I’ve read more Christmas plays than I can count.

In nearly three decades of working for a niche publisher that specialized in drama resources, I encountered Christmas as a Western, in a news broadcast and even on trial in a courtroom. I saw Christmas staged around the world, with accompanying fascinating customs. The holiday was by turns futuristic—or old-fashioned. When time travel was involved, it was both. 

“’Twas the Night Before Christmas”? Rewritten as a pageant. And there were more versions of “A Christmas Carol” than even Dickens could have imagined. Silly, sweet, sacred—there was something for every occasion.

The characters differed wildly, yet brought new perspectives. They ranged from wise-cracking hillbillies to children in tinsel halos and tinfoil wings to the animals in the Bethlehem stable. Sure, they talked. And why not? It’s Christmas—suspension of disbelief comes with the season.

Santa showed up—sometimes. Honestly, his services were often unnecessary.

Bulky brown manila “gifts” bearing Christmas scripts with a SASE (self-addressed, stamped envelope) tucked inside arrived all year long from hopeful playwrights, before online submissions were the norm. Although the company published other types of plays and books, Christmas was the most popular genre, hands down. 

We were always out of season. Summer was consumed by Christmas, with our final selections due in August. Because I shared an office, I didn’t play carols—but sometimes I’d set up a little desktop tree to inspire a festive mindset. 

Yet the words were what truly ushered in the Christmas spirit, even as the sun blazed with summer intensity outside.

One of my favorite plays had a cast of just two and was set in—of all places—a junkyard.

All those stylistic approaches taught me something: Christmas can look like anything.

It can take on all the trappings of a Broadway show—glitzy, elaborate and unapologetically over-the-top. Yet when we chase the spectacle, sometimes the joy goes pffffft—out the frosty window. 

Most of us don’t have a backstage crew making our real-life holiday productions happen: our set (living room with bedecked garland, wreath and tree), our costumes (outfits to wear to the holiday parties), our props (the wrapped gifts under the tree). It’s hard work. Talk about drama! 

Yet I adore Christmas. I can’t imagine not celebrating it and reveling in the family togetherness. But I don’t want to merely chase an applause-worthy performance. I want it to mean something. 

I want to play all the Christmas music—and sing along. I want to light a scented candle with a Christmas aroma. I’ll know it when I inhale it. Fewer people send cards these days—but I want to read and reread the treasured greetings that show up in my mailbox. And I love sitting by the glowing tree at night with a steaming mug of decaf, remembering Christmases past and the stories behind each ornament.

The grandbaby playing with the gift bows. The dinner that turns into a comedic epic fail when your uncle drops the ham. The present that didn’t break the bank but brought pure joy to the recipient. And always, the wondering: will it be a white Christmas? It’s all part of the show.

Hopefully I’ll take a cue from my favorite play and keep it simpler—celebrating fully, but leaving peaceful spaces in the season’s jam-packed schedule. Taking time to smell the freshly cut pine. Present.

Whether your holiday is a grand production or a quiet gathering, merry Christmas, readers. 

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