Delight

This year, my oldest daughter was given a school assignment leading into the holidays: interview an older relative about their experiences growing up. She’s six, so the questions were quite simple: favorite foods, books, movies, and holiday traditions.

A textbook first-child, she spent an afternoon planning and evaluating which relative would make the best interview subject. Her criteria were also quite simple: who is the oldest relative with the coolest story?

After some reflection, she narrowed her list to one remaining relative: my dad, who grew up in the Netherlands shortly after World War II had ended. As she planned her questions, I had to chuckle to myself.

My dad didn’t have a TV growing up, let alone time to watch a movie. He was busy biking three miles to school, home for lunch, back to school, and home again and helping out with household and farm chores. Most meals were the same: meatballs and boiled potatoes. His holiday traditions were also quite simple. A pair of shoes by the wood-burning fireplace, a single present from his parents, and a sparsely decorated Christmas tree at the church program followed by a fresh orange (a novelty) and hot chocolate.

As I think about my daughter’s interview with my dad, I’m struck by the contrast between her world and his. Her world is abundant—a house decorated with multiple Christmas trees, stockings hanging from a festively cluttered mantle, Amazon wish lists, glittery Christmas performances, ornate neighborhood light displays, and weekly hot chocolate with marshmallows, sprinkles, and candy canes. His world, simple.

There’s something captivating, however, about the life he led as a boy—something my daughter seemed to notice, too. “I wish I grew up back then,” she said as the interview concluded. My delight in her appreciation for Pake’s simple life coupled with the realization that her wish came from a child’s imagination, unaware of the challenges of a post-war childhood.

As I talked with her briefly about what it meant to grow up in the Netherlands after the war, I hope she began to see that his childhood wasn’t just simple; it was shaped by scarcity, hard work, and resilience.

In reflecting on my dad's childhood, I’m reminded of how the season of Advent calls us to remember the promise of God’s provision, today and through generations—a reminder that joy and gratitude are not tied to abundance, but to seeing God at work even in what seems to be bleak circumstances. Think about the stories of God’s provision throughout the Bible: manna in the wilderness, a small boy’s lunch feeding thousands, a humble birth in Bethlehem. Ordinary people with ordinary needs met in miraculously ordinary ways.

This Christmas, we’ll spend the day at home as a family of four—something new to us. As much as I love a large gathering and the chaos that comes with young cousins playing, adults chattering in the kitchen, and the never-ending stream of holiday snacks and treats, I find myself looking forward to a quieter, simpler Christmas Day.

In that same spirit of simplicity, my youngest daughter recently asked if I could make her favorite soup (broth, meatballs, vegetables) for Christmas dinner. Again, my gratitude for a four-year-old who enjoys a simple, nourishing soup conflicted with my craving for a traditional, elaborate feast: but what about the ham, the cheesy potatoes, and the perfectly dressed salad?

As I’m thinking about my daughters’ recent gentle nudges that push back against a “traditional” Christmas experience, I’m reminded how easy it is to miss the opportunities to delight in what is given, rather than despair in what is lacking. Though I haven’t quite surrendered to serving soup this year, I hope to carry the spirit of gratitude and simplicity forward.

In the days leading up to Christmas and the days that follow, may we continue to practice the work of seeing what God has placed in our lives—trusting His provision not only in seasons of abundance but also in the simpler, sometimes bleaker moments of life. May our hearts learn to delight in what is present, confident that the God who provides today, and in all the days before, will be faithful in all that is yet to come.