Rev. Dr. Stephanie Rutt is founding minister of the Tree of Life Interfaith Temple in Amherst. She lives in Nashua.

I used to hate Christmas. Well, not “Christmas” really. Just what it’d all come to mean, especially after the kids were grown, and there was no more special magic building up to Christmas morning.

What seemed left was a non-negotiable requirement to shop, spend, wrap, mail and oh, by the way, do it all in the spirit of joy, peace and love.

“Sure,” I’d think, trying hard to hold off the low simmer of resentment brewing just under the surface.

“Whose idea was this anyway?” I would silently complain feeling quite certain “someone” must be responsible for my checkbook going red, pants bulging from overeating, and stress stealing me away into that just-get-it-done zone.

Certainly, there were moments that seemed to make it all worthwhile. But, still, I would silently celebrate when it had all passed, even as I would try to ignore that ever-so-subtle sense of sadness. This is “not” what Christmas should be about! Something’s off.

It was. And, it was me.

So, my husband and I launched a concerted effort to make Christmas our own again and, with enthusiastic intentions, encouraged our family to join in our revolution to reclaim the mystery or, at least, our sanity. Along the way, we tried different things.

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One year we asked that everyone bring a contribution to our Christmas dinner as an expression of our gift to one another. Worked fine until we discovered that enchiladas didn’t go so well with pumpkin soup. Another year we suggested we all give only handmade presents until we remembered that we were the only ones with flexible time, or perhaps even the inclination, to enthusiastically create such gifts complete with all the joyful trimmings.

Then, one Christmas, unexpectedly, something happened and I found myself totally caught up in that “something.” Maybe it was decorating the tiny jewelry box I was drawn to give my granddaughter miles away with her favorite Bible saying. Yes, quite grandma-looking but what fun I had! Or hunting down the Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer record book for my oldest grandson who has Autism, his favorite Christmas story.

Still even more heartwarming would be watching him on Christmas day listen to the recording over and over again. Or when I found just the right frame for that special picture of my two youngest grandkids walking holding hands down a forest path from our mountain cabin. Mission accomplished! Yes! Amazing!

“How ‘could’ this get any more fun?”

But, still, there was more. Suddenly, I couldn’t pass by a Salvation Army jingle without giving, and was a little surprised by that lump in my throat. A not serious, yet unavoidable, trip to the doctor let me know that the visit was only for me in a minor way. I’d really been sent on a secret Santa mission.

“Oh, my God. Thank you! I accept!”

And then being nudged to give something away from my prayer space I’d long cherished. This one gave me pause. “Really? Are you sure?” And then I could only smile. “Of course, ‘You’ are sure! I’m the only one questioning here! Ok. Done!”

But, perhaps, the most special was finding that last minute gift for my husband, a small wooden cabin incense holder. Oh, I just knew he’d love it. What I didn’t know was that it would instantly bring him back to a sweet memory from his childhood remembering his mom had had one exactly like it. Just the day before, we’d talked of his mom, long passed, over our morning coffee.

“Oh no! Christmas can’t be over! No!” I thought. “There must be a way to make this feeling last all year long. Oh . . . yes, that ‘is’ the point, isn’t it?”

Now, my only concern. “How ‘will’ I deck my hammock with all those boughs of holly?”

But wait! I’m remembering, “All things ‘are’ possible to him who believes.” (Mark 9:23).

Happy Holidays!