 First Published November 2019.
Once in a great while I write something that has “legs” (at least I think so). I offer again a reflection on fear in an age of fear. C.S. Lewis, in his book “Screwtape Letters,” took on the voice of a demon trying to spread evil in the world. The book is a series of letters instructing how best to advance the cause of Hell in the face of the Kingdom of Heaven.
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 Sometimes, we miss what’s right in front of us. That’s what happened on the road to Emmaus.
Two disciples walked with Jesus after the resurrection, but they didn’t recognize him. It wasn’t just that they didn’t expect to see him; Luke tells us, "their eyes were kept from recognizing him." At first, it sounds like God was preventing them, but looking deeper, it becomes clear—they were blinded by their own expectations.  We don’t like to admit it, but so much of our self-worth gets wrapped up in external things—the opinions of others, our performance, our success, even our failures. We search for validation, hoping that if we achieve enough or do enough, we’ll finally be seen, finally be enough.
 Joyful individuals aren't always the ones cracking jokes or wearing a perpetual smile. Their joy transcends mere optimism; it's rooted in a profound understanding of life's complexities. They confront the harsh realities of human existence with eyes wide open, acknowledging the presence of evil forces that seek to harm; “looking for someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). Yet, crucially, joyful people refuse to be imprisoned by despair.
 When I reflect on what I hold dear—like birds in flight, beautiful mountains, vibrant coral reefs, or even the uncontainable laughter of my family — I can’t help but notice the threats on the horizon. I see the pollution and deforestation. But I also see the conflicts of this world. I see the injustices of this world that siphon off the beauty of this world.
 I began to write a little piece about the new year and resolutions. As I wrote some initial lines, I thought to myself, “This seems familiar.” In fact, I was following the path I navigated last year. Sometimes a thought bears repeating. So, here is an article shared on January 4, 2024…
 The first Christmas wasn’t the kind of holiday we often picture today.
It wasn’t filled with storybook charm or the familiar warmth of a Midwestern gathering. It was something more powerful and transformative. It was the Christmas Mary sang about — the kind that still resonates through the ages. This kind of Christmas centers completely on God.  The 322nd school shooting of the year took place this past week. The nations of the world are rattling nuclear sabers in what seems like escalating violence and conflict. Governments that we thought were stable bastions of democracy are falling apart. Health care is a mess. I could go on… I won’t. We always look for a bit of joy in the holiday season. This year, maybe more than ever.
 Silence can be unsettling at first. It confronts us with voices we’d rather avoid—the noisy and persistent echoes of jealousy, anger, resentment, or the lingering pain of loss and rejection. When we enter into stillness and silence, these voices can seem overwhelming, even deafening, tempting us to escape into distraction or entertainment. It is so easy to take out the phone and avoid the silence.
 As we prepare our tables, our travel, and our time off for another celebration of Thanksgiving Day, I find myself thinking that giving thanks is harder than it seems. I say “thank you” to people dozens of times a day. I say thanks for giving me my coffee, thanks for bagging my groceries, thanks for doing that thing I asked you to do. I do it so naturally and habitually that I wonder if I even know what I’m saying! Saying thanks is a habit.
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