What Christmas Means to Me
- Strength For Life
- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
Updated: 2 days ago
This December 25 will be a milestone in my life. The year 2025 marks 20 years since I spent Christmas in an Iraqi war zone. For me, and for many others, this time of year is somber and haunting as well as cheerful and celebratory. Maybe we miss our brothers in arms. Maybe we remember things we wish we could forget. Maybe we miss that adrenaline constantly flowing through us.
On December 24, 2005, our platoon geared up to attend the Christmas sermon. The preacher was a chaplain from the 82nd Airborne. He was not the hellfire-and-brimstone type, but he was passionate for God. He read some verses from Luke and then gave some simple application. “If only Christ’s birth, death, burial, and resurrection could touch the people outside the wire,” I remember him saying, “the world would be a different place.” After the sermon, we huddled together—about 300 of us—and sang hymns. As we sang “Silent Night,” there was not a soldier I could see who had dry eyes. The realization that we were not home with our families hit hard that night.
After the singing, the platoon made its way back to our beds. We took our Kevlars off, dropped our flak vests, and cleared our weapons. Even though the service was over, Christmas was all many of us could talk about. My bunkmate, Spc. Robinson, and I shared some of our favorite memories of Christmas growing up. We must have swapped stories for three hours. My battle buddy, Sgt. Short, did not say much—his memories of the Christmas season were not as pleasant as ours. Still, the three of us laughed and joked like brothers for a long time about many things. In a way, we were all processing the pain of being separated from our families, the reality of being assigned to the God-forsaken desert, and the anxiety of being plagued with “what’s next.”
Suddenly, in the early hours, the front gate was attacked. As the QRF (Quick Reaction Force), we were to be the gate guard’s backup. We had five minutes to get there, and we never missed the mark. In fact, we had such a reputation that the base commander made us the QRF for eight months in a row. I still remember racing to that front gate at 0030 (12:30 a.m.) on Christmas morning. I remember my thoughts as I sat in that gun turret. “Some Christmas present,” I said to myself. Then it was time to act. We surged to the gate, engaged the enemy, and neutralized the threat. The only casualty of the night happened before we arrived.
So what about that day? What do I do with this memory—this somber night forever etched in the minds of the men who were there in the desert that Christmas Day?
Jesus was not born in December. I know that. I know His death, burial, and resurrection are far more directly important to our redemption than His birth. Yet I have walked in the land where Abraham was born. I have seen what tradition tells us is his house. I now understand a little better the expectation the people had for their Messiah. When I think about the hope that even back then people held for the Savior—the Redeemer of the world—coming to this place, I cannot help but feel their anticipation at this time of year.
Genesis 3:15 was the first promise of a Savior: “And I will put enmity between thy seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his heel.” Later, God promised Abraham that “in thee shall all families of the earth be blessed” (Genesis 12:3). Specifically, “in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed” (Genesis 22:17). From the very beginning of this world, from the very inception of Israel as a nation, mankind waited for the birth of the Savior.
So this Christmas, I will sing “O Holy Night”—“a thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.” I will enthusiastically and joyfully sing at the top of my lungs, “Go tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is born!” I will sing “all is calm, all is bright,” with a tear in my eye and with solemn memory as I fight back emotions I have gotten so good at suppressing for 20 years. I will hold my wife—my emotional support, the one whom my soul loves (Song of Sol. 3:4)—and sing “In the Bleak Midwinter.” Lastly, I will shed tears as I hold my kids and sing, “Bless all the dear children in your tender care, and take us to heaven to live with you there.”
I will get emotional. I will be full of joy. I will think of the pain and suffering Jesus endured to be the substitutionary death for us. I will fall on my knees and thank God for sending the Savior, my precious Redeemer, to shed His blood on the Cross, that I might live. And as I suppress emotions and memories flood my mind, as I weep for my Lord and Savior, “thine ears shall hear a word behind thee,” which will be Jesus saying, “This is the way, walk ye in it” (Isaiah 30:21).
The above article was written by Jonathan Thornton. He is a military veteran and member of NorthStone Baptist Church in Pensacola, FL. To offer him your feedback, comment below or email us at strengthforlife461@gmail.com.
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