Every year, I like to partake in what I call after-Christmas-shopping-therapy. Growing up, this was a tradition for me and my mom. Later, it became a tradition for me and my daughter. Three days after Christmas, we girls put on our hiking boots and set out for the mall, for our biggest bargain-hunting day of the year.

Best. Shopping. Ever.

Jeans. Blouses. Jewelry. Smell-goods. And because it’s after Christmas, it’s all 60-75% off. I don’t know why we don’t all do like the Amish. They have first Christmas, when they celebrate the birth of Christ. Then they have second Christmas, when they exchange gifts. If we’d wait until New Year’s to have second Christmas, we’d save a ton of cash. Or get a whole lot more stuff.

This year, I only had one thing on my after-Christmas list: Pajamas.

Every year I like to buy comfy, cutesy, cozy pajamas I can curl up in, in front of the fire, with a cup of cocoa and a good book. I like the kind of pajamas that cover more than a nun’s habit, that keep you warm even when you accidentally kick the covers off in the middle of the night. I like to buy those at the after-Christmas sales, for next-to-nothing.

See, I don’t sleep well. When my body gets still, my brain goes into Zumba mode. But there’s something peaceful about new, soft jammies. For some reason, when I’m wearing brand-new PJ’s, I sleep a little better.

Every year, I like to see what kinds of high-fallutin’ brand name pajamas I can get at rock-bottom prices. This year, I got two sets – one flannel, one cotton, from Macy’s. Seventy-five percent off, baby. Every night since then, I’ve slept like a baby. Especially when you consider babies don’t sleep that well.

But even if I hadn’t found my bargain jammies this year, I’d be okay. Even in faded, dryer-worn pajamas, I can feel wrapped in love. After all, the true source of peace isn’t found in fabric content. It’s found in the One who created me, who loves me more than anything. When I can’t sleep, He wraps His arms around me and rocks my soul. He sings lullabies into my spirit, and whispers that all is well. I don’t even have to wait for the after-Christmas sales; His mercies are new every day. All I have to do is be still and know that He’s there, and He promised never to leave me. And that, my friends, makes for much better rest than a new set of jammies.

Renae Brumbaugh Green is a bestselling author and award-winning humor columnist. She lives in Stephenville with her handsome, country-boy husband, nearly-perfect children, and far too many animals. Connect with Renae at www.RenaeBrumbaugh.com.