“I have been thinking, then, about the value of optimism while cities burn, while people are fearing for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, while discourse is reduced to laughing through a chorus of anxiety. A woman in a Cape Cod diner the day after Christmas saw me eyeing the news and shaking my head. She told me that ‘things will get better,’ and I wasn’t sure they would, but I nodded and said, ‘They surely can’t get any worse,’ which is the lie that we all tell, the one that we want to believe, even as there are jaws opening before us.” — Hanif Abdurraqib, “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us”

My brother, my cousin, and I awoke on Christmas morning when I was 6 years old and excitedly hurried out from the bedroom to find no tree.

No wreaths or garland hung from our doors. No lights encircled our windows. No blow-molds or inflatables adorned our stoop.

But we knew Santa had come, nonetheless, because we found a blanket draped over a stack of something or somethings on our dining room table.

My mom and my aunt, who lived with us at the time, heard us and groggily woke and walked over to the table. Mom stood on one side and my aunt on the other. They together pulled back the blanket and shouted, “Merry Christmas!” as they revealed a humble stack of unwrapped toys piled on the table.

Were bare-cupboard poor at the time.

Mom and my aunt could afford none of the Christmas trimmings, no wrapping paper, but still they wanted us to have something on Christmas morning and scraped together what they could to buy us a small collection of dollar-store toys.

I don’t remember what we got that year, but I remember that Christmas even decades later as one of my favorites.

The presents didn’t matter — though I appreciate my mother and my aunt getting us what they could — and the lack of trimmings didn’t matter, either.

Rather, the spirit of that Christmas shone.

It was Mom singing us “Silent Night,” telling us the story of Jesus’s birth, and teaching my brother and me to be generous.

It was Christmas movies on TV and Christmas songs on the radio.

It was being with people I loved and whom I knew loved me.

When I think of Christmas, I think of those things. Those are the memories that come back to me, not the presents.

Those things are the spirit of the season for me.

And what a powerful spirit it can be.

No matter the headache or heartache, I have found joy and peace at Christmastime. Long before the presents ever arrive, easy things like writing a Christmas card, listening to a Christmas song, watching a Christmas movie, or even simply drinking my morning coffee from a Christmas mug while looking out at a soft blanket of snow in my back yard all fill me with warmth and calm and make me feel benevolent toward my fellow man.

And, boy, could we use a little of that spirit now.

The past year or two or 12 has been pretty tough on us, my fellow Americans.

We’ve battled hate and vitriol, division and distrust, and pretty much everything else that stands as an antithesis to the spirit of Christmas.

We’ve slandered each other and accused each other and mocked each other.

The nastiness has broken up friendships and family bonds and marriages and neighborly affection.

I don’t know about you, but it’s all got me feeling down and outright depressed, sometimes.

And I don’t expect things to get any easier any time soon.

But right now, and for the next few weeks, we have something bigger than all of that in front of us.

We have the spirit of Christmas, a powerful force for good.

A spirit of peace and generosity, of goodwill and friendship, of love and comfort, of forgiveness and reconciliation.

At this time, none of us are enemies. We all are brothers and sisters.

We have other enemies these days: stress, greed, and anxiety caused by the hunt for worldly possessions and the perfect accouterments to make the Hallmark-perfect holiday.

But if we can put all that aside and focus on the little things that truly breed the spirit, if we can learn to be grateful for some cheap toys under a ratty blanket, we can find comfort and joy, and then we can spread that comfort and joy to those around us.

So, this holiday season, I pray for the spirit of Christmas — the spirit, not the stuff — to carry us through the never-ending election cycles and the ugliness that comes with it. To carry us through the gloating and scoffing and finger-pointing and the attempts to pull us apart. I pray for the spirit of the season to unite us in brotherly bonds, and that those bonds may last beyond Dec. 25, beyond Jan. 1, beyond Jan. 20.

Justin A. Hinkley can be reached at 989-354-3112 or jhinkley@thealpenanews.com. Follow him on X @JustinHinkley.