When they were handing out “sentimental,” I went through the line twice.
My family makes fun of my nostalgic bent. That’s OK; I’ll own it— gladly.
Are you the family member born with the nostalgia gene? Were you the family’s de facto curator, and memory preserver? That was me, in our family.
Nobody else really seemed to care for the old photograph albums or for the kitschy plate bought at a vacation gift shop decades ago. I rescued such things from the “Goodwill” bin more than a few times growing up— after all, if I didn’t preserve the family history, who would?
But nothing— and I mean, nothing— arrested my childhood heart like the Christmas decorations our family had accumulated. It wasn’t like they had monetary value; No, we’re talking about rarefied equity worth more than money. Our parents and grandparents had accumulated an assortment of ornaments and garlands, nativities, and Santas, ranging from merely scuffed up to well-tattered.
All the Christmas stuff was stored in a couple of boxes in our farmhouse attic. To my childhood heart, that main box may as well have been the Ark of the Covenant. In ways I wouldn’t understand until decades later, it was. The random collection had passed through many hands over many years. A time or two through the year, growing up, I would peek into the attic to make sure the Christmas boxes were OK.
Christmas reminds us not to forget
Every December, something stirs in us that can feel almost impossible to explain. A single familiar carol, the scent of pine, the scrape of an ornament box being pulled from the closet—and suddenly, we’re somewhere else.
Maybe for you, a trigger is the aroma of cinnamon in the baking aisle at the store. Maybe you go out of your way to slowly drive past the house you lived in decades ago. We’re back in the living room where we once lay under the tree as children, staring up through the lights and limbs. Back then, it may have been vague and undefined, but it was very natural to for our childhood hearts to wonder . . . and to believe.
Those memories arrive unannounced but never unwelcome. Maybe that’s why many people are so fond of old decorations— faded red and green stockings, chipped ceramic village pieces, the glitter-shedding angel who crowned the tree for decades. The old decorations aren’t pristine anymore. But perfection isn’t the point.
Your old “Christmas things” hold the fingerprints of many years and the echoes of voices that once laughed and gathered around them. They remind us of people we loved, of seasons when life felt simpler, and of the family traditions that shaped who we are.
According to the data, the Western world is fast moving away from religious convictions that had been the societal DNA of Europe and America. Let’s not beat around the bush— what’s being abandoned with shocking speed is Christianity. The aggregate loss, if not turned around, is beyond tragic.
In a world that often asks us to be progressive, efficient, and forward-focused, worn out Christmas artifacts call us to slow down and look back. Maybe the magnetic pull of the old treasures are part of a “still, small voice” that beckons us to . . . reflect and reconsider. Maybe that’s why we wax so sentimental in December: the season was made for remembering.
At its core, Christmas is a celebration of history’s greatest moment— an event so world-impacting that we measure time around it.
Long before twinkling lights or ribboned boxes, there was the quiet arrival of Jesus, given to a world longing for hope. That story, told and retold for more than two thousand years, is why this season still pulses with meaning: Every nativity scene, every candlelight service, every recounting of that night in Bethlehem invites us to remember not only our childhood wonder, but the wonder of a love given freely to all.
So let your heart soften this month. Let nostalgia come. Enjoy those decorations held together with a little tape and a lot of memories. Feel the weight of Christmases past and the warmth they offer.
Sentimentality isn’t a weakness; it’s a sign that we recognize the value of all that shaped us. We each are (if we humbly allow) the sum total of that countless roster of ones who invested in us, sacrificed for us, loved us, and prayed for us. And what a privilege and duty we each have to reciprocate as life gives us opportunity. Now, like runners carrying a baton for their segment of a marathon, goodness, truth, and love has been momentarily entrusted to our hands.
Christmas is a season for remembering. And sometimes, our oldest memories shine the brightest.
This article was originally published in townhall.com on December 14, 2025.
