🌌 Seeking for Honest Giving with Courage and Purpose 🌌
A Season of Celebration - Neurowildnerness adaptations
The biggest takeaway for us is how much this approach stripped away the heavy expectations, the consumerism, and the pressure to “do Christmas right.” For our two PDA‑ers (20 and 8), having many small, optional touchpoints instead of one overwhelming event has been a game‑changer. No Elf‑on‑the‑Shelf chaos, no forced traditions—just an unschooling‑style exploration of old‑world practices.
A few years ago we shifted to doing micro‑celebrations from Samhain all the way through the Lunar New Year. Instead of one huge, high‑pressure holiday, we explore and learn and try to understand lots of smaller traditions during this time period: Samhain, Halloween, Toussaint, Calan Gaeaf/All Saints, Krampusnacht, St. Nicholas, Solstice, the 12 Nights of Yule (veil thinning, offerings, ancestor pours), Dziady with a bit of Baba Yaga flavor, Martinmas as a final harvest feast, Álfablót (our private family ancestor/elf honoring – the Elven sacrifice), Lussinatta, Hanukkah, Frau Holle and spinning customs, Hogmanay, and New Year’s Eve.
It’s given them space to choose what resonates, skip what doesn’t, and notice how older traditions echo through modern ones. And for us, it’s turned the whole season into something gentler, more flexible, and far more regulated for everyone.
Now that we’ve built a little library of winter traditions, our four neurodivergent kiddos each get to choose what they want to take part in. It might be pouring mead or lemon‑honey tea water for Odin and his ravens, putting shoes out for St. Nicholas, or laughing while Dad gets “disciplined” by Krampusnacht for not pulling his weight. (We only recently learned that Krampus originally had a more feminine, protective role—less about scaring kids into compliance and more about holding fathers accountable to their families.)
Letting the kids pick their own level of engagement has taken so much pressure off the whole season. It’s helped us reset expectations, lower anxiety, and avoid a lot of the Christmas‑related overwhelm that used to hit hard.
And when extended family starts slipping into authoritative or “should”‑based commentary, we just step away before anyone spirals into dysregulation. We’re not perfect at it, but it’s been a huge shift toward meeting our PDA‑ers where they are instead of trying to force a compliance model that never worked for them—or us.
Maybe some helpful notes in here. This year has been more heavy than ever before, so leading in and with empathy, intention and shifting/adapting with the plot twists and autonomies in our family of 6 is always a chaotic roller coaster-like adventure – but it’s ours and we navigate it the best we can!
A Stoic Meditation - Compass to Navigate the Season
There are moments when concern outweighs desire, when uncertainty presses down with a weight greater than clarity. I find myself returning to this familiar threshold, I am not afraid, but awake, sometimes too awake, hyper‑aware! I don’t often know what to do beyond the next right thing. I perceive, feel, or see. And yet, leaning into the oft unanticipated unknown, I sense growth unfolding. A couple of stories perhaps to illustrate the deep conundrums I face, internally as I journey this thing called life – especially during the seasons from samhain thinning veil and Halloween’s shadows through the Solstice’s long night, into the turning of the year and beyond.
🌾 The Widow’s Mite 🌾
A well‑known parable Jesus shared in ancient Jerusalem—recorded in Mark 12:41–44 and Luke 21:1–4—unfolds in the Temple treasury. As Jesus watches, wealthy individuals contribute large sums to the offering chests. Then a poor widow approaches and places in two tiny coins—mites, the smallest currency of the time. Though her gift was materially insignificant, it represented “all she had to live on.” Jesus declared her offering greater than all the others, not because of its size, but because she gave from her very livelihood. Her act was not about wealth, display, or excess; it was an expression of trust, sacrifice, and wholehearted faith.
In Eastern Christianity practice and interpretation, the widow’s mite is often interpreted as a lesson in humility, sacrificial love, and the spiritual value of giving from the heart rather than from abundance. In nuanced contrast, Western Christianity, interprets the scene as a call to sacrificial generosity, stewardship, and sometimes even a critique of social injustice when the poor are compelled to give beyond their means.
The lesson is timeless: the smallest offering, given sincerely, carries immense meaning. This story reminds me that true abundance emerges not from excess nor opulence, but from giving when it costs us something – the measure of sacrifice is relative to the person impacted by the experience – it is often immeasurable to anyone observing. It is the heart, not the amount, that deity and quite often the recipient values.
❄️ Yule and Old Ways Echoes ❄️
🔥 Sacrifice in Scarcity
Yule (jól) was the great midwinter festival of the Norse world, celebrated at the solstice when the nights were longest and the sun seemed to falter. It was a season of both hardship and hope: food stores ran thin, the cold pressed in, and yet families gathered to feast, to honor deities and daemons, and to trust that light would return.
Offerings were and now are made — mead poured out, livestock given, food shared with ancestors, spirits, daemons and yes – deities, too. These were not gifts from surplus, but from necessity. To give in midwinter was to risk, to trust, to lean into the unknown. Just as the widow’s mite was a gift of livelihood, Yule sacrifices carried weight because they cost something real.
🌌 Faith in Renewal
The Norse believed that through these offerings, they participated in the cosmic cycle: death and rebirth, darkness and light. Odin, honored as Jólnir (“Yule figure”), presided over the season, while the Wild Hunt swept across the skies. To give during Yule was to align oneself with renewal, to declare faith that the sun would rise again.
The lessons are diverse and timeless: the smallest offering, given sincerely, carries immense meaning. A portion of bread left for ancestors, a cup of ale poured into the earth, a candle lit against the dark—these acts echo the widow’s mite. Both traditions remind us that abundance is not measured in plenty, but in courage and intention and purpose.
These traditions teach us that meaningful giving arises during, from and often in the cruelties of scarcity. Giving in scarcity is an act of hope. Whether coins in the Temple or food at Yule, the gift is magnified by the courage it takes to offer it. True abundance is born not of overflow, but of trust—trust in deity, trust in the cycle of renewal, trust in the unseen.
Yule is not just a historical festival. It is a metaphor for the inner winters we all face—the seasons when clarity is dim, when concern outweighs desire, when the next right step is all we can see.
In those moments, Yule whispers:
Give what you can.
Trust what you cannot see.
Light the smallest flame.
It is enough.
Yule teaches us that generosity is not measured in quantity, but in intention. It teaches us that hope is an act, not a feeling. It teaches us that renewal begins in darkness, not in light. And perhaps most importantly, it teaches us that the most meaningful offerings are the ones made when we are unsure, unsteady, and still willing.
📱 The Social Media Illusion 📱
Ryan Holiday observed:
“Almost universally the kind of performance we give on social media platforms is positive. It’s more ‘let me tell you how well things are going. Look how great I am.’ It’s rarely the truth: ‘I’m scared. I’m struggling. I don’t know.’”
I know this well. I once beat my chest in person, online, in truth – everywhere – declaring my triathlete activities to the masses. It was less about connection and more about proving something—parroting my own insecurities. Over time, I’ve matured. Now, I seek to invite authentic connection, not broadcast performance. We live in a culture obsessed with outcomes—metrics, likes, achievements, destinations. Yet as I’ve reflected, “context creates content; it rarely happens the other way.” The journey itself cultivates meaning. Destination blindness corrupts joy, turning life into quid pro quo acts fueled by systems that may not represent me or the collective “us”
🌱 Rooting Down aka Grounding 🌱
As we dig down into our deep groundings — the why’s — may we seek connection and authentic meaning. May we ignore the prompts and curated shares of platforms that reward performance over truth.
Context creates content. The journey itself cultivates meaning. Destination blindness—fixating only on outcomes—steals joy and transforms life into transactional acts. The widow’s mite, the Yule sacrifice, even the rejected gift of food I once offered on Christmas Eve—all remind us that abundance is found in the act, not the applause.
🥖 A Story: Lessons of Integrity 🥖
One Christmas season, I offered food to a young man – who was a bit separated from a group who i perceived was in need. He rejected it— I had a moment to ask him why? I wasn’t understanding why would he and the others easily reject the offerings – his response helped recalibrate my intentions deeply! The rejection was not because of hunger, but because he explained in his own way – his integrity was all he had left. Accepting a gift he hadn’t chosen felt like surrendering the last piece of autonomy he possessed.
And yet, as I departed that now distant scene, he did request the food, and I observed him scarfing down half of a jambon beurre. I was privileged to observe and participate in what unfolded as a transformative moment of disgust transform into joy for him. This has long kindled a glimmer of hope that would grow through the years, for me! That interaction taught me: giving and receiving are layered with dignity, autonomy, and meaning. Sometimes the gift is not the food itself, but the quiet wonder that arises in honoring the receiver’s humanity—respecting their integrity through consent. It is not about my perception or the fulfillment of my own need, but about meeting him where he truly was. Through the years I have shirked my system of operation and offered folks in need at their requests – their wants and needs!
🌍 Drawing Wisdom from Many Traditions 🌍
A personalized quote of mine. goes like this:
Rather than endlessly debating which worldview is superior, consider drawing wisdom from multiple traditions. Use these insights to shape your own philosophy and personal practice—then let your actions show that collaboration and diversity of thought are more powerful than any single perspective.
I have learned through experience and personal discernment that wisdom may be extracted from many traditions (at once – in parallel or even in isolation) — examples include Stoic, Christian, Norse, modern. Each offers insight into sacrifice, faith, authenticity, and integrity. Collaboration and diversity of thought are more powerful than any single perspective.
It is my lived experience and observation that when we draw wisdom from many traditions, patterns emerge: Sacrifice, authenticity, and trust in the unseen show up far more universally than any curated form of authoritarian certainty. The widow’s mite teaches through parable that the smallest offering, given with sincerity, carries more weight than grand gestures born from excess or ego. Yule reminds us that giving in seasons of scarcity is an act of deliberate courage and hope. Stoicism calls us back to objective judgment and unselfish action in the present moment.
Modern voices—Ryan Holiday, David Goggins, Dieter Uchtdorf—urge us to resist the polished illusions of social media and instead embrace the raw truth of struggle, effort, and growth. Brené Brown captures this spirit in a powerful way:
Together, these traditions converge on a single truth: life is not about performance, but about presence. Not about abundance of possessions, but abundance of heart.
✨ Closing Reflection ✨
These stories and journeys all converge on one truth: authenticity matters more than performance, and sacrifice reveals the heart. This is where authenticity becomes the bridge between traditions. The widow’s mite was not performative—it was hidden, quiet, unnoticed except by Christ. Yule offerings were communal but deeply rooted in survival, not spectacle. And Stoicism calls us to unselfish action, not curated performance.
In scarcity, in uncertainty, in the unanticipated unknown, growth happens. And in giving—whether coins, food, or presence—we discover abundance that transcends measure.
In the end, the widow’s mite, Yule practises of sacrifice, Marcus Aurelius’s call to presence, Ryan Holiday’s critique of performance, the story of a young man rejecting a gift of food on Christmas Eve, and one’s own story of virtue seeking all converge on one truth: authenticity, sacrifice, and trust are the roots of meaningful abundance. Further, giving and receiving are layered with dignity, autonomy, and meaning.
We are not called to prove ourselves to the masses, but to live truthfully in the moment, to give courageously, and to honor both the act and the heart behind it.
Growth happens in the unanticipated unknown. Abundance emerges in scarcity. And wisdom is found not in one tradition, but in the tapestry woven from many.
In this way, wisdom from many traditions converges:
So how do we live this integrated wisdom?
From Stoicism: Practice objective judgment, unselfish action, and willing acceptance of what comes.
From Christianity: Give from the heart, even when it costs us something.
From Norse Yule: Trust in renewal, even in the darkest seasons.
From Modern Reflection: Resist performance, embrace authenticity, and invite connection.
So, let’s do better and be better! Let’s live truthfully, give courageously, and honor both the act and the heart behind it.
