding underneath the joy.

Just presence.

One moment has stayed with me all these years.

We handed a man a wrapped gift. He didn't open it.
He simply placed it under his head, using it as a pillow.

That image settled somewhere deep in my body.

It taught me something I didn't have words for at the time.
Sometimes what we offer isn't received the way we imagine.
And sometimes, presence itself is the gift.

That Christmas stayed with me. Not because of what I received, but because of how grounded it felt in my body.

Years later, I understand why.

The moments that shape us most are often quiet. They are the moments when we feel steady, connected, and aware. When we are not performing. When we are simply there.

Christmas can carry a lot. Joy. Grief. Memory. Expectation. Sometimes all at once.

If today feels full, or heavy, or surprisingly calm, all of it belongs.

You don't need to make this day mean something extraordinary.

Presence is enough.

If you feel like sharing, I would love to hear one Christmas memory that stayed with you. It does not have to be big or perfect. Just real.

Wishing you a peaceful Christmas, wherever and however you are today.

With warmth,
Kimberlie