My father was born in 1934. His family lived off a dirt road in Phenix City, Alabama in the midst of the Great Depression. The world he opened his eyes to had no television, computers or internet. Electric lights were as rare as indoor plumbing, milk came from a neighbor’s cow, and families gathered around small radios instead of giant screens to get their news.

He grew up in a world of handshakes and hard work, of faith and front porches. He went to school in Galena Park, Texas, raised his family in Anaheim, California. He built successful businesses in Santa Ana and Houston, and eventually retired to the water in Hollywood, Florida. Along the way, he witnessed a world transform – from telegraphs to smart phones, from prop planes to Mars landings, from hand-drawn maps to a GPS in every pocket.

In one lifetime, his lifetime, humanity split the atom, cured diseases, connected continents, and digitized nearly everything. The pace of progress has been breathtaking.

And yet, as I sit beside his bed now, holding his hand as he nears the end of his ninety-one years, I realize how much hasn’t changed. The world may have shifted beneath our feet, but the foundations remain the same. Love still binds us. Family still grounds us. Hope still 

lights the dark.

Christmas, after all, is about the love of a Father and Son, a love that  endures beyond time, technology, and distance.

So this season, as we race through another year of change, find time to pause and remember what keeps our lives authentic: the love we give, the hands we hold, and the memories we leave behind.

All the best to your families,

Don Kindred