Dozens of people have asked me if Michael will write his own book about his cancer journey.

Dozens.

MARY: "Bread, that this house may never know hunger.  Salt, that life may always have flavor."

GEORGE: "And wine, that joy and prosperity may reign forever. Enter the Martini Castle."

Anxiety lives in some of the kids’ little bodies. It shows up in tight shoulders, restless hands, shallow breaths. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

And I suspect it doesn’t start with them.

Bravery wears many faces.
Some are gentle and creative.
Others are firm and unyielding.

Both can be difficult to witness.
Both are necessary.

On this fourth day of January, something feels different.

Maybe you feel it too — a subtle shift in energy, not loud or dramatic, but quiet and present. Like a pause. Like a breath. Like the moment after a long season when the air changes just enough that your body notices before your mind does. For many people, intuitive Reiki healing becomes a way to stay present and supported during seasons like this—when hope needs to be held gently, not forced.

In the magic of Christmas, I’ve been thinking about how often it arrives in non-traditional forms.

I believe Christmas doesn’t live solely on a date in the calendar or a carefully arranged set of traditions.

It lives in the spirit of an event.

An adventure.

A person.

A community.

This year, our son’s very unconventional Christmas felt more like Santa’s workshop than a holiday movie.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about light — not the dramatic, spotlight kind, but the ordinary, almost-missable kind.

The kind that shows up when someone walks down Main Street in Downtown Salt Lake City dressed as an inflatable Christmas tree, waving at strangers, making kids laugh, and reminding tired adults that joy still exists.