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December 26th has always been my least favorite day of the year. I’ve often referred to it as the death of Christmas.

The reason is simple. The music stops, the lights go out, and the trees come down. The decorations are packed away for another year and seemingly forgotten. It’s a sad day.

Isn’t it funny how we start celebrating the season earlier and earlier each year? The stores stock their shelves with holiday goodies beginning in early October—or sooner. Soon, we begin to see little glimpses of Christmas all around. We watch the movies. Enjoy creating yummy baked goods. And search for the perfect gifts.

It’s a wonderful, magical time filled with peace, joy, and goodwill. Why then are we in such a hurry to close everything down when the 25th comes and goes? It’s anticlimactic.

Let’s look at things from Mary and Joseph’s perspective (Luke 2:11). Their time leading up to Jesus’ birth was anything but festive. They made a long, hard journey only to be told there was no place for them to rest when they got to their destination. Can you imagine how Mary must have felt? Nine months pregnant, hungry, and exhausted from the trip, she must have had a good cry. I know I would have.

But something miraculous happened that night. In the most primitive place imaginable, Mary gave birth to the Savior of the world. The long-awaited Messiah. The Star of Bethlehem shone bright above them and led shepherds to the stable so they could bow down and worship Him. The heavens must have been filled with angelic voices giving praise and honor to the newborn King.

And the next day? I can only imagine the unspeakable joy that filled the hearts of these new parents as they gazed upon the promised Christ-child. How they must have rejoiced as the Son of God lay cradled in their arms. Yes, the anticipation was over, but this was a new day. A day that would lead to hope and salvation for all humanity.

It was only the beginning.