Veritable with Emma

As we walked into the school this morning, we were greeted by a delightful sight: a veritable gallery of the children’s creativity. They call them surprises (sor-preesas)—carefully crafted packages prepared by students eight and older for their classmates, all in the name of the Pieten and the good Saint himself. (Just don’t mention that part to the younger ones, it’s a secret!)

There was a great paper-mâché bear standing guard over a gift, a multilevel Mario World worthy of Nintendo itself, a piano fashioned from clothespins as makeshift keys—so many whimsical, joy-filled creations. It was impossible not to smile.

What never ceases to astonish me is the sheer effort and love these children pour into their work—even for classmates who, if we are honest, might not be their favorites. Yet on this day, in celebration of Sinterklaas, they give freely of their time and imagination for the delight of another.

What is it about this season that loosens our hearts and opens them to generosity?

To answer that, we might look to Saint Nicholas himself. Emerging from the mists of the late third and early fourth century, the bishop of Myra came from a wealthy family and inherited much after his parents’ deaths. Known for his deep piety and for the quiet, often secret ways he offered gifts to those in need, he became a kind of icon of Christian charity. Many tales are told of him—providing dowries through a chimney for three young women, sparing innocent soldiers from execution, offering special care to children.

His life embodied what Christians have long called love.

But love is a word that can feel slippery today. I love tacos, and I love my husband—yet clearly in different ways. Is love romantic? Affectionate? Friendly? Or something else?

The early Christians often turned to the Greek word agape—a self-giving, serving love—to name the kind of love God calls us to. It is the love that “wills the good of the other,” seeking not merely personal preference but the flourishing of the other: in relationships, in health, in peace of soul, and ultimately in the alignment of one’s desires with God’s good and loving will.

Think of a beautifully knit sweater: strands woven together, unique yet harmonious, forming one lovely whole. That is a small image of the deep peace and ordered love God desires for every human person. Sin, then, is like a thread pulled out of alignment—distorting the pattern, disrupting the beauty. Creativity has its place in the design, of course, but brokenness is never the artist’s intention.

And perhaps this is why Christmas draws our hearts toward generosity. Something about this season gently invites us to re-knit the loose threads—to rediscover agape, to see others with fresh compassion, to offer our time, resources, and patience for the joy of another. In its quiet way, Advent helps reorder the heart.

So today I pray that your heart may widen in love—real love, the kind that wills the good of the other in the deepest sense. Maybe that looks like gentleness in the long line at the store, or an extra measure of grace for someone overwhelmed and irritable, or a visit to a lonely neighbor or relative. Maybe it is simply allowing the stillness of Advent to make space for God’s voice again.

May this season bless you with its true gifts—peace, generosity, and a heart softened to love.