I wrote this for a Deseret News contest a number of years ago, and it wasn't chosen. I understood why, but figured, I could always publish it myself, if for no other reason, than for myself. I hope you'll enjoy.
The Christmas I remember best was the Christmas of 1975. I had just turned 10 years old and was attending the fourth grade in elementary school. My father, Robert M. Christensen, had been diagnosed with Hodgkin’s disease, a cancer of the lymph system a few months earlier. For most of his career, Dad’s occupation had been in retailing and Christmas had historically been his busiest time of the year. In addition to his work, he had served what would have been my ten years, in my church’s Stake Presidency, first as a counselor and later as Stake President. It was a rare moment for me to have him home for any extended period of time and even more rare to see him unable to do hard physical labor.
|Picture from a family trip, being held by my Dad, Robert Christensen|
|With my daughters, Jessica & Sarah at the gravesite of my father|