The gift Jesus actually wants

December is a season of lists. Shopping lists. To-do lists. Wish lists. Somewhere between the wrapping paper, delivery deadlines, and trying to make everything feel just right, it’s easy to forget what—or rather who—this season is really about.

Here’s a surprising truth: North Americans spend nearly a trillion dollars on Christmas every year, and most of it is forgotten by February. We’ve become very good at giving gifts… but not always very good at giving ourselves.

That’s what makes the story of the Wisemen so meaningful. In our Nativity Story video this week, the modern Wisemen arrive at the manger expecting piles of presents for the baby Jesus and instead find—nothing. No gifts. No bows. No receipts. They are horrified. And a quiet reminder from Mary that cuts straight to the heart: “It’s Jesus who is the gift. What he wants is your heart.”

The original Magi understood this. They didn’t travel hundreds of miles through danger and uncertainty just to drop off a few items and head home. They came to worship. Their gifts weren’t obligations; they were expressions of recognition. They saw Jesus for who He truly was—and it changed the direction of their lives.

That’s the question Advent gently places before us:
Do we recognize Jesus as our greatest treasure—or just one more stop on an already crowded calendar?

Authentic worship isn’t about perfection or performance. Scripture reminds us that God isn’t after flawless behaviour or religious checklists. God says simply, “Give me your heart.” Not the polished version. Not the Instagram-ready version. Your real heart—messy, hopeful, tired, searching.

And when God has our hearts, something beautiful happens. Gratitude begins to overflow. We become more generous with our time, our words, our forgiveness, our love. Not because we’re trying to earn God’s approval, but because we already have it. As Paul says, “Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift!”

The Magi went home by a different route—not just to avoid Herod, but because an encounter with Jesus always changes the way we move through the world.

So as Christmas draws near, before you wrap another gift or attend another gathering, pause and ask yourself:
What would it look like to give Jesus the gift He actually wants?

This Christmas, don’t just give Him your schedule or your good intentions.
Give Him your heart.

When the shepherd comes looking

Have you ever had one of those days where everything should feel peaceful and holy… but instead it feels like a circus?
Well, welcome to Week 2 of A Nativity Story. Check it out (video starts 12:25).

This week’s video gave us quite the scene: Mary and Joseph quietly admiring baby Jesus… when suddenly—chaos.
Eli the sheep has wandered off again, the mischievous elf is up to no good, and poor baby Jesus gets jolted awake.

And honestly?
It feels a little too real.

Life rarely looks like a serene nativity set.
Most of us are more like Eli—wandering, noisy, a bit unpredictable, and occasionally causing a commotion right when things were supposed to be calm.

But here’s the part that gets me every time: the shepherd comes back holding Eli on his shoulders and says,
“You know I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, little guy.”

And Joseph pauses, looks out at us, and says,
“This month… we get to remind everyone that Jesus has come to gather His flock… even the loud ones… and carry them close to His heart.”

That’s the whole gospel right there.
Jesus doesn’t wait for us to get our act together, quiet down, or wander back on our own.
He comes looking.
He lifts us up.
He brings us into one flock.
And then?
He holds us close. Really close.

I love that.

Most of us have been “the loud sheep” more than once.
We’ve taken the scenic route through life.
We’ve lost our footing, felt overwhelmed, or wandered farther than we ever meant to go.

But our Shepherd never shrugs and says, “Oh well.”
Instead, He searches until He finds us.
He scoops us up—not with frustration, but with affection.
And He carries us right next to His heart, where we can finally hear His steady, loving rhythm again.

Maybe this Christmas you feel a little lost.
Or tired.
Or like you should be doing better spiritually than you are.

Let me gently say this:
You are not meant to walk alone.
You can be carried.
You are loved—right through the wandering.

Christmas is the story of a Shepherd who became a sheep… so that every sheep could come home.

So this week, take a deep breath.
Picture yourself—like little Eli—resting on His shoulders.
Let yourself be gathered, lifted, united, and held close.

And may His heartbeat become the rhythm of your Christmas season.

Blessings and grace, friends.
You are dearly loved by the Shepherd who knows your name.

Are we missing the manger?

Advent is here, and our church is kicking off a new series called A Nativity Story. And yes—we’re bringing along a few fun characters each week until Christmas Eve (which, by the way, is on Wednesday, December 24th at 7 p.m. One service. Whole family. It’s going to be beautiful. Don’t miss it!).

But this week, something unexpected happened in our little Nativity video:
Gabriel the angel was… discouraged.

And honestly? I get it.

Gabriel remembers the glory days—skies splitting open, shepherds falling on their faces, wisemen chasing a star across continents. Back then, people noticed God.

But now?
Everyone in the house is scrolling, shopping, rushing, planning, wrapping, posting, and checking their phones like it’s an Olympic sport. (The average person checks 144 times a day, if you're counting… Gabriel sure is.)

In frustration he sighs, “They couldn’t hear an announcement from God even if I destroyed their Wi-Fi router.”
Relatable?

But then Mary steps in—calm, wise, steady Mary—and she says something that stops everything:

“Jesus doesn’t need a spotlight.
He only needs a manger.”

That line has been echoing in my heart all week.

Because God does sometimes thunder—like angels filling the night sky for shepherds who smelled like… well… shepherds.

But God also whispers—like He did to Elijah, speaking not in the wind, earthquake, or fire, but in a gentle, barely-there whisper that required leaning in to hear it.

And—this one is hard for us—
God waits.
God is not slow, God is patient. God doesn’t give up on distracted people or rushed hearts. God waits for us to look up.

And finally, God dwells.
The Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood—not into a palace or cathedral but into the simplest, most ordinary place possible: a manger.

The manger is the great equalizer—no VIP section, no prerequisites, no perfect life required.
If God is comfortable entering the world through a barn, God is comfortable entering your Monday morning, your messy kitchen, your imperfect faith.

Here’s the question Advent presses gently into our hurried hearts:

Are we missing the manger because we’re waiting for the spotlight?

Maybe God will thunder for you this season.
Maybe God will whisper.
Maybe He’ll invite you to wait.
Maybe He’ll meet you in the most ordinary moment of your day.

But God will meet you.

Because God is Emmanuel—God with us.
With us in the noise.
With us in the quiet.
With us in the joy.
With us in the ache.
With us in every breath between now and Christmas morning.

So this Advent, slow down just long enough to look toward the manger.
He doesn’t need a stage—just a little space in your heart.

God with us. Always.