Well, hello, my friends, and welcome to the Live Inspired podcast Monday morning moments,

Christmas edition with John O'Leary.

I record these so that you and I can begin our days and our weeks in awe and on fire with a burst of inspiration.

With everything the season's been culminating toward just a single night's sleep away,

what child sleeps well on Christmas Eve?

Growing up, that time of year, that time of school, the Christmas party, the drives to see lights,

the visit to Santa, and the midnight church service peaked with me laying in a bed on Christmas Eve,

staring up at the darkened ceiling, my mind spinning about the following morning. As the first rays of dawn

cut through the curtain, the promise of unimaginable surprises propelled me from the cocoon of

blankets. I'd race around that chilly house, waking up my siblings,

waking up my parents, and driving them all downstairs toward the Christmas celebration.

We'd go down the steps as a family. We'd turn the quarter into our family room, and then we would be in

awe of the transformation. The lights on the tree

would shimmer off the wrapping paper. Stockings hung on the chimney with care would now rest on the

floor. The weight of goodies just simply too great for the overmatch masking tape. The cookies

we laid out for Santa absent. The milk we set

nearby to refresh him. Empty. The carrots we placed on a plate for the reindeer. Gone.

Yes, indeed, it was official. Santa Claus had made it to our house. It was awesome. Before diving into the stockings

and the presents, though, there was one family tradition that needed to take place. Dad would get

out our family Bible and flip until he found Luke and then turn the pages until he got to chapter two.

As he searched for it, and with the glittering presence beckoning me,

I remember asking my dad, why we had to do this?

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