On our first Christmas as a married couple, I asked Matthew about his favorite Christmas song. Mine has always been The First Noel. To me, it captures the very essence of Christmas—a sacred night when Jesus was born, humbly and quietly. The song gently reminds us that beneath the glitter and grandeur of today’s celebrations lies the heart of it all: the Baby who brought light into the world.
Jesus’ birth is why we have Christmas.
The simplicity and truth of The First Noel always move me, and never fails to bring a lump to my throat, every single time I hear it. And I mean every…single…time.
Matthew’s favorite is The Little Drummer Boy. Over the years, I’ve affectionately referred to it as “his Christmas song.” Whenever it played, I’d glance at him and say, “Welp, there’s your song.”
But everything changed after the birth of our son, Andrew.
Now, when The Little Drummer Boy plays, it’s no longer just a song I associate with Matthew. Emotions surge in a way I never expected—deeper than even my song The First Noel. And yes, I cry every…single…time.
It’s not hormones. I’m past that phase.
It’s Andrew. Our little miracle, and what he reveals to me about faith and love.
Andrew’s tiny fingers, with their surprisingly strong grip, are learning to do so much these days. His motor skills develop with astonishing speed, yet when I hold his hands in mine, I feel their softness and delicateness.
He climbs anywhere with volution, and runs with bold steps, his round cheeks bouncing with his feet. But when he’s winded and obviously needs a nap, he stumbles when he walks.
He’s our little drummer boy—innocent, tender, and pure. He has nothing extravagant to offer, just his plain self.
At first, I thought The Little Drummer Boy moved me because of its message about humility. It reminded me that, stripped of all we think we possess—money, achievements, power, or glory—we’re left with only the simplest gifts. Much like Andrew, who offers nothing more than his innocence, I realized my worth to God isn’t in what I can achieve, but in simply being His. It’s humbling to know that my small, unpolished gestures are enough for the Creator and Sustainer of all life.
But then, there’s the final lines of the song:
“Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum… Me and my drum.”
That’s when it hits me. The song is not about the drum or even the boy’s humility—it’s about His love.
The Little Drummer Boy shows up and asks Mary if he can play his drum, for he has no gifts to bring. And to the infant Jesus, just his presence was enough.
Jesus doesn’t ask for grand gestures. He doesn’t demand perfection. He simply wants us—our hearts, our presence, our vulnerabilities, our drum. And to that, He smiles.
The Little Drummer Boy becomes more than just music. It’s the heart of Christmas: love.
So now, when I hear the song, I think of Andrew and his childlike wonder, but more than that, I think of Jesus and His gentle smile. It’s a reminder that, in the end, all He asks for is me and my drum.
And that’s why I cry every single time.
