Merry Christmas from Da Johnsons and welcome to our 35^th consecutive holiday update!

I finally felt like my life was back on track this year, post-Covid, and then Janet convinced me to take a home sleep apnea test. Why? Because, according to her, “Every night a freight train parks in our bed and revs its engine for several hours.” Although I suspected these were menopause-induced hallucinations, I agreed to take the test. Big mistake. The results confirmed “mild sleep apnea” and the VA recommended a “Certain People Are Chubby” (CPAP) machine—thus ending any chance of me living a normal life.

So now, every night, I get to clamp a plastic facepiece to my mouth and nose, supported by a head strap and four elastic, facial abrasion-inducing Velcro bands. Visually, I fall somewhere between “8^th grade dork” and Darth Vader. On the first night of usage, Janet, who brought this on, had the nerve to ask, “Is it comfortable?” 

“Sure, hon,” I replied. “I love having a polycarbonate octopus sucking my face throughout the night, forcing compressed air into my mouth and nose, with a tube tethering me to a mother ship, and some pimply-faced VA lab technician downloading my results in order to give me a “Sleep Score” and condemnation for not sleeping well enough! It’s the best! And as a guy who has to pee twice/night and has neuropathy in both feet, it’s so much easier traversing our bedroom in the dark and kicking furniture with a facemask strapped on. Then I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror with a horror not felt since Sigourney first locked eyes with the Alien back in ’79. Thanks, hon! Maybe next year I can get cactus needle-lined boxer shorts to wear to bed!”

Recently, Janet suggested I “remove the mask”—code for some unspecified romantic purpose. Determined to get my revenge, I shook my head and, in my deepest voice, responded, “Luke, I am your father.” 

Despite this troubling development in the bedroom, Janet continues to be a caregiver extraordinaire to her parents, managing meds and appointments and keeping everyone fed and sane. She always has some church outreach project going on, sharing Christ’s love with the community. In her spare time, you’ll find her crocheting gnomes, hats, pumpkins, and anything she puts her mind to or gets a request for. She also agreed to help me sub in the 18–24-month class at Knoxville Christian School one day and ended up changing 13 diapers while I did puzzles! (That’s my girl!) She’s looking forward to speaking at another Ladies Day in Texas in February.

I continue to write, speak, sub, and do disaster relief and mission work. My 6^th book, Journey Through Genesis, is a devotional commentary on the book of Genesis and available on Amazon. Disaster relief took me to Kentucky twice this year and then to Fort Myers with Janet. Lots of hurting people out there. Mission work took me to Honduras, the local prison on Thursday nights, and another month of preaching in Maui—tough gig but someone has to do it! We were thankful that our kiddos were able to join us in Hawaii this year for some swimming with turtles, volcano hiking, and Loco Moco.

In February, I was invited to speak on “love and romance” at a church’s Valentine’s Banquet in Knoxville. After hearing my talk, Janet checked my I.D., certain I was an imposter. In April, we traveled to Tampa so I could officiate the wedding of Caleb & Kylie, 2 of my former students. Seven years earlier, before they were dating, I had a hunch and told them they would one day get married. They laughed. Well, who’s laughing now? I also got to speak on being a Christian dad at a men’s retreat in Florida and about my AT thru-hike at the Old Courthouse in Blairsville, Georgia (with friend, fellow AT thru-hiker & Lipscomb grad, Ralston Drake). 

In May, Jason, whose health and career were turned upside down by Lyme Disease, and wife Rachel, sold their home and moved in with us for 5 months during his recovery. Despite the circumstances, it was a blessing having 3 generations under one roof and an occasional golfing buddy. Jason is now doing much better (praise God!), and they have returned to North Carolina, where he is day trading, and they are “test driving” Elkin as a landing spot. Meanwhile, Kyle and Laci continue to enjoy preaching and occupational therapy, respectively, near St Louis. We took a road trip with Jason & Rachel to see them over the summer. While there, we hit a few of our “old haunts” from our Air Force assignment across the river.

In July we headed to Cape Cod for a wedding celebration and a week of camping with our long-time friends, the Diamond family! Sitting on the front row with the energetic Diamonds for a local theater company’s presentation of Mama Mia would have been worth the trip by itself, but we also got to hike, beach, shop, and eat fresh seafood. (For your own taste of Diamond family joy, check out the link at the bottom of this blog.) Later that month, we headed to Cincinnati to see Steve’s dad and his bride and take in a Reds v. Cardinals game with several extended family members. We returned in November to take him and Gail to his old alma mater, Kenyon College, the details of which are in an earlier blog.

We were grateful for a full table at Thanksgiving filled with our kids and Janet’s sister and her husband, Carol and Scott. We ate tons of food, played games, and laughed till our bellies hurt.

In other news, we discovered this year that Janet’s father, Papa Raymond, who lives with us, eats his Cheetos with a fork! I mean, who does that? As troubling as that discovery was, he’ll be 90 in July and it’s not like we can just put him out on the street. That would be wrong. However, if we ever decide to put him out on the street, I’ll be sure to send him with two days’ provisions and a used CPAP machine.

On a sadder note, we said farewell this year to Rachel’s father, Ron Swift, who went to be with his Lord sooner than anyone expected. His memorial—his life—is a reminder of the importance of treating everyone you meet with respect and dignity—making each person you encounter feel valued. Ron did that better than anyone. His passing also reminded us that life is short, to make each day count, to be in Christ, and to never miss an opportunity to express love to others. So, with Ron’s legacy in mind, we’ll close this annual update by reminding you that God loves you and we do too! Merry Christmas!

Joy to the World w/ the Diamonds:

As we approached the hill on which the village of Gambier, Ohio sits, my father, who had been quiet for most of the 3-hour journey, suddenly sat up and began to sing.

He climbed the Hill and said a prayer,
And founded Kenyon College there.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer,
And founded Kenyon College there!

Dad was pumped! This was his first visit back to his alma mater, Kenyon College, since 1959, the year he graduated. His first time visiting the campus where he came of age, starred on the football team, and earned an Economics degree. His first opportunity to finally show his second wife, eldest daughter, son-in-law, and me the place from which all his crazy college stories originated.

A lot has changed since ’59, of course, most notably for my 85-year-old dad. Over the past 7 years, he has overcome the death of his beloved spouse, bouts with lung, brain, and skin cancer, and memory loss brought on by early dementia. He is as kind and funny as ever, but his mind is an etch-a-sketch. While he can recall details from various Vietnam flying missions with ease, he can’t always remember what he had for breakfast, what’s on the agenda for the day, or the answer to a question asked moments earlier. That’s all a part of the wonderful man he is, and those around him are patient and roll with it. We all have issues, right?

As we reached the top of the hill, the stunning Kenyon campus came into view, and something ignited in Dad’s hippocampus.

“That’s Middle Path!” he declared. “It’s the main artery on campus. Everything happens along Middle Path. See that concrete post over there on the path? We used to jump over it on our way down Middle Path. It’s all coming back!”

After lunch on campus at the Village Inn, we walked back down the hill to see the Kenyon football team take on DePauw University. With Kenyon down by 38 points at the end of the third quarter, Dad offered to suit up and go in at right halfback, his old position. Had that been allowed, it would have provided the most fascinating and terrifying moments of 2022.

Instead, we climbed back up the hill, with my winded father providing the soundtrack.

He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (gasping)
And founded Kenyon College there.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer, (more gasping)
And founded Kenyon College there!

At the coffee shop, we met up with a representative from the Development Office. Unsure how much Dad would remember, I had arranged a special campus tour for him. Kate, our tour guide, was energetic and knowledgeable. She also had no idea what she was getting into with my dad! As she highlighted features of the campus, Dad offered side commentary.

“See that rock over there by the bike rack? We used to pee on that rock. I’m not sure why.”

“Is that Rosse Hall, over there? My my! My buddy tried to cheat on an exam there one time. There were a few questions to answer on a clipboard. He sat by the window and managed to drop the clipboard out the window to a friend, who took the questions back to the dorm to answer, then passed them back up to him through the window. He thought he had gotten away with it, until the professor called him to the front the next day and asked him how he had managed to type his answers!”

Dad was dumbfounded when learning that Kenyon’s annual cost, including tuition, room, and board, is over $80,000, making it one of the most expensive private schools in the country.

“It was expensive back then, too. My good friends, the Beese brothers, were from a wealthy family and were going to Kenyon, so I wanted to go too. It was an all-boys school at the time. My parents wanted me to get a college education, so my mom went to work for Monarch Chemical, and her salary, along with my football scholarship, made it possible for me to attend.”

“Unfortunately, I wasn’t doing well my first semester. The rigorous academics here were nothing like what I had been through at Green High School. My academic advisor told me I had to get my GPA up in order to keep my scholarship and stay in school. He said I needed “an easy A” and offered a few options, including ROTC. So, I took ROTC solely for the A, which I got, but that led to a 30-year Air Force career. Funny how life works.”

We continued strolling along Middle Path, with our guide providing campus updates and Dad offering more commentary.

“Over there is where I took my Economics classes, and that building up ahead, Old Kenyon, was my dorm the last couple of years here. Kenyon was all-male then, but Peggy would come for dances and other visits. She was the Homecoming Queen, in fact, and her picture was up at Peirce Dining Hall.”

Moments later, inside the dining hall, the memories came flooding back to him. The grand hall looked like something out of Hogwarts.

“That’s the table I sat at every day, me and my friends, four on each side. To offset my tuition, they had me bring out trays of orange juice and food to serve the students. Parents would come and stand up on the balcony watching us. On Sundays, we would sing the alma mater for them. Have I sung it for you?”

“Yes, Dad, you have.”

As we neared the end of our tour, someone asked about Kenyon’s most famous graduates and Dad was quick to respond. With a smile and a wink, he said, “There are three: Paul Newman, the actor and salad dressing guy… Rutherford B. Hayes, the President… and Brad Johnson.”

That night, Dad reflected on our special day and told my sister, “This trip has breathed new life into me.” After returning to his home in Cincinnati the next morning, I asked him if he wanted to play some golf before I returned home.

“Wow, I haven’t played golf in years. I’m willing to try but can’t promise anything. I’m not even sure I can still hit the ball.”

“Well, I brought your old clubs with me,” I said. “Let’s hit a bucket of balls and go from there.”

The next morning at the driving range, we learned Dad can still hit a golf ball. 95% of his drives went perfectly straight and about 100 yards. In the golfing circles I run in, that’s elite.

“It’s coming back to me. Let’s play a few holes.”

“Best ball?” I asked.

“No, I think I’ll hit my own shots. You’re not that good.”

So, Dad hit his own shots and hit them well. Straight down the middle, about a hundred yards. He smiled after each shot and had the stamina to complete nine holes and give me a run for my money.

Of course, it wasn’t about scoring. No, this was about spending time with my old man. This was about reliving glory on a college campus and driving the green on a couple of par threes. This was about staring down dementia and saying, “You haven’t won yet.”

Let me encourage you to take the trip. Go see your aging parents while you still have them. Make it a priority. Someday, memories will be all you have, so make them now. Store them up—as many as you can. And pray that when you’re at that ripe old age, your kids will do the same for you.

As Dad and I finished the 9th hole and drove the cart up the hill to the clubhouse, he looked over at me, pumped his fist, and had one final thing to say…

He climbed the Hill and said a prayer,
And founded Kenyon College there.
He climbed the Hill and said a prayer,
And founded Kenyon College there!

“Come quickly! You’ve got to see this!”

The call to assemble reverberated across Agua Viva, our mission center in Santa Ana, Honduras. Campus-wide declarations are normally reserved for emergencies, to announce that fresh guacamole is being served, and to declare the flushing of a toilet when showers are in use.

Not wanting to miss out, I grabbed my cup of coffee and moved quickly down the sidewalk toward the voice of Tim Hines, our team leader.

“Look up there! In the tree. Toward the top. It’s a macaw!”

I’ll be honest. I wasn’t sure what a macaw was. My first instinct was that this might be a pet nickname for one of Tim’s young grandsons, who are adept at climbing obstacles and swimming in mudholes. To find, say, Asher at the top of a tree would be more troubling than surprising.

As we gathered near the base of a large tree near hammock central, aka “the boat,” Tim directed our attention upward, like any good missionary should.

“Right there, through the gap in the branches! See the red, yellow, and blue? That’s a macaw!”

Sure enough, through a gap in the branches, perched high in the tree, the most colorful bird in the world came into view.

I was so excited; tears ran down my leg. I hadn’t felt this thrilled since the birth of my sons or the release of the Salomon XA PRO 3D v8 GORE-TEX trail running shoes. This was a magical moment in a faraway place, like something out of the Myst video game. Several of us retrieved our cell phones and jockeyed for position to get the best angle on this, the largest of about 350 species of parrots.

“I’ve been coming here for 15 years,” Tim declared. “And I’ve never seen a macaw in the wild. What a treat! Did you know that thing has the bite strength of 500 to 700 pounds per square inch, like a large dog bite?”

“I did not know that” I replied, as I strained my neck and took rapid-fired pictures. “The last time I saw one of these was on a Froot Loops box.”

“No, that’s a toucan,” someone interjected.

“Right.”

We stood there for several minutes, gawking at the 3-foot-long bird, waiting for it to flap its wings, or shed a bright red feather or belt a mating cry. Instead, it was content to perch quietly, taking in the coolness of our mile-high altitude at dusk.

The macaw was, of course, all the talk at dinner. The trip brochure promised house-building and other mission work, but no macaw-sightings. We had just experienced something mystical and magical—something special. A treat.

And then, the next day, Tim had to go and ruin everything.

As we assembled for the evening devotional, he informed us that our favorite bird—the magnificent, mystical creature—wasn’t wild after all.

“Our neighbor, up mountain, is the town mayor. Turns out the macaw is his elderly mother-in-law’s pet.”

Our hearts sank. 

“She said it was overdue in having its wings clipped and got out.”

Devastating.

“She sent a laborer over this afternoon with a frying pan to retrieve it.”

In Honduras, there are basically two classes of people: those who own expensive, exotic birds as pets and those who are tasked to climb trees and retrieve them when they escape.

“Does the bird have a name?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. The young man went halfway up the tree, banged on the frying pan, and shouted, ‘Comida! Comida!’” (which means food or meal in Spanish)

I sighed and shook my head. Our beautiful, mystical moment had been reduced to an attempted capture of a soon-to-be clipped bird named Comida.

“Was he able to capture it?” I asked.

“Almost,” Tim answered. “The bird approached the frying pan, about halfway up the tree. But just as the man started to take hold of it, it took off flying. As far as I know, it’s still a free bird.”

Back home in Tennessee today, I don’t know Comida’s status or whereabouts. I don’t want to know. I’m afraid to know.

My hope is for something magical and mystical—something special. I hope she is free and unclipped, perched high in a tree. I hope other missionaries can view her in all her glory and be reminded that our creative God spent a little more time on this creature… not because He had to, but for us to enjoy.

And I hope, in the middle of the night, only the nearby fireflies can hear Comida, as she softly coos…

If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now
‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see

If I stay here forever
They’ll grab my wings and rearrange
But I’m as free as a bird now
And this bird you cannot change

Fly high, Comida, fly high!

It was a warm Monday eve, west of Lahaina town,

We’d just downed penne pasta, baked and golden brown.

As we returned to our ride, my son tossed an odd look,

Was his Lyme acting up, or had he been poisoned by the cook?

My eyes met his gaze, across the top of our car,

In the foreground a sight, something fowl, quite bizarre.

At the end of a trail, formed with black and white poop,

Sat a two-headed chicken, in a makeshift bird coop!

“Oh my!” said Lil Jan, “What on earth shall we do?”

“The thing has two heads, four claws, and a coo.”

“Let’s drive off,” said I, “The wind will fix this,”

“60 miles per hour, will end this bird bliss!”

“Oh no!” said my Jan, “That’s cruel, inhumane.”

“This two-headed bird, has suffered enough shame.”

“Put it in the trunk,” said Jas on a hunch.

“We can bring it to the parsonage and have nuggets for lunch.”

“Oh no!” said Rach, as she finished her Wordle,

“This fowl is quite rare, like that giant sea turtle.”

“We could sell it,” I declared, as the bird started a cower,

“Let’s go to KFC, is it open this hour?”

With time running out, Rachel spotted some fescue,

It was time to take charge, it was time for a rescue.

She approached the two heads, and reached for its beaks,

I jumped into the car, “That thing is a freak!”

“Be careful now, Rach,” said Jas under his breath,

“One false move and you’ll get pecked to death.”

“Stand back,” Rachel said, slowing her pace,

“If we startle this fowl, we’ll get egg on our face.”

She calmly reached out, gently cradled the bird,

Its two heads bobbing, a sight, quite absurd.

Rach spoke to the bird, as if it were a baby,

“You’re not a freak, just a two-headed lady.”

She placed the bird in the grass, with a tear in her eye,

The sweetest rescue ever, I’m not gonna lie.

“I hope you are happy; I hope you find purpose,”

“And if things don’t work out, there’s always the circus.”

A black leather cap, a song, and a smile

Have you got a sec? Let’s walk for a while.

I noticed your ride, we could drive for a bit

Does it come with an engine, that toy Honda Fit?

We could take my truck, power over each hill

Ride shotgun, my son, and prepare for a thrill.

A spoiler of Bethy, I oft hear the charge

I’m guilty, I admit, of this claim, by and large.

A worker, my role, in this beehive called life

Protecting my queen, my soulmate, my wife.

Game nights and movies, our sojourns the best

Savannah was lovely, that week in Key West!

Let’s keep ‘em low key, these Mallory Square walks

Don’t mind the rainbows, on my compression socks.

High winds in Wyoming, ripped your awning away

Take the next exit, Steve, by the gas pumps we’ll stay.

Keep calm, don’t panic, I’ll plan our escape

I’ve got an idea, please pass the duct tape.

Along the way, I’ll explain what we see

All things tractors and silos, plus bad jokes for free.

No matter the day, morning, noon, or night

A good time for ice cream, two scoops, about right.

A tough season, you say, I’ve been through a few

Try as I might, not all harvests come through.

Rolled a rig, lost a home, life comes at you fast

So, draw near to your Lord, the only thing that will last.

Time for worship and praise, sing out, this my plea

Grab a book, keep pace, and follow my lead…

Oh, praise His name, He is my King,

A wonderful song, He is to me!

A black leather cap, a song, and a smile

I hope you were listening, as we walked for a while.

But our time now is up, we’re at journey’s end

Keep smiling, my friend, as I’ll see you again!

Johnson Christmas Letter, Volume XXXIV

Merry Christmas from Da Johnsons! Through the years, we’ve sat through many classes on marriage, financial planning, and child-rearing. We know how to balance a checkbook, drive a stick, and cook in an Instapot. But no one teaches you how to care for parents. You get to figure that out on your own. 

In 2021, we got schooled in caregiving. We learned how to track and order dozens of meds. We got educated on testing sugar levels, injecting insulin, and limiting S’mores consumption. We practiced quarantining, Covid transfusions, and hearing aid adjustments. We negotiated two hip replacement surgeries and, thanks to Steve’s ill-advised cave tour, a broken foot. We became adept at hearing and responding to a parent on the move in the middle of the night. We got a dad into assisted living and then got him out. We learned how to manage another set of accounts, passwords, and bills. We got to know dozens of healthcare professionals throughout the county, and a few cops at an accident scene. We learned the joy of VA paperwork and unreturned phone calls, and that the timely administration of Coumadin and stool softeners earns you street cred. We learned to caveat vacation and social plans with “if we’re able” and where to find discount garage ramps, walkers, and toilet seat risers. We learned to talk loudly at the supper table and repeat every sentence. And, in case you ever need one, we now know how to give a sponge bath with dignity.

More importantly, we learned to sigh at the end of the day. And smile. And hug. And pray. And vent a little. We learned to remind each other that caregiving is an awesome responsibility and a privilege…a way to honor the people who brought you into the world and cared for you for many years. More than anything, we feel blessed by this season of life.

Of course, 2021 was about more than just caregiving. In April, with Janet’s sister Cathy helping us on the home front, we spent an incredible month in Maui! Steve was asked to preach for a congregation there, and we got to snorkel with sea turtles, see waterfalls from a helicopter, hike a dozen trails, whale watch on a dinner cruise, nap on some of the world’s finest beaches, and party at a luau. Also, while traveling the Road to Hana, Tarzan Steve swung from a vine at a watering hole and was rewarded with 11 staples in his head. 

In addition to her caregiving duties, Janet is working on her Master of Crochet degree. If she can visualize it, she can make it. She also enjoyed speaking at a couple of Ladies Days this year and handling communication for the Ladies ministry.

Steve continues to observe the world around him and write about it, often at coffee shops. In addition to blogging, he’s bouncing between three book projects. He continues to sub all grades at Knoxville Christian School and speak to the Blount County prisoners twice per month. Janet also allowed him to sneak away this year to do disaster relief in Waverly TN and Jean Lafitte LA, with a trip to Mayfield KY upcoming. 

In October, we headed to the Florida gulf coast for our niece’s wedding and much-needed beach time with our children. Our sons and their wives make us proud every day. Jason is battling Lyme disease, an illness which has led him to transition from prosthetics to working from home. Kyle became the Preaching Minister at Lafayette Church of Christ this year and continues to impact lives in this new position. 

We hope your 2022 is a special one. If you need to get away to the mountains, please stop by and stay in our basement suite. Our free “Airbnb” comes with Roku TV, unlimited Keurig coffee, and a complimentary sponge bath.

Merry Christmas!