I truly enjoy the Christmas season. As a praise and worship leader for many years, I didn’t always feel that way—at least not fully. Christmas songs were never my favorite, not because of the lyrics or their meaning, but because the notes were almost always too high. And every December seemed to arrive with an extra layer of stress: the expectations, the decorating, the constant bustle. But the twinkly lights… those are my jam. There is nothing like sitting in a quiet, dark living room with only the Christmas tree lit. In those still moments, there is a special kind of peace—an invitation to breathe, to be present, to remember. As a leader in the church for many years, I was blessed to help guide our congregation through Advent. My favorite years were always the ones when God nudged my heart to choose someone to share one of the Advent words—Hope, Peace, Joy, or Love—and simply let them run with it. Those were raw, powerful moments that came straight from the heart, not read from a script. So as the Advent season approaches again, I felt compelled to offer my own reflections this year, beginning with Hope.
Two stories surfaced immediately.
Over break, I watched Soul on Fire. If you haven’t seen it, I highly recommend it. The film is based on John O’Leary’s book On Fire. I’ve had the joy of meeting John and hearing him speak several times. His story is extraordinary, but the part that always grips me is the role of the legendary Jack Buck, the St. Louis Cardinals broadcaster. After John was burned over 100% of his body as a child, Jack took a special, unexpected interest in him. He showed up. He wrote notes. He used his connections. He breathed hope into a little boy who would one day become a man dedicated to inspiring others. Jack Buck had a million other things he could have done, but he chose to invest in hope—and it changed John’s life forever.
The second story comes from a Danielle Steele book—not a love story, but her nonfiction work A Gift of Hope. She wrote it after losing her son to suicide and wrestling with her own need to find hope in the world again. (Her earlier book His Bright Light is one of the most powerful accounts I’ve ever encountered on bipolar disorder, suicide, and the anguish families carry through mental illness.) A Gift of Hope chronicles the years she spent working anonymously with the homeless in California. Again we see it: someone with influence choosing to quietly give what they had so others could grasp hope—especially those who felt they had none. One story she told struck me deeply. During the Christmas season, she tucked a small teddy bear into the bags she delivered—already filled with food, coats, sleeping bags, and more. She wrote:
“Somehow, with that single gesture, we had restored not only a
memory of their childhood, but a tender part of their humanity
that had been missing… They looked into the faces of those bears
and a piece of them came back to life as they held their bears.”
It took me back to a moment in my own life. When my grandmother was fighting breast cancer, I found a tiny teddy bear in a hospital gift shop—probably the only thing I could afford at the time. She cherished it. She took it with her to appointments. She thanked me for it again and again. After she passed, I asked if I could keep the bear. It was a reminder of the small bit of hope I was able to give her during a difficult season. I hadn’t thought of that in so long. Now that same bear sits behind me in my home office, following me through every job, quietly reminding me that even the smallest gesture can offer hope in someone’s darkest moment.
As we step into this Advent season, I am holding onto that truth: Hope is often found not in grand miracles, but in simple presence, small gifts, unexpected kindness, and the willingness to show up. I hope you take time to reflect on the meaning of Hope in your own life this season.
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