Merry Christmas! If you found your way here, check out my past Christmas poems and enjoy our family card and update below! (If you’d rather print and read it the old fashioned way, download it here.)

You can also check out our annual correspondence from our long-term elfin penpal Siberius Quill on his website, which I help manage.

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January 13, 2026

The First Tuesday in Ordinary Time

As we were preparing to leave for Christmas in Bismarck, I said to myself, “The card will not be out by Christmas Day, but during the Octave of Christmas, certainly.” On the Solemnity of the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of God—the eighth day since Christmas and the end of the Octave—I took solace in the oft-sung Twelve Days of Christmas, which ends at the Epiphany, traditionally on January 6 (never mind that most of us celebrated this feast on Sunday, January 4). The caravan of the Magi came and went, however, with no card or letter among their packs and camels, and my gaze shifted to the Baptism of the Lord and the end of the Christmas liturgical season on Sunday, January 11. The heavens opened—and closed again.

At this point, one might be justified in asking, “Why bother?” The truth is, we love you, despite our difficulties staying in touch—and the year ahead promises to be a full one, with transitions large and small about which we would like to share. So thank you for your patience, and if you are so inclined, read on!

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We spent the Christmas holiday at the home of Brendan and Becky, among all our children and grandchildren except Brother Jude, who celebrated at the friary in Newark, New Jersey, before going on a weeklong retreat—and including Isaac, who will join our family in a deep and abiding way this spring when he marries Emma.

If it seems like you’ve missed something, let me catch you up:

• Brendan and Becky have three young children: Augustine, Charles, and Laverna (or Augie, Chuck, and Nana). They live in Bismarck, North Dakota, near the cathedral. Brendan teaches at the University of Mary, and Becky runs a daycare, homeschools the kids, cooks, cleans, crafts, renovates—you name it!
• Gabe is now Brother Jude Apostoli, having joined the Community of the Franciscan Friars of the Renewal (CFRs). He took his First Vows last summer and is under obedience, so he goes where he is sent, including to Honduras next month.
• Emma is engaged to her “plus-one” from last Christmas, Isaac Smith, a former seminarian from the Diocese of Sioux Falls, whom she met at the University of Mary after he discerned out of seminary (where he lived near and knew Trevor).
• Trevor will graduate from the Saint John Vianney College Seminary and intends to continue on the path toward graduate studies and Catholic priesthood.
• Lily is in eighth grade. She will be confirmed in March and may take up trap-shooting this spring.
• Bruno, our Airedale, is still with us, too!

If it seems like we spend a lot of time in Bismarck, let me bring you up to speed on that, too:

• Four of our five children have left the nest, and those who are settling appear to be doing so in the Dakotas. Our grandchildren (so far) are there, and we miss broad, dark skies and stars.
• This past year we began sharing that we planned to relocate to the Bismarck area after Lily got out of school. Then, last spring, she suggested we do it sooner—after she completes eighth grade and needs to choose a high school. (She says she wants to be near her nephews, her niece, and her sisters.)
• Also, last summer I was hired by the University of Mary as a writer and editor in their Creative Services department. I work full-time for Mary and part-time as a freelancer for my previous Catholic newsletter clients. I travel to Bismarck roughly once a month to spend a week on campus.
• We plan to move west after Lily finishes school and Emma gets married—sometime this summer.

Jodi continues her work for the same company of the past 10-plus years. She hopes to move into a new role that she can take with her when we relocate. She is still beautiful as wife, mother, and oma, and I love her so.

But we are buried—with work, with sorting through 23 years of family life in the only house most of our children remember, with months of deferred maintenance to get the place ready for sale, with wedding planning—and then Christmas appeared on the calendar!

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I have previously shared this poetic bit of Chinese wisdom from Ching An:

The laugh’s on me: this year’s man is last year’s man.

Year by year, I promise to keep a quieter, simpler Advent and Christmas. And year by year, we light the

rose-colored candle on Gaudete Sunday, but instead of rejoicing, I am ragged. I know the reason for the season—I know it!—and yet…

When I was little, church on Christmas was an occasional occurrence. Although I knew the Nativity story, the magic and joy of Santa and toys captured my imagination, and my parents were more than generous with my sister and me.

Jodi and I have raised our kids Catholic but never abandoned the Jolly Old Elf. Some of you know that, for 23 years, we have received a letter from the same North Pole elf every Christmas—and our grown children still receive presents from someone on Christmas morning. Some of you remember epic, multipage Christmas letters (with footnotes) and annual Christmas poems.

I’ve overshot my mark. It’s all too much. I can’t keep up, but I can’t let go either.

Who are these coffee-drinkers whose eyes still sparkle at the mention of stockings?

Where has the time gone?

And then our elfin pen-pal, Siberius Quill, reminds me that things do change. Next Christmas, we’ll be in North Dakota. We’ll decorate a new house. And marriages and grandkids mean new traditions. All is as it should be.

Let go.

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When meditating on Scripture, they say to imagine yourself in the story: Who are you? What do you see? What do you do there?

Who am I in the Nativity scene?

Shepherds kneel roundabout, their eyes wide with wonder; rich-robed Magi fall prostrate with their pillowed gifts; the ox ruminates sleepily; the ass sighs, free of his burden. And in a rough wooden manger, a little lordling, helpless and howling, claims kingship—demanding dry straw and fresh swaddling, a full belly, soft words, a gentle touch …

Oh. There I am.

Apologies, dear blesséd Mother; make me humble like my Brother.

Wishing you many blessings and much happiness in this new year. Know that our hopes and prayers are with you even when we, ourselves, are not. We love you.

Jim and Jodi Thorp and Family

P.S. We don’t have a home in North Dakota yet, so we don’t have a new address. We’ll be in touch; I promise!