In recent days, I have attended more than 20 Christmas gatherings: senior citizens’ parties, celebrations for persons with disabilities, office get-togethers, tree-lighting ceremonies, meetings with fellow councilors, and intimate moments with friends and family. Some were simple, others festive, a few hurried, many heartfelt. Yet in every room, whether modest or grand, I felt the same quiet truth lingering in the air: Christmas, to Filipinos, is not merely a party. It is hope, made visible.

We Filipinos love Christmas gatherings not because of the food or the exchange gifts, though these matter, but because Christmas reminds us that joy is still possible. That after a year of struggle, uncertainty, loss and exhaustion, there is a reason to believe that light will come. It is the season that gently whispers: you are not forgotten.

I was reminded of this when I met John, a man living with a disability he sustained in his twenties. John was once a security guard, hardworking and proud, until a road accident after his shift permanently altered the course of his life. He can no longer return to the work he once knew. At a Christmas gathering for persons with disabilities, he told me, with quiet sincerity, that this once-a-year celebration gives him strength to keep going. “Dito po,” he said, “naaalala ko na may nagmamalasakit pa.” Here, he remembers that someone still cares.

John’s story stayed with me because generosity does not always arrive in grand gestures. Sometimes it comes in the form of a warm meal, a small gift, a song sung together, or simply being seen.

At a senior citizens’ Christmas party, I watched a grandmother clutch a grocery pack as if it were a treasure. She told me she would stretch its contents for days, maybe even share some with a neighbor who could not attend. 

In another gathering, a young volunteer spent the entire afternoon guiding elderly guests to their seats, refilling their water, and listening to stories he had surely heard many times before. No cameras. No applause. Just kindness in motion.

This is the womanly heart of Christmas: nurturing, patient, quietly strong. It is generosity that does not ask to be noticed, only to be felt. It teaches us that giving is not about how much we have, but how willing we are to share.

The Bible reminds us, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned” (Isaiah 9:2). Christmas is that light. It dawns not only in churches or homes, but in community halls, sidewalks and simple gatherings where compassion is practiced.

As the season unfolds, may we remember that Christmas always gives hope, not because life suddenly becomes easy, but because love chooses to show up anyway. And when we give, even in small ways, we become part of that hope.