It's here.
After all the shopping,
The hopping from store to store,
The bibbity bopping of carols galore,
The generous dolloping of puddings and cakes and cookies so sweet,
The dropping down dead exhausted into sleep,
So many things to do can make us lose sight of how to enjoy Christmas...

Don't let that happen to you.  Spend time with people.  Share stories.  You'll forget your own problems when you enter into someone else's world and see them come alive. 

Before the story, the scoop on the new DVD, Live at the Lantern: Peter Nevland.
We had planned to get it to everyone by Christmas.  Sadly, it's been delayed for a couple weeks.  I just got word that the video exported cleanly and will be in my possession to send in for production tonight.  That means that if you pre-ordered them on our tour, they'll arrive by January 11th.  Sorry about that.  If you haven't pre-ordered one, you can do that now.  Or, if you're not convinced of the quality, preview me performing "The Flobgob" as a Christmas treat.
Preview "The Flobgob"
Pre-Order Live at the Lantern: Peter Nevland

"I met Bob in Austin on a double date," Mary told Vicki and me as we sat in her living room. She sat in the back seat with his best friend, while he spent the "rottenest time of his life" with her roommate.

"She didn't want to talk about anything. She was the most boring person I have ever met!" Bob explained.

Things didn't get better when the roommate exclaimed, "Oh no, we've got to get back to the dorms! I'm going to be late for a date with this guy I like in four minutes."

Bob drove her back and helped her sneak into her room so that she could preserve the potential relationship with this other guy. Bob declared himself to be finished with women. But his best friend wasn't yet finished with Mary.

A couple weeks later, Mary called the house where Bob and his best friend lived.

"No, I haven't seen him. He was out in Mississippi, but he hasn't returned yet," Bob told her.

Mary and Bob's best friend were supposed to go out on a date that night, but he hadn't showed up. "Hey, I don't want you to have to be alone," Bob offered. "What if we just go out to get some Cokes. It's nothing romantic or anything, but at least you'll have something to do."

Mary hesitated a bit but finally agreed. Bob picked her up, and they went out for soft drinks. When they were done, they decided that they should drive on over to the other side of Lake Austin to this cool little place where the music was supposed to be hot. They danced, and Mary discovered that Bob knew a bit about dancing. Then Bob returned her to her dorm.

When Bob's best friend finally got back, he explained that his engine had died on him out in Mississippi. He was stranded and had gotten home as fast as he could. He tried calling Mary after he got back, but she wouldn't answer. "Oh, I really screwed it up with Mary," he said. "She won't have anything to do with me now."

After about a week Bob asked his best friend, "So... are you and Mary over?"

"Yeah, she doesn't want to have anything to do with me. I really screwed it up."

"Well, would you mind if I maybe asked her out?"

"Have at it. She's all yours."

Bob called Mary up, and she agreed to go out with him. Not much later, they were going steady. 57 years ago, Bob and Mary became Bob and Mary Rogers. He continued to be an Air Force Colonel. She became a schoolteacher. They had children and ended up moving to Grand Prairie, Texas in 1976.

At this point, Vicki asked, "So did your best friend know that you'd gone out with Mary on the night that he didn't show up because he was stranded? I mean, did you ever tell him that?"

"Oh, I better watch out for you!" he exclaimed, eighty-seven year old eyes beaming with the mischief and fun that I've known him to have ever since I was a little boy. "Of course I didn't tell him."We all laughed.

We'd only planned on being there for ten or 15 minutes. Instead we stayed for maybe an hour. I ended up being asked to give an in-house performance of one of my pieces. We played little musical instruments that Bob had brought back from Asia long ago. The real reason for our visit, along with all its sadness, had been forgotten.

Mr. Rogers was my next door neighbor growing up. I'd always ask him if he was "the real Mr. Rogers", to which he'd always reply, "well, of course I am." Of course, I wasn't quite convinced, since he looks nothing like him. So I'd ask again. And he'd reply with the same clever response, again.

He'd shoot my brother and me with his water hose as we rode by on our bikes. He'd give me tips as I mowed our lawn. He endured us running across his lawn playing football. He made a joke out of everything and entertained people constantly. When I was working at Motorola as an engineer he said, "You know, Peter, if you stay single, you may become rich!"

But there was no joke to be made about Mary having bone cancer. She's making the best of it and trying chemo, but she doesn't have a ton of hope. The cancer's everywhere. Before Vicki and I left we prayed for her. And then we laughed some more and told more stories.

As we walked out the door, Bob told me that so often it's tough when people want to visit. "They ask Mary how she found it, how it happened, what the doctors are doing. It's kind of like re-living the emotions over and over each time." I told him how I appreciated him always being a good neighbor and friend. Then I went home and got my new book, I'm Going To Be A Zebra, and walked back to his house to give it to him.

"You know, I'm the only one to make a round-trip visit to the morgue," he said to me, before I left again.  And then he told me the story of how he'd been in a car crash at age 19, been declared dead-on-arrival by the hospital and been driven to the morgue, only to be returned to the hospital, when the ambulance drivers heard a sound when they moved him.

"After that I figured I was going to do what I really wanted to do and not wait around for someone to tell me I couldn't," he said.  I walked back to my house amazed at the treasures that have surrounded me my whole life.  I think they have more hope than they let on.  And I think God's got even more than that.

Have an unbelievably rich Christmas,
Peter.