A New Year's Thought

For all the people who are hurting and broken. For those who feed the poor.

And for all the children who should be loved always, but especially on this night, with our arms wrapped around them and a long goodnight kiss on the temple, a kiss more precious than anything that could ever be wrapped in a box.

For every parent standing quietly in the darkened doorways of the bedrooms—or remembering how they stood there once many years past–watching those small, sleeping shapes tucked in under the covers.

For every baby who isn’t loved enough and grows up with a hard crust around his heart because there was no one near to plant those kisses and give those hugs.

And for every couple who can’t have children and adopt a child to save a life.

For all the young women who have given their baby up for adoption, to save the life growing inside her. For all those who’ve donated funds so that the young women could see the ultrasound image of the life inside of them and save that life. For couples who tried, and couldn’t have children of their own but kept their faith in God and stayed together. For those who’ve lost their children. For all who’ve lost their moms and dads.

For the moms and dads who keep their family close and safe.

For that crazy uncle who’ll drink a bit too much tonight, and gives you a wink as he sneaks outside to put on the red suit in the driveway, laughing at himself out there alone in the cold before coming back in to surprise all the children. For that wise aunt who makes sure that the coffee is strong and black, to help the crazy uncle sober up.

For all those 100,000 or more young Americans who’ve been poisoned by fentanyl brought by the Mexican narco gangs. For the Christians slaughtered and taken captive in Nigeria. For all the grieving parents who were told again and again by politicians in the capitals that the border was secure.

For the innocent child victims and young women victims of traffickers a millstone waits patiently to be placed around the necks of those who hurt the “little ones” and have led them into sin. This is the time of mercy, but Jesus was clear about what he would do to those who hurt his little ones.

For all the people in every choir in the world. They’ve been practicing for weeks in cold, empty houses of worship, so tonight is their night too. Their beautiful voices lift us with song, inviting us to humble ourselves as we ask for help in scraping away any bitterness that has grown like hard bark around our hearts.

For all those friends who don’t wait for a special night to build a family. They show up unannounced to find you on some random afternoon in July, or a cool morning in November– with a coffee cake from your favorite bakery–dropping by just to make sure that you’re OK.

Tonight is for them, and tomorrow, too, because they are family, by the acts of family.

For all the young who are lonely and feel lost and don’t know why. For all those who are far away and can’t make it home this year. For those who are physically near, yet distant in so many other ways, believing that the bad choices they’ve made have locked the door against them.

Don’t be afraid because there is good news! Never be afraid.

Why?

Because tonight is the night when the lost lambs are found. Tonight is the night of new hope for the world.

And the door is always open.

For the New Year is starting.

Just reach for it and see.

For the good people who help others first. For the children who are hungry and for those who help feed them. For the selfish and the mean-spirited, too, as well as for the good and the kind. We’re all hurting somehow.

We’ve all been broken in some places, or we’ve come close to breaking. All of us.

The rabbi, the carpenter reminded us to love our neighbor.

For the shy ones who aren’t part of the ruling clique at work, but just don’t know how to put themselves forward and get themselves noticed. They’d rather not push themselves forward, especially if that meant pushing someone out of the way. They would not demand a spotlight.

But they would stun you with their commitment and talent if only given half a chance.

For every old man at the end of the bar tonight, nursing his drink, grateful to sit in a warm, clean, and well-lighted place where he can sip something warming and listen to the buzz of life going on around him. And for every old woman alone tonight, wide awake in her bed staring at the ceiling, remembering the laughter of children on nights just like this one, when there was so much work to do and a houseful of guests to feed.

For all our four-legged friends who just know it when you’ve received very bad news. They know what you need. They lean against your leg. They’re there, regardless.

And for everyone on the night shift tonight, and those who must work tomorrow, all the first responders—the paramedics, firefighters, and police–and the families and friends, especially their children, nieces and nephews waiting for them to come home safe.

And for that city, town or village Paramedic Chief who thinks about the people under his command, and how they all dealt with the pain.

For all the kids cut down in the street gang wars in violent big cities, with politicians cynically bartering away the public’s safety in the pursuit of power and votes from those who do violence against the innocent.

For all the cops of these broken cities who can’t bear what the brutal politics have brought and so they internalize it and poison themselves and seek an exit. Please don’t. Please don’t go. Reach out, ask for help. There are religious figures to talk to, your colleagues too. Remember that help is out there, and you are loved. And remember, the people need you and rely on you to protect them.

For everyone who waits for the call from the doctor and feels the flutter of dark wings.

For everyone in hospital tonight praying for dignity, relief from pain, and a peaceful end without shame or suffering.

For the families and friends who comfort them and mourn them. For their physicians who tend them.

For every nurse who enters a quiet room, pulls up a chair and listens to a quiet confession. For the physical, occupational and language therapists who never let me or their other patients quit on themselves.

For all the clergy who’ve struggled with their faith, yet who find it again and who are renewed.

For every sailor at sea standing watch tonight, staring out at cold black water, and remembering brightly lit rooms.

For the pilots bringing us safely home, staring into night skies.

For every member of the Armed Forces who protect us. And for those of the Foreign Service and the Intelligence Services who walk into the shadows alone to protect their nations.

For the people, the last, best hope of liberty on earth, who never, ever quit.

We are Humans. And Humans find a way.

To all those whom I’ve hurt with thoughtless words, I apologize. Yes, it troubles me because I just can’t reconcile this writer’s life that sets me to make hard judgements. I’m trying to balance all that against my faith and I fail and fail again.

I worry that I’ll been blinded by zeal or by pride, locking the gates of heaven against me. Those of us in political and corporate life can see ourselves becoming like the barking dogs we fear.

But it is by the love of God, prayer, and faith that we’re given the opportunity to unlock those gates around our hearts.

For every one of you who has joined me here in supporting this great new adventure. I am overwhelmed by your kindness and friendship. I can’t ever thank you enough.

And for all those across the world who know what is most important on this special night:

It is that simple message brought to us so long ago.

He is the gift, the only gift. He came to light the world.

He is all about love.

May His love comfort you and remain.

Happy New Year.

Don't just think about it. Make it so.