Every year, Christmas turns into a competition. Bigger gifts. Higher prices. More stress. More debt. We convince ourselves that value can be measured in dollars, boxes, and receipts, and somehow we forget something painfully obvious: Most people don’t need more things. They need to know they matter.
I know what it feels like to believe you’re insignificant. To feel replaceable. To feel like the world would keep spinning exactly the same if you quietly disappeared. That feeling doesn’t come from a lack of possessions. It comes from a lack of presence.
People get lost in this world because they are unseen, not because they are poor, unworthy, or unlovable. And we live in a culture that is loud, distracted, transactional, and self-focused. We scroll past pain. We “like” instead of engage. We confuse acknowledgment with care.
And then we wonder why loneliness is everywhere. Christmas was never meant to be about excess. It was meant to be about incarnation, showing up, entering someone else’s world, and saying “You are worth my time.”
The most meaningful gifts are often the smallest:
- A handwritten note that tells someone exactly why they matter
- A moment of undivided attention
- Remembering something important about a person when no one else does
- Showing up when it’s inconvenient, not when it’s easy
Those gifts don’t come with price tags, but they cost something far more valuable: intentionality.
Giving someone a sense of importance is not charity. It’s recognition. And recognition has power.
When someone feels seen, they stand a little taller. When someone feels valued, they stop shrinking. When someone feels remembered, they stop feeling disposable. That’s why Christmas gifts should never be about impressing someone. They should be about anchoring someone.
We live in a selfish and fractured world, one that teaches people to take before they give and consume before they care. Choosing to give value instead of spectacle is an act of quiet rebellion.
So maybe this year, the question isn’t: “What should I buy?”
Maybe it’s: “Who needs to know they are priceless?”
Because the greatest gift you can give another human being isn’t something they can return, upgrade, or forget.
It’s the assurance that their life has weight. That their presence matters. That they are not invisible. And that gift, given sincerely, will outlast the season.
Troy P Zehnder 