“Hope is the stubborn breath we take after disappointment, proof that we are more than what has happened to us.” — Leslie Noble

Christmas is often imagined as a season of joy, light, and togetherness. But when your world has changed—through loss, transition, or disappointment—the holidays can feel heavy. If that’s you, know this: your pain is real, and it deserves to be honored. You don’t have to force celebration. It’s okay if this year looks different—or if you choose not to celebrate at all.

And yet—even in the quiet, even in the ache—hope can still be found. Not in denying the storm, but in discovering light that shines differently than before.

The Manger: Hope in Humble Places

In Christian tradition, hope was born in a manger—a feeding trough for animals—because there was no room in the inn. This detail is not incidental; it’s a reminder that light can emerge from the most overlooked and ordinary places. The shepherds, considered lowly, were the first to hear the angel’s message of joy.

The manger whispers to us: hope can be born in the humblest of circumstances, even when life feels stripped down to its bare essentials.

This truth is not only Christian—it echoes across spiritual traditions.

Hope Across Traditions

Across the world, wisdom traditions remind us that hope is resilient:

• Buddhism: The lotus flower rises from muddy water, showing that suffering itself can be the ground for awakening.

• Hinduism: In the Bhagavad Gita, Krishna teaches that hope is found in living true to one’s values, even when outcomes are uncertain.

• Judaism: The practice of tikkun olam (“repairing the world”) embodies hope as action—faith that brokenness can be mended.

• Islam: The Prophet Muhammad taught: “If you are planting a fruit tree and it turns out to be judgment day, continue planting.” Hope is trust in continuity and the value of even the smallest act.

• Indigenous Traditions: Many Native stories emphasize cycles of renewal—earth regenerating after hardship—reminding us that hope is communal and tied to nature’s rhythms.

Together, these traditions affirm: hope is not naïve optimism—it is resilience, renewal, and trust in something larger than despair.

Psychology of Hope: Viktor Frankl’s Witness

Psychology echoes this spiritual truth. Viktor Frankl (1905–1997), an Austrian psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor, wrote Man’s Search for Meaning after enduring Nazi concentration camps. He lost his parents, brother, and wife, yet he observed that those who survived often did so by clinging to a sense of purpose.

Frankl insisted that even when stripped of everything, one freedom remained: the ability to choose one’s attitude. He imagined lecturing after the war, teaching others what he had learned about resilience. That vision gave him strength. He wrote: “Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms—to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances.”

Frankl’s witness reminds us that hope is not about avoiding pain—it’s about finding meaning within it. Just as the manger shows hope born in humility, Frankl shows hope born in suffering. His psychology affirms that even when the world changes, we can still choose our attitude, nurture purpose, and trust that meaning can carry us through.

My Personal Reflection

Over the years, I’ve sat with many clients who ask me how to get through Christmas when their world has changed. I’ve been there myself. Changes you didn’t ask for are hard. Very hard.

I’ve discovered something about my own relationship with hope: I have a rebellious attitude toward it. Giving up is simply not an option. I’ve found myself stubborn in that way—refusing to let despair have the last word.

For me, hope is the tiny crack in the door we leave open. It’s the refusal to bolt it shut, even when disappointment pounds against it. Because deep down, we know we aren’t defined by what happens to us—we are defined by how we rise again. And to rise again, we need hope.

“Hope is not fragile—it is defiance. It is the quiet strength that insists tomorrow still matters.” 

Gentle Practices (Optional, Not Obligatory)

• Light a candle for what has changed, and another for what endures.

• Write down a blessing or story of someone you miss, and place it under the tree.

• Spend time with one person who feels safe.

• Rest—allow yourself to step back from traditions that feel too heavy.

Reflective Exercise

Sit quietly with a candle or Christmas lights.

• Ask yourself: What has changed in my world? What remains steady?

• Write down one small act of hope you can choose this week—whether reaching out, resting, or creating beauty.

• Let this act be enough. Hope grows in small steps.

Closing

Christmas is not only about what was—it is about what can still be. The manger reminds us that hope can be born in the humblest places. The lotus, the dharma, the call to repair, the act of planting, the cycles of renewal—all echo the same truth: hope is alive, even when the world shifts.

This season, may you honor your pain, trust your resilience, and remember: hope is the stubborn breath after disappointment, the quiet defiance that insists tomorrow still matters.

Wishing you a Merry Christmas season filled with moments of light and renewal. With much love and hugs to the people I have the honor of serving and working with every day—may you never forget that you matter, and that hope is still yours to carry forward.