My dad died on April 2nd, 1999. He was 53. It’s way too young, but he suffered way too long with a bone cancer that should have taken him from us almost a decade earlier. The kind of cancer that people find out they have when an autopsy is done to find out why they died. But I do not think I about my dad’s death on April 2nd.

I recently had dinner with some friends in Colorado. I meet up with them every time I visit their city. And they reciprocated that last fall, meeting up with my family when they visited our town on the Central Coast of California. They are former pastors who are involved in (maybe dedicated to) sharing Jesus with a group of people who too often hear that God hates them. People who get yelled at by other people who think they are speaking for God. A group of people who hear how much their lives are wrecked. Every time we are together, my friends and I talk about our families and our memories; we talk about books and music; we talk about theology and practice; we talk about what parts of faith we have embraced and what parts we have let go of. Time with them is always refreshing, assuring, and delightful.

I skipped my college classes on March 9^th, 1987. I was at Uncle John’s Records in Sioux city, Iowa when they opened. I planned to head to the U’s in the alphabetical section of records, but didn’t need to. What I wanted was on display right inside the door. I purchased a vinyl copy of The Joshua Tree. And a copy on cassette so I could listen to the new offering from U2 during the fifty-minute drive back to Orange City, Iowa.

The Christian tradition I grew up didn’t observe Lent. We were all about Palm Sunday, Good Friday, and Easter Morning, though!

When I think back on watching my mom and dad together, I only see love.

I’m a PK. A pastor’s kid.

For many, the term ‘pastor’ or ‘preacher’ conjures a lot of trauma. I ache for people who have had bad experiences with churches and the people, predominantly men, who lead them. There is no excuse for shepherds hurting their sheep. I cannot tolerate that. I have too many friends and have read too many headlines for that to be accepted.

A week before Thanksgiving, my Uncle passed away. Thankfully, we were able to see him and my Aunt the week before, the last really “good” weekend he had before he began a quick decline. 

I’m sure you decorated for Christmas. Tress and nativities, wrapping paper and stockings, sweaters and Advent calendars. All are expected ways we decorate to celebrate the season. We adorn the ordinary in ways that bring and offer us both comfort and joy.

Christmas is truly the most wonder-full time of the year.

But we easily outgrow the wonder, don’t we? Santa and the elves are for kids. The idea of the incarnation is either ludicrous or a mere fairytale. And the gift-giving is essentially letting someone else do your shopping. The wonder, the awe, the magic, of Christmas is gone.

My boss has this practice and he encourages us to practice each year, too. It’s based on the book One Word That Will Change Your Life. In short, it challenges us to select a word that will become a guiding principle throughout the coming year. He’s chosen his words, and thus words for our company, like “invest,” “strengthen,” “sprout,” “flourish,” and “invest.” I’ve chosen words like “play” and “create.” But honestly, I have not practiced this one-word thing every year.

We’ve been getting Christmas cards in the mail, offering Christmas wishes from people we love. Friends and family expressing their thoughtfulness as Christmas approaches. 

My family used to send cards. The key part of that sentence: used to. I’m not sure why we stopped, but I can speculate: we’re too busy.