Why We Do What We Do at Christmas: Reflections From a Third Culture Mom

Do you ever stop to think about why we do what we do, especially around Christmas? Beyond our personal beliefs or family traditions, we’re all shaped by the wider cultural context we live in. And sometimes, if we’re not paying attention, that culture begins shaping our children more than we do.

Every year I find myself asking:Why is Santa Claus the focus of Christmas? How did Jesus become second place?

Raising third culture kids in America is not a task for the faint of heart. I was born in Canada, grew up in Germany, and now I’m raising two small children in the United States. We hold German and Canadian passports between us, yet none of us carry an American one, even though this is the place we currently call home.

Even though I never received a German passport (at the time I would have had to give up my Canadian one, which I wasn’t willing to do because I wanted my kids to have both), Germany is the culture that formed me. When I moved there many years ago, it felt like coming home. Yes, some things seemed strange at first, but deep in my heart there was a recognition, a familiarity. If you’ve ever lived in a different country or even a different state that resonated deeply with your values and way of life, you might understand that feeling.

But there’s another layer to living abroad, one we don’t talk about often. It’s the longing for the things that shaped you: the taste of traditional dishes, the songs you grew up hearing, the crackling of winter air, the clothing that fits the climate you miss, and the holiday traditions that feel like home no matter where you are.

For the past two years, I’ve carried the quiet but important challenge of keeping our German holiday traditions alive for my children. Even though they are likely becoming more American culturally, even without an American passport, I never want them to lose their connection to their roots, to the places where they were born and where their family lives.

So in our home, December looks like this:

• Martinstag on November 11th: lantern walks and songs that light up the dark.

• Nikolaustag on December 6th: leaving boots out for St. Nicholas, the patron saint known for his generosity, his love for children, and his care for those in need, then waking up to simple delights that remind us that giving comes before getting.

• A real Advent calendar: not the cardboard box with chocolates, but a fabric one filled with small activities and slow moments.

• The Adventskranz: four candles marking the weeks leading us gently toward Christmas.

• Plätzchen backen: baking Christmas cookies the way Oma Martina taught us.

• Glühwein simmering on the stove: and memories of Christmas markets that begin in late November.

• Celebrating Christmas on December 24th (Heiligabend) not the 25th: a quiet, reverent evening focused on the birth of Christ and family, long before the rush of December 25th hits the rest of the world.

These practices aren’t just nostalgic. They’re anchors. They remind me (and my children) of a deeper truth: Christmas isn’t about consumption or chaos or centering a man in a red suit.

It’s about Christ.

“For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given…” (Isaiah 9:6) This is the story our traditions point back to the story that shapes our hope.

“Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:21) Our traditions become part of what we treasure, part of what forms our children’s hearts.

So this year, I’m choosing rhythms that draw us closer to Jesus, closer to home, and closer to each other. And maybe that’s the real invitation of Christmas: to pause, remember, and realign with what matters most.