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HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

Find Your Joy

 

I have a favorite content creator on TikTok. He’s an elementary school teacher and a stand-up comedian. He finds the most delightful ways to share the antics of kindergarten students experiencing the creative arts under his tutelage. He ends every Reel, story, or post with the words: “Find Your Joy.”

It’s an amazing reminder that joy is an inside-out job.

As we move through the 2025 holiday season, I want to remind you that hundreds of people—even people you know—feel isolated, alone, or dare I say, forgotten during this time of year. Reach out. Check in. Maybe even include them in your activities. They won’t ask. If you ask them what they need, they likely won’t say. But if Spirit has placed the thought of them in your mind and in your heart, know that you are being called to reach out.

However, for this post, I want to reach out to the person who feels isolated, who feels forgotten, who may be finding themselves alone for the very first time this holiday season. My words to you are simple: Find your joy.

On the holiday itself, you may choose to volunteer somewhere that’s serving a meal to others. You may decide to start a new book. Or, like millions of others, you may take yourself to the movies. Go for a walk. Spend some time in nature. Write a letter to a friend you’d love to spend time with, but miles or circumstances keep you apart this year.

Have a plan to find your joy. Make a pie, a batch of cookies, or some banana nut bread just for you. Bring out the good china, the placemats, and the napkins—just for you. Find your joy.

Each holiday, I’m reminded of a column I wrote nearly twenty years ago for the Tracy Press. It was one of my favorites and one that many people shared with me really spoke to them. It was the story of a father and daughter who found joy on Christmas morning, despite the difficult circumstances of their lives. I want to share it with you now.

It was Christmas morning. I was up early preparing the ham and all the side dishes for our Christmas Day dinner. One of the things I love most on Christmas morning is fresh-baked cinnamon rolls and a good cup of Peet’s coffee. It’s the perfect start to a perfect day.

Everything was going perfectly—the rolls were fresh out of the oven, and the coffee had just finished brewing. I poured a cup into my favorite holiday mug and opened the refrigerator to add just a bit of milk.

Only… there was no milk.

Yikes.

I needed milk not only for my coffee, but for an assortment of other things to finish our Christmas meal. It was 7:00 a.m. on Christmas morning, and nothing was open.

Then I remembered—clear across town—there was a 7-Eleven.

I threw on some sweats, jumped in the car, and backed out of the garage. As I watched the garage door close, I became immediately aware that I could no longer see the door—or even the front of my house. Tracy was socked in with the densest layer of fog I had ever seen.

Regardless, I still needed milk.

“I can do this,” I told myself. After all, I grew up in Indiana. I’ve driven through blizzards on glare-ice-covered roads. I could handle this fog.

For those of you who know—well, you know—there’s nothing quite like Tule fog in California’s Central Valley. It’s dense, more green than gray. Luckily, I seemed to be the only one on the road that morning, but every once in a while, another car would come out of nowhere and startle me.

Five miles an hour was my top speed. Every intersection felt like a treacherous river to cross. It was one of those moments when you think, If I roll down the window, somehow I’ll be able to see better.

As I inched closer to the intersection of Holly Boulevard and Grant Line Road, I heard something.

I heard people.

The only problem was, I couldn’t see the people I was hearing in the distance. It was laughter. Was that what I was hearing? Laughter?

I slowed to a crawl, keeping my eyes peeled for the voices I could hear but not see. It was the sound of a man in full-throated laughter—and a little girl, maybe five years old, screaming, “Daddy! This is the most fun ever!”

As I got closer to the large intersection, I noticed the fog lifting. It hovered just above the rooftops and businesses. And then I saw them.

A man.
A little girl.
And a grocery cart.

Because there was no traffic, they were playing—dancing and whirling around the intersection with pure glee. The little girl’s daddy was pushing her in the cart, making circles and figure eights. She squealed with joy.

As I waited for them to make their way to one side of the intersection, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that I got to witness such spontaneous joy. No gift from a toy store could have made her happier than that moment with her father. And no greater joy could have come his way than seeing the expression of delight on his daughter’s face in such a magical moment.

I waved as I crossed the intersection and pulled into the 7-Eleven. As I got out of the car, I called out, “Merry Christmas!”

The man called back, “Merry Christmas to you!”

“I’m going inside—can I get you anything?” I asked. I sensed they might be homeless, and I felt called to ask.

“No, we’re good. Thank you,” the man replied.

And with that, they resumed their play.

He was right. They were good. They had found their joy.

It was a Christmas morning I will never forget.