A “Stuff-filled” Minimalist Christmas

Last week at school pick-up, I had a minimalist Christmas moment that was interpreted as rather Grinch-like.

I was chatting with other moms, when the topic of Christmas gift-related overwhelm emerged. I could relate to their angst because I’d been there (one Christmas, while visiting in-laws in Seattle before living as a minimalist, we had to buy new suitcases, fill them with our new gifts, and then fly home).

The stuff-focused vent session continued. I certainly knew my two cents were unsolicited. 

I felt called to share them anyway.

“We don’t do tons of gifts. I’ve just asked all uncles, aunts and cousins not to buy for us anymore. And we don’t buy for them. It helps keep things simple.”

Silence. I could read their reactions.

Some looked intrigued. Others looked as though I was the Grinch himself. Some nodded in agreement. 

I opened my mouth to justify my minimalist Christmas ways, only to nearly have the wind knocked out of me by my five-year-old daughter’s typical hug-tackle welcome. 

Beaming, she held a glistening, pipe-cleaner candy cane craft up to my face. My eyes locked on hers.

The mom conversation ended emphatically as more kiddos jetted out of classrooms. 

My moment to explain my “minimalist Christmas philosophy” had passed, but if I did, it would have sounded like this:

The truth is, I DO want my minimalist Christmas to be filled to the brim with stuff. 

It’s just that very little of it is tangible.

I want…

… to sit in the light of the Christmas tree and read a book after the kids are in bed. 

… a day completely unplugged.

… to bake. I also want to belt out Christmas carols using wooden-spoon mics with my daughters.

… extra time in prayer and meditation, my favorite hot drink in hand at sunrise.

… Christmas-movie marathons, snuggled next to my kids, big bowls of popcorn in hand.

… snow angels. I want big mugs of hot chocolate, marshmallows overflowing, while thawing my hands back inside.

… to watch candles flicker in a crowded church as we give thanks for the greatest gift of all. 

… long family drives through Christmas light-filled neighborhoods in a car full of laughter at my husband’s jokes.

… meaningful conversations with family I haven’t seen all year. I also want to ask questions about their lives and listen.  

It feels good to have a stuff-filled minimalist Christmas

I’ve started filling this week before Christmas with these intentional “wishes.” Because it feels good to have a Christmas filled with stuff.

What stuff do you want your Christmas to be filled with? Make a list. Visualize it. Then make it happen. Because it’s not too late to craft a more meaningful Christmas.

The Grinch eventually got it right when he said: 

“Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store, maybe Christmas perhaps means a little bit more.”

This weekend, let’s focus less on the stuff that comes from a store and more on the intangible stuff that matters most.

***

Julia Ubbenga is a freelance journalist whose teachings on minimalism, simplicity, and intentional living have reached thousands of people worldwide through her blog. Julia also practices what she preaches in her Kansas City home. She resides with her husband, two extremely lively young daughters, three-year-old son, and baby girl. You can also find her on Instagram.

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