The day after Christmas.

That’s when Letdown slips in.

Usually around 7 a.m.

It slithers under the door wearing grey.

“You dashed expectations for another year,” Letdown whispers in my ear.

I slice through the wrapping paper, limp bows, and empty boxes on the living room floor on my way to the kitchen for coffee.

Come to think of it, gifts and food and twinkling Christmas lights are appealing but there’s no magic in them. 

The magic comes in the shape of people, with one person in particular, and he was poor and marginalized from birth.

“I’m in good company. Jesus dashed all expectations, too,” I tell Letdown.

He has no response and slinks away.