View From a Pew: December Blessings

From where I sit, December is a complicated season. The lights are bright, the music is familiar, the calendars are full—but for many hearts, the days feel a little heavier. The nights get longer, the air gets colder, and for some, the joy everyone keeps talking about feels just out of reach.

Yes, they call it the “winter blues.” Low energy. Quiet sadness. Pulling back when the world expects you to show up smiling. Add to that the pressure of the holidays—money stress, family tension, grief for those no longer here—and December can feel like a lot to carry.

But even in that truth, there is another truth that deserves the same volume: this is still a season of blessings.

A holiday blessing isn’t about perfection. It’s not about matching pajamas, crowded parties, or curated joy. A real blessing is a warm wish spoken over a weary soul. It sounds like, “May your home be filled with peace.” It feels like, “May laughter find you again.” It prays, “May love show up right where you are.” Whether rooted in faith or simply in kindness, blessings are about hope—and hope still matters.

December is also a season of gathering. We come together with family and friends, around tables and in living rooms, at church and at celebrations. But from this pew, I want to say this plainly: don’t just gather—check in.

Everybody is going through something.
Everybody.

The smile might be real, but the struggle can be too. The social media posts might look lavish, but appearances are not peace. Filters don’t heal wounds. Likes don’t replace love. And just because someone looks like they’re winning doesn’t mean they aren’t hurting.

Please—check on each other.
Check on your family.
Check on your friends.
And especially, check on your children.

Social media is taking a toll—on our young people and on our elders too. Comparison is stealing joy. Silence is masking pain. And too many are suffering quietly because we assume they’re “fine.”

This season, let your gift be presence.
Let your blessing be a phone call.
Let your ministry be listening.
Let your love be loud enough to reach someone who’s retreating inward.

From this pew, my prayer is simple:
May we slow down long enough to see one another.
May we choose compassion over assumptions.
May we remember that joy doesn’t always shout—sometimes it whispers.
And may we be the kind of people who notice when someone is hurting, even when they’re dressed in holiday cheer.

December is here.
So are the blessings—if we’re willing to share them.