Ah, the magical holiday season. Special times with those we love, fresh-baked goodies, festive decorations, and family traditions old and new. Standing in line at the grocery store I am once again inspired by the beautiful holiday issues of my favorite magazines. Why with just an empty toilet paper holder, a bag of macaroni, and some glitter glue, I can fashion a door wreath Martha Stewart would die for. If I start now, I can grow my own herbs for the luscious homemade stuffing that will cascade perfectly from the gaping cavity of my evenly browned turkey. Best of all, by clipping only 2,000 coupons a week and re-using all paper products, I can save up enough money to surprise the kids with a trip to Hawaii as a post-Christmas treat.

It seems I always enter this time of year with grand illusions of the perfect holiday. And every year, those illusions turn out to be just that.

A few years ago, we started a tradition of delivering homemade sweets to our neighbors the week of Christmas. One year I decided to go all out and make those pretty cookies shaped like trees and angels and stars, and brought to living color with decorative frosting. I don't know what I was thinking.

I put so much work into those cookies that I wasn't about to throw them away. So I simply typed up a nice note to attach to each package. It read, "Sometimes things that look ugly actually taste delicious. This isn't one of those times. It's the thought that counts. Merry Christmas."

One of our other holiday traditions is placing a manger scene in a prominent place in our home. Of course our pretty porcelain set was replaced with a wooden one once the kids came along. One day as I passed the living room, I heard my two youngest boys squabbling.

"Chance," my son Chandler argued, "everybody needs to be in a straight line in front of Baby Jesus." "No, Chandler," Chance retorted, "they need to be in a circle around him." This continued, each child taking his turn rearranging the manger set as he pointedly explained his reasoning. At last in a determined, empathic voice full of conviction came the final word. "Chandler, everyone needs to be in a circle around Baby Jesus so they can all see him. He is the Lord!"

I was taken aback by such a profound proclamation pouring from that little mouth. He got it. Did I?

What was keeping me from having a clear view of Jesus? I hate to admit it, but my focus had been on cookies and candles and wrapping paper, not Christ. All those visions of a picture-perfect holiday season had danced in my head for weeks, leaving Christ in the background. But here was a reminder from my son that everything else is peripheral, while the manger is central.

I think that's part of what Jesus was getting at when he said to his friend, "Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed." Then speaking of Mary who was simply sitting at Christ's feet enjoying his company he continued, "Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:41–42).

This holiday season, I'm committed to choosing the "good part." Because the only holiday plans that really matter are those that involve me and the people I love most standing in a circle around Baby Jesus, so we can all see him.

From Elisa: Dear Mom, in order to turn our focus toward the manger and Jesus, we might have to turn away from other things. In this busy season of celebration, turning in any direction requires intentionality. On what activities, thoughts, concerns, conflicts, are your eyes focused? Will these issues matter in five years? In ten?

Turning toward the manger doesn't mean we have to drop all our other concerns. Rather, it's a posture, a position, a purpose that orients our gaze and therefore our choices. Take a knee. Soften your heart. Turn your eyes toward the manger and watch the world come into focus around Jesus.