The Christmas Broke Chronicles

Christmas is just days away, and here I am again—broke as usual. Funny how life circles back like a well-worn wheel, grinding against the rough edges of unmet expectations. Is this how Joseph felt that first Christmas? Not just a carpenter, but a tekton—a stone cutter, laboring in a land where trees were few and stone was abundant. A man chiseling out a life one hard edge at a time, armed with nothing but his tools and faith.

A guy from Sunrun is supposed to stop by at 8:30. Solar panels and promises of brighter days—sounds poetic, doesn’t it? Yet here I am wondering why I care more about this visit than the ranch owner probably does. But maybe that’s the lesson: caring is the work of a stone cutter—patient, deliberate, shaping something unseen but enduring.

Being broke at Christmas—whether financially, emotionally, or spiritually—puts you in good company. Remember the shepherds? The angels didn’t appear to kings or merchants; they appeared to those watching their flocks by night (Luke 2:8-14). Poor men on the edges of society, smelling of sheep and struggling to make a living. Yet, it was to these “outsiders” that God first announced peace on earth, goodwill to men. Their poverty didn’t disqualify them from joy; it prepared their hearts to receive it.

And Joseph—can you imagine his plight? A stone cutter with a pregnant fiancée, no room at the inn, and nothing to offer but his willingness to obey. He reminds me of the words from Isaiah: “Behold, I lay in Zion a stone for a foundation, a tried stone, a precious cornerstone, a sure foundation” (Isaiah 28:16). Joseph didn’t know it yet, but his little family was laying the cornerstone of a new covenant.

So, I’ll meet the Sunrun guy this morning with a handshake and a prayer, and I’ll face this day like Joseph and those shepherds might have—with humility and hope. Because Christmas isn’t about what we hold in our hands; it’s about what we’re chiseling into our hearts. It’s about trusting that the cornerstone—born in a stable, laid in a manger—holds everything together.

If the shepherds could rejoice in their fields and Joseph could trust his chiseling hands, then maybe I can find peace in this broke season too. Not because of what I lack, but because of who I’m becoming in the waiting.