Christmas is such a special time of year. But sometimes we may find ourselves feeling pressured into trying to make everything about our holiday celebration perfect, and it can seem as though we have to cram all things beautiful and charitable into a finite space. It's as if we have just once a year to "get it right," and that's that. Then it's over, and we're back to business as usual.

Christian Science has helped me think of Christmas in a much bigger way, as an ongoing eternal event, an experience of grace and truth that takes place in thought as the effect of God's unconditional love for us. It involves the dawning recognition of our spirituality, and the adoption of the Godlike purity of thought and life that characterized the Son of the Virgin-mother.

The light of the Christ breaks the intense mortal dream of separation from God, of sin and condemnation, and opens our eyes to Spirit's glorious ever-presence and to the original innocence of all of us as God's children. We glimpse our forever oneness with God, and our likeness to Him—and we're filled with the joy of Immanuel.

Over the years, my family and I have found that the particular circumstances we may find ourselves in on a given Christmas Day are ultimately irrelevant. What we can always do—and this is what truly matters at the end of the day (any day)—is make a sincere effort to abide in the stillness of a meek, childlike, Christly nature. Meekness is the quiet manger of thought where we can commune with God, companion with His thoughts, and receive His gift of grace.

I recall an occasion when it seemed we were heading for a quiet Christmas at home. I couldn't imagine anything better. No travel. No pressure. After years of happily driving to another state to celebrate with hosts of relatives, I wanted to stay put for a change. I longed to observe the deeper meaning of Christ Jesus' birth in the way Mary Baker Eddy did: "I love to observe Christmas in quietude, humility, benevolence, charity, letting good will towards man, eloquent silence, prayer, and praise express my conception of Truth's appearing" (The First Church of Christ, Scientist, and Miscellany, p. 262).

The "quietude" part was what I had my heart set on. But a simple Christmas at home wasn't to be. The family needed some extra love and support that year. So my husband and I decided to make the trip once again. It was the right thing to do. But I wasn't looking forward to it. In fact, I thought I might be coming down with the flu. In the background was the nagging suggestion, "Christmas will be spoiled."

Then, somewhere in the middle of wrapping presents and baking shortbread, I found that something bright and hopeful took over. A little spark of joy that started to grow and disperse the gathering clouds of disappointment. I knew from experience that this was a sign of the Christ at work; it always lifts and encourages us. It occurred to me, "How strange it is for you to believe that God's magnificent gift of the Christ could ever be overshadowed by human circumstances." This wasn't the way I was used to thinking, and it was such a limited view of Christmas.

I remembered something I really knew deep down but had lost sight of when my personal plan for the "ideal" holiday fell through. It was this: that the very special feeling of joy, peace, and hope we associate with Christmas Day doesn't depend on time or material circumstances. We don't have to be in a certain place on a certain date in order to experience the joy of Christ's appearing, Truth's appearing. The Christ is not seasonal. Truth is not seasonal. The gracious, healing influence of Immanuel, "God with us," is a constant.

I reasoned along these lines as I continued to bake, wrap, and pack, and suddenly I realized I could have my quiet place at Christmas after all. I could have it because it was a place in divine Mind, in God, not a spot on the map. A place where the noise of self-interest, worry, pride, and push is silenced, and God's presence felt. It was a place of healing and love that embraced everyone. "Ideal" human conditions couldn't give me this place of spiritual peace, and less-than-ideal conditions couldn't take it away. My outlook changed. I was filled with fresh expectation of good for the trip ahead.

When we arrived at my sister's home a few days later, we plunged right into the normal, lively activity of an extended household with four small children preparing for Christmas. But I resolved to let each moment belong to the Christ's "Peace, be still" (Mark 4:39). I prayed that my thought and actions might remain God-centered and thus contribute to an atmosphere of harmony and healing for all.

A couple of times I felt on the verge of becoming ill, yet I no longer feared that Christmas could be spoiled by anything—or, that I could spoil it for others by getting sick. Christmas will happen, I would remind myself. Nothing can stop it. The light of Truth and Love will touch the heart of everyone here in a meaningful way. There will be blessings all around. Each time as I prayed to remain calmly aware of God's loving presence as the only presence, the symptoms backed off, and the flu, or whatever it was, never developed.

That year, the divine influence was apparent in so many ways. The children were delightful, affectionate, appreciative. A relative who was tempted to feel irrelevant after the passing of her husband felt fully included and valued. Another family member who'd always grumbled, "I hate Christmas," participated more than in the past and was a lot of fun to be with. My sister, always the generous hostess, was feeling extremely pressured about all the things she had to do, when suddenly, while standing at the kitchen sink, she felt God's presence. Peace replaced pressure, just like that. She hadn't even been praying at that point. The change just came. That's the way it is with the Christ. It comes to the rescue when we need it most, and simply because God loves each one of us so much.

That Christmas taught me many things, above all that "the Christ is not subject to material conditions" (Mary Baker Eddy, Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures, p. 49)—of either time or space. The quiet setting I'd longed for and feared I'd miss out on was found in the simplicity of Christly meekness, and I didn't have to look further than within my own heart.

I soon discovered that this quiet place in thought was also a place of activity, the activity of selfless prayer for and caring interest in others. It's a place where we see the grace of God pouring out impartially on everyone, everywhere—on soldiers and refugees, orphans and prisoners, the homeless and the heartbroken. No one is left out. It's definitely desirable to observe Christmas "in quietude," as Mrs. Eddy loved to do. But we don't want to forget that Christmas goes along with all those other peace-giving, neighbor-blessing Christian qualities Mrs. Eddy valued equally, and practiced in her observance of Christmas.

December 25 will come and go through the years. Celebrations will come and go, some more meaningful than others. But the Christ, that steady shining influence of spirituality, includes no let-down after the presents are opened and the festivities are over. Its bright promise is real, undeterred by the specter of past mistakes, unresolved problems, or the threat of future uncertainties.

Nothing can cloud the Bethlehem star of the Christ dawning in our hearts. There is only the radiant presence of Spirit's eternal now, and the certainty of healing and salvation for everyone. All the promises represented long ago by the arrival of that innocent babe in a manger will surely and progressively be fulfilled in our individual lives, and in the world. This is our Father's great gift to all His children.