The Answer Lies within

 “We make our plans, but the Lord guides our steps." ~ Proverbs 16:9

She was miserable until age 29. One heartbreak after another kept stealing her cheerfulness.

Shari lost her Mom ten years ago to MS. She’d rapidly become a prisoner in her own body relying on a wheelchair and adult diapers. Mercifully, she passed away from a stroke that eliminated her pain and helplessness but left behind a loving husband and two 20-something daughters.

Each confronted their grief differently.

Her 22-year-old sister developed a ‘brief’ drug habit. Shari’s Dad found her unresponsive atop her childhood bed surrounded by stuffed animals and adolescent memories. She passed away in her sleep from a fentanyl overdose seven months after losing her mother.

Dad never recovered. Shari cared for him while he battled depression, loneliness, and guilt. She watched a man who’d provided an idyllic childhood for them, complete with campouts and road trips, collapse into someone who could no longer drive. Four years of heavy drinking following the loss of his soulmate and daughter ended in a horrific car accident that took away his pain forever.

Now in her doctor’s uninspired exam room, Shari waited anxiously for the test results. She heard lump… malignant… oncologist… breast surgery, followed by an expression of empathy and “I’m so sorry.” She must have blocked out the ‘C’ word.

“This CAN'T be happening,” she sobbed in the vacant room. After a year of negative pregnancy tests, she and her husband were in the throes of fertility treatments. They were on a path to finally having a family. The grief was supposed to be behind her. She was chasing what others achieved so easily: happiness.

Happiness seemed like a mirage in the desert.

Despite the pain and expense, she didn’t want to board the journey with bald women with no eyebrows, where friends do fundraising walks and take turns driving her for treatments.

Eventually, she surrendered in exchange for survival. She underwent breast surgery, five months of chemo, and metallic tastes. She completed eight weeks of skin-burning radiation and takes daily estrogen-blocking hormones. 

Pregnancy will have to wait for 5 to 10 years.

Shari is no longer convinced that she needs more than she already has to find happiness. She learned to be grateful and find joy every day. It’s not something given or earned; the answer lies within.

During times of grief, sadness, or pain, her thoughts are hers to choreograph - true joy exists regardless. It’s not transient; you don’t have to catch or chase it, nor does it depend on your moods. Happiness is always available… with a little practice.

Life can be difficult, but happiness can coexist, even in dark times of grief or sorrow. Laughter can share space with pain. Joy can be found every day and everywhere.

Heavenly Father, thank you for our free will. Because You are guiding the path ahead of me, I have nothing to fear. I enjoy setting goals and having dreams for the future, but I trust Your plan for what’s best for me. Amen

Table Talk

“Let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think and act." ~ Romans 12:2

At 37 years old, Sophia was still “daddy’s little girl”, even though she’d lost him to a massive heart attack months before. She hadn’t entered the world through his body, but the mother of three had arrived through his heart. The bond they shared was unlike any other.

Her Dad, Hernando was a happy, kind man. At dinnertime, their family would gather around the battered kitchen table each evening, no exceptions! Before grace, Dad would look at each sibling and ask: “I wonder what the poor people are doing.” Despite their abject poverty, he wanted them to know that they were rich because they had each other (and another wonderful meal).

As Sophia carefully arranged each place setting, she paused for a second and felt the smoothness of the antique wood. A faint smile crept across her face as she remembered the table’s history.

If it could talk, it would speak of their everyday lives, celebrations, and conversations. Around this table, family members had experienced joy and heartache, love and tears, victories and defeats.

For Hernando, it had been a kind of a workbench. He’d studied the bible on its surface and fixed various household items there. Dad sat at the table for hours worrying about which bills to pay first. It’s where decisions were made, and punishments metered out.

For the kids, it’d always been a reliable place to do homework or work their childhood magic in a coloring book. They played countless hands of Rummy and epic games of Monopoly on it.

Sadly, the kitchen table had aged with them, becoming more of a pointless souvenir with age. After Dad had passed on, the table made from barn wood, complete with nail holes and splinters, was now unsuitable for family gatherings.

Until Sophia’s husband, Miguel, rescued it from the junk pile, hauled it into the garage, and started sanding it.

Their youngest daughter, Isabella watched intently as he abrasively rubbed course paper against the wood’s grains. “You’re hurting the table!” she protested, but Miguel just smiled. He knew what she didn’t – that the sandpaper was exactly what that table needed.

He’d been wise and thoughtful.

After meticulous sanding and finishing, it was lovingly placed in their kitchen. Tonight, Sophia placed a “Thank You” note on Miguel’s plate. The table would serve as a steady companion to the aroma of freshly baked bread and the happiness of family ties.

Sophia snapped back to the present, thinking about the things in her life that felt uncomfortable, like sandpaper. Maybe she should really be thankful for the situations and people that rubbed her wrong. Were they meant to somehow transform her like the sandpaper had this table?

Jesus, if only we could be like You and show our “sandpaper” kindness and love. Smooth those edges that make us bitter, impatient, and unkind. They reveal the refinements that we may need to work on, to soften us, mold us, and change us. Amen

Shoeless in Seattle

 “Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers." ~ Hebrews 13:2

The bus rattled down familiar urban streets affording riders a sort of distant intimacy. Some gaze aimlessly out the window while others absorb themselves in music. Most drift into worries that’ll scatter upon arrival. All together yet separate, feeling identical bumps and curves.

The morning bus ride afforded Nathan time for silent prayer. “Lord,” he pled daily, “cross my path today with someone who needs me.”

As the bus approached the 25^th intersection of Nathan’s commute, he saw a woman standing at a bus stop who appeared to be homeless. She entered the bus wearing several layers of clothing, a winter hat… and no shoes.

No one seemed to notice.

After a brief exchange, the bus driver quietly removed her UGGs and gave them to the random lady. She stared at them curiously. They belonged to someone of means, not the harsh world of alleys and park benches.

But she took them, they were hers now. She slipped into them carefully. They were almost new, with no wear on the soles and heels. Her smile broadened with pride; tears flowed easily.

Then Nathan noticed something that would remain with him for the rest of his life. The woman’s walk toward the back of the bus was commanding and authoritative – an energized, steady, and confident stride. People noticed. She now owned boots that would provide winter protection.

UGGs, lined with sheepskin, are designed to be worn without socks. The bus driver who’d surrendered ownership to the vagrant woman, now sat shoeless - exposed and vulnerable.

Nathan reached up under the cuffs of his trousers, pulled down his freshly washed black socks one at a time, and walked them to the front of the bus. "Take these please,” he offered. “They're not very warm. But you can’t drive a bus without them."

After seeing what Nathan did, another passenger gave the driver an extra pair of socks to put on over Nathan’s. Soon others were stripping off their socks in a wild frenzy to increase padding for the rest of her shift.

Shoeless passengers seemed transformed by their own kindness - less aloof, perhaps humbler, and more accessible. No one was more touched by it than Sarah, who was still homeless but realized the power of simple kindness.

Imagine your home has been taken away. Clothes and belongings you can no longer carry are gone. Imagine having no access to fresh food, sleeping in the cold with no bed and no privacy. Worse still, imagine a lonely existence without friends or family.

Too many don't have to imagine this nightmare... because they’re living it, trying to survive it, or recovering from it. We’re often reminded to walk in someone else's shoes. But it's even more important to let someone stand in ours sometimes.

Father God, break my heart… in a good way, soften it so that I might love like You and in so doing, lead me to new life, new fruit, and new, beautiful beginnings. Amen

Cherishing Old Friendships

 “Give thanks in all circumstances." ~ 1 Thessalonians 5:18

After the champagne pops and the ball drops, revelers queue up the same ditty they’ve been singing for decades. You know the one - it makes you tear up, perhaps washing away the soul’s inner clutter. Most of us don’t know all the words. Even fewer know its origin.

“Auld Lang Syne” roughly translates to "for old times' sake." Robert Burns, a Scottish poet and lyricist authored the poem in 1788. It alludes to the custom of sharing a drink (“cup o’ kindness”) with friends or raising a toast to loved ones.

Today, it’s popular throughout the world. Countless artists (i.e., Beethoven) created their own version of "Auld Lang Syne” through the centuries. In 1877, Alexander Graham Bell aired the tune to publicize his telephone’s function. In 1890, “Auld Lang Syne” was one of the first songs recorded by Emil Berliner on his gramophone invention. The song gained more notoriety when it was sung at the first World Scout Jamboree in 1920.

Long before Dick Clark's ‘Rockin' Eve’ party debuted in 2008, a radio broadcast featuring Guy Lombardo and the Royal Canadians became the center of many families' New Year's Eve traditions. From 1929 through the mid-1970s, Lombardo closed each show with "Auld Lang Syne."

Times Square featured the song’s lyrics on its electro-mechanical ticker in 1929, rapidly expanding its familiarity among American households. Since then, the tune has appeared in TV shows and movies, famously closing the story of “It’s a Wonderful Life” in 1946.

Today, “Auld Lang Syne” remains one of the most recognizable songs in the world. Today, it’s played at funerals, graduations, and as a goodbye or the closing of other special occasions.

A new year may be a good time for new resolutions. But the ending of an old year is also a good time for reflecting on what’s passed; treasures once given that we’ll never experience in the same way again (we'll tak' a right gude-willie waught).

Old friendships are that sort of jewel. Few gifts in life are as precious as friends whom we once talked with until dawn confiding our hopes and fears; with whom we shared thrilling adventures and calamitous failures; and with whom we laughed deliriously and sat silently in mourning a loss.

Before it’s too late, schedule lunch with or make that phone call or send that email or handwritten letter to a cherished friend to simply express again what they’ve meant to you; and still mean to you. Or if they’re now beyond contact, it might be fitting to honor their significance with someone who can share the sweet memory of that person you both once knew.

As you toast the arrival of 2025, lift a prayerful cup of thankfulness for God’s kindness.

Lord, thank You for giving me such a precious group of friends to do life with. I’m grateful for the people You’ve blessed me with, the ones who have loved, encouraged, supported, and uplifted me through all the twists and turns of life. Amen

Just a Normal Gal

 “If your gift is to encourage others, use it." ~ Romans 12:8

Turning 18 and accepting the foray into adulthood is a huge step. With this milestone comes more independence, responsibility… and courage. But for this girl, her birthday was an even more precious occasion. She was still alive.

Against all odds, it was a scenario her doctors never predicted. Beandri Booysen was born with Hutchinson-Gilford Progeria (HGPS), a rare, progressive, genetic disorder that causes rapid aging and osteoporosis. Progeria comes from the Greek word ‘geras’ which means "old age."

Kids with HGPS rarely live past 15 years. Most deaths occur from heart attacks. There is no cure.

Children with the disease experience slow growth and poor weight gain. Progeria does not affect intellectual development. Sufferers, however, develop shrunken features, brittle bones, wrinkled skin, and alopecia.

So, when Beandri defied the grim prognosis and reached her milestone 18th birthday, her parents were so ecstatic that they held two parties - one for close family members and a neon-themed celebration party a few days later with friends.

Despite her challenges, the fearless Pretoria, South African teenager’s spirit remained unbroken. There was no time for self-pity and no room for fear. She refused to let her condition, which affects only about 400 kids worldwide, define her.

Weighing just 26 pounds, Beandri attended school and planned big for her future. She dreamed of becoming a teacher, hoping to marry one day, and envisioned raising twins. Known for her vibrant personality and infectious laugh, Beandri loved dancing and time with friends. Her determination and optimism inspired everyone around her.

Social media became a powerful platform for her. On TikTok, where she shared glimpses of her daily life and motivational messages, she inspired hundreds of thousands of followers. Her mantra, “Be yourself. Love yourself. Believe in yourself,” resonated globally, offering encouragement and awareness for Progeria and other special conditions.

Her family, whom she credited with shaping her strength, was a vital source of support. “They raised me as a ‘normal’ child. That shaped me into the person I am today – just a normal gal,” Beandri explained, “to help me face the haters and obstacles in my daily life.”

As she prepared for another heart surgery last October, she remained hopeful. “Please don’t feel sorry for me,” Beandri said with characteristic resilience. “Every surgery carries risks, but my Lord is always with me. He placed incredible doctors in my life with real passion for my health.”

She survived the hours-long surgery, but her life took a sudden turn weeks after her 19^th birthday.

Sadly, days before Christmas 2024, her heart – the one that radiated such hope and joy – stopped, marking her journey’s end. She was the last known South African living with HGPS. Like this beautiful woman, if the Holy Spirit helps you be encouraging… be encouraging!

Rest in peace, dear Beandri... God's warrior to the end. To her family and all who loved this inspiring young lady, may the Lord hold you all tightly in His arms for blessings of comfort and peace. We carry you in our hearts, Amen

On Turning 70

 “He renews your youth—you’re always young in His presence." ~ Psalm 103:5

As my 70^th birthday passes, I’m filled with retrospection. In Jewish tradition, 70 years represents a lifetime. That’s a lot of sunrises, a milestone that’s difficult to imagine at age 20, or even 40. As the late Helen Hayes once said: “The hardest years are between 10 and 70!”

While I’ve been blessed with good health, and still feel vigorous and enthusiastic about life, age is creeping up on me. Thinning silver hair, sunspots, and lagging recall all mark the passage of time.

Yet, when I smile in the mirror, wrinkles curl up around my eyes and they don’t look half bad. Considering how much laughter and many smiles it took to carve them so deeply, it brought an even wider grin.

There’s mounting evidence. I used to buy shoes in size 9. Now they fit snugly in size 10.5. My once-flat(ter) stomach has a small volleyball-like inflation to it. Blood tests reveal more “abnormals” and “highs.” Health remains the dominant topic of conversation among friends.

Suddenly I’m a sentimental mess. Tears well up every time I hear John Denver’s’ “Take Me Home Country Roads.” The same came with 1969 “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” film. “Boy, I got vision and the whole world wears bifocals.” ~ Butch

Aging causes hormonal changes that affect our emotions. It also brings a greater appreciation for life’s preciousness, its fragility, its wonder. We’re here to make a difference with our lives and God smiles down upon us every time we do. No act of love or kindness is too small either. As Emily Dickinson once wrote: “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.”

The relief of freedom of time and responsibility does battle the urge to eat healthier. The body yields more clues about what’s good for you (kale) and bad (a third glass of Malbec). But as Woody Allen said, “You can live to be a hundred (years old) if you give up all things that make you want to live to be a hundred.”

This blog isn’t to boast about a good life but to thank God for His amazing grace. He’s strengthened me through every trial and cheered each success. No matter your age, remember that even though your outward self is aging, your inner soul renews with every breath. Each day offers a new start, a chance for another birthday.

Embrace them all. Fill them with goodness. Live them boldly with smiles and laughter. Be kind, share all the love you can, and make God proud. For my friends turning seventy soon, cherish the milestone with open arms, knowing your life has been a tapestry of remarkable moments and a reminder of the many lives you’ve touched.

Big Dawg out.

Almighty Father, remind us that we make choices about where we focus our attention. Help us be grateful for things that were impossible a generation ago – travel, medical advances, and other mind-boggling discoveries about the universe we live in. Amen

Christmas Angel

 “God said, “I’ll send them without wings, so no one suspects they are angels." ~ Unknown

Jessica’s family was hosting Christmas again this year. She couldn’t remember how many years in a row the responsibility had fallen on her. Still, the stress of readying for “the most wonderful time of the year” was nearing her limits of tolerability.

This year the house was full of sadness and somber conversation. They didn’t know how long her 93-year-old father, Jason, had left. The family had gathered for probably their last Christmas with the aging Patriarch as his dementia entered its final stages.

He wanted to live to see one more New Year’s celebration. Jessica’s only wish for her Dad was that he go peacefully. Dementia had ravaged him cruelly for long enough.

Two days before Christmas, a black, collarless hound wandered onto the front porch and settled in as if he’d lived there all his life. He waited patiently until the front door opened. Then she trotted in uninvited and unafraid.

After sauntering through the house and taking in the Christmas decorations and spiced cookies, she relaxed at the foot of Jason’s recliner chair and nuzzled his blanket-covered feet.

Startled awake, Jason peered down at the dog. “Shadow,” he murmured, gesturing for the pup to sit on his lap. “I’ve missed you!”

Family members looked confused. None could recall Jason having a dog before. Perhaps he was remembering the love of a childhood pet.

The curious visitor became a welcome distraction. Whose dog was she? Did someone dump her along the road? Either way, it would be dark soon, and she would be cold. So, Jessica welcomed “Shadow” with food, water, and snacks. She placed a blanket next to her ailing Dad’s chair which “Shadow” occupied at once, validating her name as “Shadow.”

The two bonded quickly. She comforted him as his memory drained; Jason helped her make new memories. They shared things in common, like eating things they shouldn’t (pretzels), and long, spontaneous naps.

Jessica called the sheriff, radio station, animal shelter, and several neighboring farms. No one had reported a lost dog. The days leading up to New Year brought no news, and they were all grateful the furry companion stuck around.

Jason passed away on January 2^nd. That was also the day the Shadow left. The weather turned brutal; snow fell every day. The sun never seemed to shine for the rest of the winter.

Early the next spring they learned that the black dog was a runaway family pet named Blackie that lived several miles away. He returned to visit Jessica’s family the following summer. When her owners came to bring Blackie home, Jessica told them about her angelic Christmas visit, and how she had comforted their family with his cheerful companionship. She wanted them to know how much she’d brightened their holidays.

God of all seasons, as we move through Advent and Christmas, we pray for Your peace and joy to fill all hearts. Give us wisdom and the opportunity to give back to those needing love, kindness, and basic resources. Amen

Night Court

“Don’t just listen to God’s Word. Act on what you hear." ~ James 1:22

The bailiff belted “All rise!” as one of the most colorful mayors in NYC’s history entered the night courtroom. In those days, New York mayors were allowed to act as magistrates, a right Fiorello LaGuardia exercised frequently.

New Yorkers adored LaGuardia, nicknaming him the ‘Little Flower' because the three-term mayor always wore a carnation in his lapel. He rode with firefighters, raided speakeasies with the police, and took entire orphanages to baseball games. When the local newspapers went on strike, he even read the Sunday funnies live on the radio.

One bitterly wintry night in 1935, he chose the city's poorest ward for his jurisprudence. The first case brought a timid, disheveled, woman before him charged with stealing a loaf of bread. She wept while explaining that her son-in-law had abandoned his wife, and along with her daughter’s two young children, they hadn’t eaten in several days.

The grocer, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges. "Your Honor," the man explained, she's got to be punished to teach others in the neighborhood a lesson."

Judge LaGuardia stroked his chin while pondering a decision. “Mam, the law allows no exception for theft,” he began empathetically. “Ten dollars or ten days in jail!” But even before hammering his gavel, the mayor reached into his pocket and dropped a $10 bill into the black felt hat he sported for collecting the night’s fines.

“Additionally,” LaGuardia ordered, “I’m charging everyone in this courtroom four bits ($0.50) for living in a city where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat.”

The bailiff, literally “passed the hat around” and handed the speechless woman $47.50. With $10, she dutifully paid her fine.

The desperate woman had arrived at the courtroom with a tight chest and gloomy outlook. She left that night with a genuine warmth of spirit, a heart filled with gratitude, and heaven’s light radiating from her appearance - not to mention $37.50 in cash.

Some seventy petty criminals, traffic violators, police officers, visitors, and one livid grocer each paid four bits for the privilege of doing what’s right.

For his part, Mayor LaGuardia received a standing ovation.

Sometimes we all get caught up in doing things right - following rules, policies, and norms. But doing the right things requires positioning with our moral compass. When the two viewpoints align, there’s no issue. But we’re often forced to choose when they clash.

Lucky for us, God’s Word is an instructional manual for having a great life. When we follow His instructions, our lives are blessed with harmony, joy, and satisfaction.

Life presents us with daily opportunities to do the right thing. That’s why it’s healthy to occasionally ask, “Am I applying God’s Word to my life? Am I doing what it says to do?”

Holy Father, remind me that when You call me, You will equip me. Forgive me when I made excuses or questioned You. I want to experience Your power at work through me, Your humble servant. Amen

On Fatherhood

 “You shall name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins." ~ Matthew 1:21

He’s an interesting character the Bible barely mentions. A craftsman near the bottom of the social scale appears in nativity scenes, yet we overlook his journey and the price he paid to fulfill his role as the chosen safeguard of our Savior.

Joseph doesn’t get much credit because he wasn’t Jesus’ biological father, but he was a good Dad and an obedient Christian. Though he lived over 2,000 years ago, fathers from all generations can learn much from him about fatherhood.

Joseph’s faith and spiritual maturity were tested repeatedly. When unsure about his future with Mary, an angel came to him in a dream revealing who the child was, what He should be named, and His role in fulfilling God’s prophecy. When King Herod threatened his family, Joseph took them to Egypt, an unfamiliar land, and obeyed again when God told him it was safe to return.

All fathers are called to have this same sense of responsibility and courage to protect those under their care. When his family was in danger, Joseph willingly led them on the long, arduous journey to Egypt. Another essential part of every father’s role is to protect and defend.

Another important thing Joseph can teach fathers is the value of humility. He worked diligently, teaching Jesus his trade and ensuring Mary had everything she needed to fulfill her calling. 

He seemed content remaining out of the spotlight. His presence may have been quieter, but he was always present.

Scripture’s last glimpse of Joseph occurred when Jesus accompanied His parents on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. On this visit, their 12-year-old Son went missing among the throngs of Jews who’d journeyed to the temple.

After searching for three days, Jesus’ parents found Him listening, learning, and amazing all the teachers at the temple. “Didn’t you know that I must be in my Father’s house?” Jesus replied.

Instead of chastising or threatening punishment, Joseph’s calm demeanor demonstrated that guidance in raising children will sometimes come from unexpected sources, that they’ll continue to surprise and delight us, and eventually, we’ll have to let them go, as they follow God’s plan.

Too many families lack the steady leadership and presence of a father. Too often, our culture suggests that fathers aren’t necessary; that families can get along without them. But the absence of a strong father figure can have a profound impact on a person’s self-esteem.

When families don’t have fathers, boys often look for the wrong kinds of role models. Without a virtuous father, many girls don’t have a good example of how women should be treated and may choose less-than-admirable dating partners. 

Joseph’s example proves that families not only need fathers, but they also need fathers who trust in the Lord, no matter life’s challenges.

St. Joseph, thank you for your quiet and unwavering commitment to God’s plan. Help us trust our Heavenly Father as we lead our families, not only during the Christmas season but throughout all the seasons of life. Amen

Tiny Village, Big Spirit

“May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in Him.” ~ Romans 15:13

In a quiet corner, where forgotten memories slept in dusty boxes, Brian helped his Dad clear out Grampa’s basement. Stored high on a rusted shelf sat a box  that simply read, “Plasticville.”

With his Dad’s help, they lowered the huge box and placed it on a nearby workbench. Tony’s eyes revealed a somber melancholy that touched Brian’s heart. He’d always seen his Dad as a strong man larger than life, a father who rarely showed emotion. This day exposed his Dad’s sensitive, vulnerable side.

Tony opened the box that contained dozens of smaller bundles carefully wrapped in yellowing newspaper from decades past. Each contained plastic parts to miniature buildings. Tony carefully unwrapped the first bundle – pieces of a basic tan house with a red roof and red shutters.

“In the beginning, we could only afford to add one building each year to our Plasticville village - a church, gas station, school, fire station, and more,” Tony began. “The parts came in brightly colored boxes. No glue needed; you had to assemble them by snapping pieces together.”

As Brian and his Dad assembled a dozen or more of the old homes and stores, stories began to unfold, weaving a narrative of their Plasticville community. “My Mom meticulously painted each structure with her own splash of personality,” Tony reflected. "Each building told a unique story."

He remembered a quaint little bakery, imagining the aroma of freshly baked bread wafting out. Tony even pictured a cheerful baker named "Crumbly," kneading the dough.

“Outside the church, a manger held the baby Jesus. We’d replay the story of His birth every year, painting the harsh reality of His humble beginning as a baby laid to sleep in a feeding trough.”

“The village barbershop had a jolly barber named "Snips" giving haircuts and sharing local gossip with customers. Dad built a tiny bench where an imaginary musician played holiday tunes for the townsfolk on his make-believe guitar.”

“As I grew, so did the collection. Plasticville became more than just a toy,” Tony continued. “It was a vibrant community where we explored the joys and challenges of everyday life. Each day, we created new scenarios for the characters, often adding sound effects that brought them to life.”

“Dad put this away after Mom died,” Tony said with quiet sadness in his eyes. “That’s the last time I ever looked at any of these little houses and stores; it's been idle for fifty years. It's time to bring the little village back to life.”

Outside the snow covered the basement windows. Tony decided that instead of putting up the display annually as a Christmas tradition, he’d keep it up year-round for his grandchildren to create new stories and for adults to feel like kids again.

Holy Father, this holiday season, fill our hearts with the reason for the season. Give us faith to recognize the presence and power of Jesus, and experience the peace that He came into this world to bring. Amen