As the winter chill sets in and the holiday season draws near, my son, Leo, has been captivated by dreams of majestic wolves. He describes how the pack watches over him as he sleeps, and I can almost envision them, proud and protective, following him into the kitchen each morning. Standing barefoot among his imaginary companions, he requests breakfast, and it’s heartening to see him so well-rested; since the wolves appeared, his nightmares have vanished. He discovered his sanctuary just as I was letting go of mine.
This year marked a significant shift in my beliefs—I no longer subscribe to any religious faith.
As Christmas approaches, my partner, Ryan, and I find ourselves discussing our plans for the holiday. Without church services to attend, our schedule feels uncharacteristically open, yet I struggle to fill those empty spaces. This year will be my first Christmas as an atheist, and I find myself mourning the traditions I once held dear.
For as long as I can remember, Christmas has been steeped in religious significance. As a child, I eagerly anticipated the candlelight service on Christmas Eve, as much as I did the thrill of opening presents the following morning. I cherished the warmth of standing between my parents, surrounded by the glow of candles in a sea of festive attire. The sensation of hot wax dripping onto my fingers never deterred my focus as I sang, envisioning our voices rising together to a divine realm. Sharing this experience with my children was always a dream of mine.
When Leo was born, I had the opportunity to instill those values. His nursery brimmed with religious texts and literature, yet when bedtime stories arrived, those books remained untouched. I found no joy in reading them. Each attempt left me skimming pages, accompanied by an unsettling feeling. One evening, with Leo nestled on my lap and the Bible before us, it struck me—while I had once cherished my faith, I no longer believed in it.
Now, several months post-deconversion, thoughts of Christmas frequently occupy my mind. Will my children find beauty and wonder in the holiday, as I once did? Or will celebrating a secular Christmas feel akin to visiting a theme park—pleasant but ultimately devoid of meaning?
The answer lies in the wolves.
This Christmas, our family will embark on a journey northward. In the northeastern region of Minnesota, within the Superior National Forest, lies a sanctuary for wolves. Ryan will guide the car into a parking space near the interpretive center. Together, we will unbuckle the kids from their seats, rushing inside to escape the cold. The lobby will greet us with the scent of damp wool and the sound of our boots squeaking against the floor. Leo’s eyes will sparkle with anticipation.
I realize that I don’t need to teach my children about beauty; they already see it all around them.
Christmas doesn’t require me to cling to old traditions to be meaningful. As long as we are together, it will hold significance.
We will gather in front of the large windows, my hands bare as I remove my mittens. Ryan will clasp my hand, while the children, sticky-fingered from peppermint treats, wiggle between us, peering into the dark exhibit, searching for life.
Snowflakes will drift down, indistinguishable from stars above us, and before us will be the wolves.
In this new chapter of our lives, we will create our own traditions, infusing the holiday with our unique experiences and family bonds. For those exploring similar journeys, resources like Make A Mom offer valuable insights into crafting meaningful moments, while Healthline provides excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
Summary
The author reflects on transitioning to a secular Christmas after leaving behind religious beliefs, emphasizing the importance of family and new traditions, driven by the beauty observed through the eyes of her children.
Keyphrase: secular Christmas family traditions
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