I sat back down, drafted my email and packed up my bag to reconnect at a later time like some stone-age waiting-on-mom-to-get-off-the-phone-with-grandma-so-I-can-connect-at-28.8Kbps monster.  It was awful.

You can do it.  My bride can do it.  Her challenges are unique as are mine, yet we wouldn’t change anything…so just say ‘good morning.  Glad you’re here.'

We may not audibly hear the voice of God.  Perhaps it will be intuition, perhaps conviction.  Whatever it is, I pray it follows a pause and precedes obedience. 

Still, the magic of Christmas is the pageants and the caroling, but it’s also sleep-overs with cousins and grandma in her bathrobe until 11:00 because she’s making cinnamon rolls and playing Candyland.  Again

My bride, channeling her inner Tolkein whispered, “shh…you’re now the keeper of the Claus." In a moment, they changed.

That night at dinner, my daughter offered thanks for the table. “Dear Jesus, thank you today and for this dinner and thank you for Mr. Paul. He was awesome”.

That was her criteria for gift-giving this year: ‘it must be magical.’  It was certainly easier to hide behind the story of Santa, but now we work.

It’s counter-intuitive to the uninitiated, but true strength comes from knowing when to use a sword not from waving it around, trying to impress people with your sweet ninja moves.  People get hurt that way.  People hurt themselves.  

These high-sugar, pre-packaged, made-by-the-truckload pastries were compensation for my labor and became part of the routine.  A quick stop at the Golden Gallon for a $0.25 Little Debbie honey bun warmed in the microwave and a chocolate milk began the day.  It was the breakfast of champions, providing the necessary motivation for a 10 year-old boy, even if limited in nutritional value.