My Christmas Testimony: The Season I Met the Christ Who Found Me

There was a time when Christmas meant joy without effort.

Growing up, the season carried a feeling you didn’t have to create—it was just there. You could feel it in the air, on the streets, in school, in church, and especially at home. The songs were festive, but more than that, they were hopeful. They spoke of a Saviour, and even before I understood what that meant, my heart responded to it.

We didn’t have everything, but it never felt like we lacked anything. The food alone made Christmas special—gungo rice and peas, soup, chicken, fish, curry goat, pork—whatever you preferred, it was there. But it wasn’t just the meal. It was the preparation. Cleaning the house until everything shone, putting up new curtains, repainting or whitewashing the outside, and finishing it all with fresh bed sheets. The house felt brand new, and with it came a sense of joy and accomplishment.

And then there were the outings. The Christmas treat in the community. Hope Gardens. Those were the moments we looked forward to all year. Sleep didn’t stand a chance the night before. My cousins and I would talk endlessly about the rides, the maze we tried every year to solve, and the food we were going to eat. Even in the crowd, we found space to enjoy ourselves. We stayed together, looked out for each other, and made memories that felt full.

Christmas then was something we longed for.

As I grew older and became a parent, I tried to keep parts of that tradition alive. I made sure the house was cleaned, refreshed, and ready. New curtains, new sheets, everything in place. But something shifted. I didn’t give much attention to the outings, the gatherings, or the experiences outside the home.

Part of it was exhaustion. The year would have taken so much out of me—work, commuting, responsibilities—that by Christmas, I just wanted to rest. I found comfort in staying inside the home I had worked so hard to prepare. Without realizing it, I expected my children to do the same.

Looking back, I can now see how much fear shaped those decisions. I was concerned about where they went, how they would be treated, what could happen if I wasn’t there. And so, I limited them. What I thought was protection was, in many ways, restriction.

My daughter would have loved those experiences. She is naturally sociable, full of life, drawn to people and fun. My son was more content at home, especially with my grandmother who welcomed his conversations. But even then, I can now see that I could have met them where they were instead of holding them where I felt safe.

I am grateful for my best friend, who would insist on taking my daughter along with her children to the park. Looking back, I can see how God placed her there to fill a gap I didn’t even recognize.

That was how life continued for me—until one Christmas season that changed everything.

It was during that season that I met Jesus.

Not as the baby in the manger, but as Lord.

I was at a place in my life where I had come to the end of myself. I had tried to live in a way that made sense to me, tried to do what was right, tried to move forward, but nothing seemed to settle. There was a restlessness I could not explain, a confusion I could not resolve.

And then He came.

I cannot fully explain how I knew it was Jesus, but I knew. There was no doubt in me. And in that moment, I surrendered—not because I understood everything, but because I realized I understood nothing.

I confessed that I did not know how to live the life I had been given. I did not know what love truly was. I did not understand forgiveness. But something changed. I became new in a way I had never experienced before.

I had been a Christian since the age of eleven, trying to live right, especially through my teenage years. But as I grew older, I can now see that I had shaped my own version of God—one that aligned with me, instead of aligning myself with Him. I wasn’t living recklessly, but I wasn’t living surrendered either.

I searched for life without understanding it. I looked for love without knowing what it required. I moved from job to job, relationship to relationship, hoping something would finally make sense. On the outside, I knew I had potential. On the inside, I felt unsettled, like I could not find my footing.

And then that encounter changed how I began to see everything—even the Christmas story.

It was no longer something distant or familiar. It became personal. I found myself slowing down, reflecting longer, peering deeper into details I would have once overlooked, and realizing that nothing about His coming was without intention.

One part of the story stayed with me. The journey to Bethlehem.

The decree that forced Mary and Joseph to travel at such a delicate time felt harsh to me. Almost inconsiderate. I remember wondering why there was no intervention. Why didn’t Mary pray? Why didn’t God make a way that seemed more gentle?

But as I lingered with that thought, my perspective began to shift.

What if the decree was not working against God’s plan, but was actually a part of it?

What if what appeared to be cruelty was being used to fulfill something divine?

The more I reflected, the more I began to see myself in it. How many times have I prayed against situations that felt uncomfortable, not realizing that they were positioning me exactly where I needed to be?

It became clear that God’s will does not always feel easy—but it is always intentional.

And if He was that intentional about where His Son would be born, then I had to ask myself another question—

How intentional was He about why His Son would die?

That question led me to the story of Barabbas in a way I had never seen before.

I was no longer reading about a man. I saw myself. Guilty. Deserving. Standing in a place where the outcome was already decided.

And yet, Jesus stepped forward.

There was no hesitation. No negotiation. No delay.

He took my place.

What I deserved, He carried. What He deserved, I received.

And in that moment, I began to understand something deeper about Christmas. It was not just about a child being born. It was about a life being given.

As I stayed with that truth, something shifted within me again.

I realized that what I had known of God before was mostly His hand—the things He does, the ways He saves, delivers, and comes through.

But this… revealed His heart.

This Christmas, I saw the heart of Jesus.

From the very beginning, His desire has always been to dwell with us. He walked with Adam in the cool of the day, and even when humanity moved away from Him, He never abandoned that desire. Instead, He continued to pursue us, making a way for His Spirit to dwell within us.

He has never left our relationship with Him to chance. Faithfully, He leads us into love, truth, and righteousness so that we may experience life fully.

Even when we chose our own way, He did not turn away. From a place of deep love, He took upon Himself the consequences of that life, and in doing so, made us new—as though we had never strayed.

And the more I come to know His heart, the more I realize that it is His heart that changes us.

We can see miracles, even experience them, and still remain the same. But there is no way to truly see the heart of God and not be left in awe.

Christmas, for me, is no longer just a season.

It is the reminder of the moment I was found.

🌿 Reflection

Have you ever experienced God’s hand—but not yet His heart?

🙏🏽 Prayer

Lord, help me to see beyond what You do and come to know who You are.
Reveal Your heart to me in a way that changes how I live, how I see, and how I love.
Thank You for finding me—even when I didn’t know I was lost.

Amen.