I remember a Christmas Day about ten years ago.
I was so, so tired — a new minister whose tummy still got tied into nervous knots at the prospect of planning and leading Christmas Eve services.
I slept late, and then drove to the nearby city to be with a friend.
He was pastoring a church at the time and was similarly tired.
We sat on rickety chairs in his living room and watched “Damn Yankees.” Between us, on a baking sheet, was a large leftover portion of spiral ham. Too tired for plates or forks, we picked at that ham (Lord, I ate a lot of that ham!) and drank Riesling wine and watched Gwen Verdon dance and it was just wonderful.
Thanks be to God for that friend,
(thanks be for that ham!)
you know who you are,
and I remember that Christmas every year.
And I dare some country-western singer to write a song about our Christmas ham, because someone should.