Dear Santa,

I know you're very busy this time of year, what with the list-checking and the global logistics operation that would make Amazon executives weep with envy. But if you're reading this somewhere in the North Pole between reindeer briefings, I wanted to send along some thoughts from our corner of the world.

The children, as they always are, are remarkable. They want things, naturally — this is their season — but watch them for a moment and you notice they want other things too, things they don't quite know how to ask for. They want time. They want attention that isn't divided. They want to matter.

The adults are doing their best. It's a funny time of year for adults — the season is built around a kind of wonder that most of us have learned, gradually and unnecessarily, to leave behind. The decorations go up and something stirs, briefly. We're glad for it.

This year, what we're really asking for is less catastrophe. Not prosperity, exactly — though that would be nice. Not even happiness, which comes and goes. Just the ordinary continuity of things: health, relationships that hold, enough peace to notice what's good.

The milk and cookies will be on the counter. The dog may or may not have eaten them by the time you arrive. We apologize in advance.

Merry Christmas from all of us. Please stop by.