If you’re anything like me, the word "unfaithful" probably makes you both flinch and hang your head with acknowledged resonation.

It feels heavy. Accusing. Like another label, you don’t need especially during Christmas, when everything already feels louder and more exposed. But also - it feels accurately defining.

So when I first heard the lyrics to “O Come All Ye Unfaithful,” I expected to pull away. But instead, something in me began to lean in. 

“O come, all ye unfaithful.
Come, weak and unstable…”

It didn’t feel like a call-out.
It felt like someone was noticing and that maybe they, too, felt the same way.

And honestly? That mattered.

Christmas has a way of magnifying everything, especially if you’re in eating disorder recovery. The lights are brighter. The tables are larger. The pressure to feel joyful, peaceful, and grateful can feel overwhelming.

You might want to enjoy the season… but feel tired instead.
You might love Jesus… but feel far from Him right now.
You might be doing all the “right” recovery things… and still be struggling significantly.

If that’s you, I want to encourage you to close your eyes and listen to this song. 

Not with expectations.
Not with corrections.
Just as a simple invitation: come.

Recovery is exhausting in quiet, unseen ways. You’re showing up to meals you don’t want. You’re choosing obedience before peace. You’re doing the work... again and again... even when the fear doesn’t seem to leave. 

And still, many days you feel weak.

Days your thoughts are loud.

Days you feel like you are just faking it. 

Days you wonder why this hasn’t gotten easier yet.

So when the song says come, not fix yourself or have more faith, it feels different. It feels like permission to stop pretending.

Christmas was never about being put together. We often think Christmas is for the faithful, the joyful, the spiritually strong. But the first Christmas tells a different story.

Jesus wasn’t born into comfort or certainty. He came into darkness. Into fear. Into waiting. Into misunderstanding. Into judgement. Into a world that was messy and unsure.

So if your Christmas feels complicated, just maybe you’re standing right in the middle of the meaning of the season.

The line “O come, barren and waiting ones," gets me every time. Because recovery often feels like waiting.

Waiting for food to feel less scary.
Waiting for your thoughts to quiet.
Waiting to feel at home in your body again.
Waiting for peace to come.

This song doesn’t rush the waiting. It holds it.

And Christmas reminds us that waiting isn’t wasted time. God meets us there, not once everything is resolved, but right in the middle of the longing.

Here’s the part I hope you really hear this Christmas:

You don’t have to be strong to be invited. The invitation doesn’t depend on how faithful you’ve been.
It doesn’t wait for you to be fully recovered or even for recovery to feel easier.
It doesn’t require you to feel brave or joyful.

“Christ is born… for you.”

For you when meals feel overwhelming.
For you when your faith feels barely there.
For you when you’re just trying to get through the day or the moment.

Right here.
Right now.
As you are.

So if you’re reading this today, and

It feels overwhelming…
Your body feels unfamiliar…
If trusting God feels harder than it “should”…
If Christmas feels more tender than magical…

You are not alone.
You are not failing.
You are not disqualified.

You are invited.

So come.
Weak. Unsure. Tired. Trying.

This song wasn’t written for people who have it all together.

It was written for you. And for me.

And this, this gentle, honest coming... is exactly what Christmas is for.

Merry Christmas my friends! Let’s keep going. There is so much joy ahead!