Every time I open a Christmas card, I feel a pang of guilt. As this year’s hustle and bustle and ho, ho, ho approached, I decided not to send cards.

This is a big, as in HUGE, break from tradition for me. I am one (of the shrinking few) who loves to sit down with my pen and compose a letter. 

I am one who prefers to address Christmas cards by hand. Writing each name on the envelope makes the snail mail delivery more personal somehow. 

I cannot tell a lie—well, I can, but I won’t—I’d rather address Christmas cards than wrap presents. Oh, I enjoy choosing boxes, paper, and ribbons for the first wave of gifts. But let’s be honest, unwrapping presents is way more exciting. 

I also find joy in opening Christmas cards. So, why didn’t I send them? 

It wasn’t a Grinch decision; I promise. 

OK. Maybe a hint of Grinch was involved. I wanted to boycott the Postal Service for its rate hikes and ongoing poor service.

But 90% of my reasoning had to do with time—finding it, conserving it. 

I surprised myself when I breezed through November without sneaking peeks at possible card options. Nor did I look for pictures I might include or stop to check out this year’s holiday stamps at the post office.

December 5^th, my usual mailing deadline, came and went like any other day. If anything, the hectic pace of November and early December—travel, shopping, catching up with longtime friends, and work deadlines—reinforced my Christmas card sabbatical.

I was pleased with my decision—until I found that first card in my mailbox. I managed to keep the hint of guilt that came with it at bay—until I walked into Hallmark in search of a small gift.

Why I thought I could step into a Hallmark shop and keep my feet from straying to the Christmas card aisle remains a mystery. I don’t remember making a conscious choice to head in that direction. I just found myself standing there.

I look for a Christmas card that conveys warmth and commemorates the birth of Christ, the true reason this annual celebration began years ago.

The Partridge Family’s “My Christmas Card to You” is a musical example of the warmth factor. Go ahead, laugh, but the first lines wrap me in a cozy Christmas cocoon:

To you and all your family, your neighbors, and your friends

May all your days be happy with a joy that never ends

May peace and love surround you

At Christmas time and all the whole year through

Love the song, but it only checks off one of my boxes. 

As I scanned the colorful rows in the Hallmark store, my eyes landed on a card with the perfect mix of warmth and truth.

It was a Peanuts greeting. Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, Sally, Snoopy, Franklin, Schroeder, Pigpen, and the rest of the gang reenacting the Nativity.

I picked up the box of cards, and my resolve weakened. 

I said to myself, “Self, you can carve out the time, but you’re cutting it close for Christmas delivery.” 

I knew I couldn’t leave the store without those cards, but I did. 

There was only one box. Sixteen cards. Not enough. 

I had missed out on giving the perfect card, but then, maybe not. Maybe I can’t mail it, but I can share it. 

Picture the Peanuts gang dressed as shepherds and kings. Charlie Brown’s Joseph and Lucy’s Mary stand in the stable on either side of the manger. Sally is the Angel.

The words in the middle of the whimsical Nativity read:

May there be at least one moment this holiday season

 when you’re reminded what it’s really all about.

Inside, beneath a star: Christmas blessings to you and yours.

Merry CHRISTmas.