🎄 A Christmas Devotional From an Old Drunk

For the ones who never had the Hallmark version

Hey friends, It’s Calvin. This one’s personal. Not polished. Not pretty. Just real. Because Christmas doesn’t always come wrapped in lights and laughter. Sometimes it comes wrapped in survival.

🧦 Shelter Meals and Socks

When you’ve lived most of your life on the street, Christmas means one thing: Get to the shelter early enough to get a hot meal.

That was the big event. That was the celebration. A plate of food I didn’t have to hustle for. Maybe — if the stars lined up — a clean pair of socks.

And let me tell you something: When you peel off the old crusty socks you’ve been wearing for days, and someone hands you a fresh pair… that feels like Christmas morning.

Not the Hollywood version. The real one.

🍻 The Truth About Street Life

Most of those Christmases I barely remember. Too drunk. Too high. Too cold. Too gone.

People think living on the street is some kind of gritty adventure. Nah. It’s crapping your pants because the beer hit wrong. It’s puking on your own shoes and still wearing them because they’re the only pair you’ve got. It’s pretending you don’t care that your family stopped inviting you because you always had an excuse — and the excuse always had a bottle behind it.

My god back then wasn’t Jesus. It was booze. It was pot. It was anything that kept me numb enough to not feel the truth.

So no — Christmas wasn’t lights, eggnog, and presents. It was survival. It was a free meal. It was a place to sit indoors for an hour. It was socks.

🐾 This Year’s Tree

And yet… here I am. Sixty-three years old. Sitting on a cot with two dogs and a stray kitten who wandered into my life like she owned the place. A four-foot Dollar General Christmas tree glowing in the corner with cheap white lights. And I’m looking at it thinking:

“After everything… I made it to another Christmas.”

Not because I deserved it. Not because I earned it. Not because I lived right.

But because grace has a long reach.

💡 The Devotional Turn

People ask me if I’m lonely. I’m not. I’ve been lonely before — the kind of lonely where you’re surrounded by people but dead inside. This isn’t that.

This Christmas, my dinner will be a TV dinner. And I’m fine with that. Because every day I wake up now feels like Christmas to me. A gift I never expected to still be opening.

And if you’re out there reading this — drunk, high, homeless, ashamed, or just tired — I want you to hear something from someone who’s been where you are:

Christmas isn’t about the lights outside you. It’s about the light God keeps trying to spark inside you.

Even if you’re passed out. Even if you’re messed up. Even if you think you’ve wasted your whole life. Even if your brain is the million-dollar one because it’s “never been used.” (Still the best meeting joke I’ve ever heard.)

Grace doesn’t wait for you to get sober. Grace doesn’t wait for you to clean up. Grace doesn’t wait for you to be worthy.

Grace comes to the shelter. Grace comes to the sidewalk. Grace comes to the backyard you passed out in. Grace comes to the man who thought he’d never see 63.

And that — for an old drunk like me — is the real meaning of Christmas.

🙏 Prayer

Lord, Thank You for showing up in the places we hide. Thank You for socks, shelters, and second chances. Thank You for the light You keep sparking inside broken people. Let this Christmas be a reminder: We’re not here because we earned it. We’re here because You’re not done with us yet. Amen.

Merry Christmas, Calvin