Extravagant Love

There’s something deliciously unreasonable about Christmas.

The season seems to whisper a kind of permission slip into our pockets: Go on. Love big. Love boldly. Love beyond what makes sense.

For most of the year, extravagant gestures are questioned. If you give too much, someone wonders what you want in return. If you’re too kind, too generous, too attentive, the world squints as if trying to spot the catch.

But December changes the air. The edges soften. A wide-hearted gift, a surprising kindness, a little extra glow around our words — these things suddenly make sense. And if anyone tilts their head in confusion, we have a ready explanation that needs no further defence: It’s Christmas.

And somehow, that is enough.

Perhaps it’s because Christmas carries the memory of the most extravagant love the world has ever known. God didn’t send a philosophy or an ideal. He wrapped His vast heart into the tiny weight of a newborn and placed Him into human arms. Nothing about that moment was sensible. It was generous to the point of audacity.

And deep down, I think people resonate with that truth. That this season hums with something larger, kinder, wilder than our usual calculations. We receive differently. Hearts unclench just a little. Grace gets through the door.

So when I let myself love extravagantly — when I give beyond what’s expected, listen longer than required, or wrap someone in kindness without keeping score — I feel the echo of the manger. I feel the shape of God’s heart colouring my own.

Maybe that’s the beauty of this season.

It reminds us that extravagant love isn’t a seasonal accessory. It’s our birthright. Our calling. Our everyday invitation.

Christmas simply helps us remember.