Mission Moments Blog
The Jólabókaflóð Challenge: Year Three and Making It Stick
This will be the third December I've shared the Icelandic tradition of Jólabókaflóð with you (you can find a previous blog on this topic here!), and I have to admit—I'm feeling a bit like a broken record. But here's the thing: repetition is actually the whole point.
You see, traditions don't become traditions after one magical evening. They become traditions when someone says, "Remember when we…?" and someone else says, "Can we do that again this year?" They become traditions through repetition, through showing up year after year, even when it feels a little silly to keep championing the same thing.
So this year, I'm approaching Jólabókaflóð differently. Instead of just inviting you to try it, I'm asking: What would it take to make this stick in your family? To move it from "that thing we tried once" to "what we do every year"?
So this year, I'm approaching Jólabókaflóð differently. Instead of just inviting you to try it, I'm asking: What would it take to make this stick in your family? To move it from "that thing we tried once" to "what we do every year"?
There's something almost magical about the three-year mark. It takes about three repetitions for a new practice to start feeling like "ours." The first year, you're experimenting. The second year, you're remembering. The third year? That's when it starts to feel like family lore.
This matters more than we might think. In our endlessly distracted world—where notifications ping, schedules overflow, and everyone scatters to their own screens—intentional rituals are the anchors that keep us connected. Not elaborate events. Not Pinterest-perfect moments. Just simple, repeated practices that say: This is who we are. This is what matters to us.
If you tried Jólabókaflóð in the past and it didn't quite take root, here's what I've learned about making traditions sticky:
Pick your non-negotiables. For me, the essentials are: books, everyone together, minimal distractions, and something cozy. That's it. Everything else—the date, the food, the exact format—is flexible. In Iceland, people plan it for Christmas Eve, but I always wait until after the chaos subsides. The point is gathering, not the date, and not perfection.
Let it evolve. If your daughter insists on adding a white elephant book exchange to the mix, why not? Or maybe your son wants audiobooks to count. Fine! Traditions that survive are those that adapt with the family as everyone grows and changes.
Name it out loud. There's power in simply saying, "This is our Jólabókaflóð night." It transforms an ordinary evening into something marked, something intentional. Kids especially love it when things have names—it makes the event feel important, more official.
Lower the bar. The enemy of good traditions is the pressure to make them spectacular. So true! A "simple dinner" can be frozen pizza. Why not? The books can be new, old, or come from the library. You may read for an hour, maybe less, maybe more. Just enjoy, and if someone falls asleep, that means they are relaxed and cozy. Well done! It still counts. It still matters.
Here's what I've come to appreciate about Jólabókaflóð: it's not really about the books, though books are wonderful, and I do love them. It's about creating a pocket of time where the only agenda is being together in a peaceful, unhurried way. Where nobody has to perform, produce, or clean up after anything elaborate.
In Iceland, they've been doing this for over 80 years. Not because books are the most important (though they are lovely), but because somewhere along the way, Icelanders decided that Christmas Eve should include the gift of quiet togetherness. What a radical idea in any era, but especially ours.
So Here's My Challenge. If you tried Jólabókaflóð before, do it again. Make this the year it becomes yours.
If you've never tried it—start now. Three years from now, your kids might be the ones reminding you it's time.
And if you're thinking, "My family would never go for this"—I get it. But maybe start smaller. One book? Thirty minutes? Hot chocolate? See what happens.
Because here's what I believe: we're all craving more of this. More stillness. More presence. More reasons to gather that don't involve cooking for a crowd or buying more stuff. Jólabókaflóð is permission to do something countercultural—to slow down, to read, to simply be.
My Christmas Wish for all our Brookfield Academy families…spend more time together. Merry, Merry Christmas!
