There is a first time for everything. Whether it’s attending a prom, a kiss, buying a home, or watching our child take their first steps, these rites of passage are forever imbedded into our memory.  

 Last winter, a few weeks before Christmas, I witnessed what appeared to be a toddler’s first experience with the simple phenomenon of Christmas lights. I was pretty low on holiday spirit and not looking forward to all the work that the preparation for the season would necessitate to decorate our home. Then just before sunset, I observed a neighbor man stringing Christmas lights with his little boy looking on.

The December darkness had begun to settle in, and there was no traffic on the deserted street. It was cold, but not the blustery kind of cold that produces snow or ice. Still, the toddler was bundled up against the elements, reminding me of decades ago when my now grown son was about his age.

The youthful father completed the task of wrapping the green strands of clear lights around the bushes in the family’s front yard. He headed into the nearby garage to switch on his handiwork. His about three-year-old son stood next to the shrubbery by the open garage not moving. When the twinkling white lights came on, his little chubby face lit up in amazement.

I happened to be walking by at the exact moment when the tiny boy’s uninhibited delight made me reassess my own lack of enthusiasm. It’s this gift that children give us of seeing the beauty and excitement in this world, because often adults take so much for granted. We get buried in the day-to-day struggle, the hectic pace, and the tedium produced by aging, forgetting that there is so much wonder constantly surrounding us.  

First times can be memorable, but sadly often we don’t know when a last time will occur. I thought about this the other day when I saw the Facebook post, “Cherish every moment and every person in your life, because you never know when it will be the last time you see someone.”

Many of you reading this can relate to the trauma created by the unexpected loss of a loved one. Grief is tinged with horror and disbelief. We doubt if we will ever be able to breathe again without feeling a giant lump in our throat, and we silently argue about the unfairness of the circumstance.  

Then regret can take over. We think of all the things we should have said or done, if we could have just had some preparation that someone who meant so much to us was about to be unpredictably ripped from this existence. Besides, even if a terminal illness prepares us, we are never ready to say, “Good-bye,” to those we love.  

Sadly, some people get stuck in loss. Hopelessness and bitterness swallow them up. For most individuals though, in time—life goes on. Reluctantly, we learn to accept what we cannot alter, adjusting to a new normal. Yet everything changes in that instant.

 Then the holidays arrive, and this blessed season can be a reminder of the precious people who are no longer here to celebrate it. Maybe in youth, one can blissfully ignore the chasm death and even geographical distance create. But as we grow older, we often become nostalgic for those who were once a vital part of our celebration, causing us to cling to traditions that are no longer useful.

Instead of getting stuck in what was, why not create something new? After all, there is another recent quote attributed to best-selling author, John C. Maxwell that asks, “When was the last time you did something for the first time? …Or are you still doing what you’ve always done?” 

Whether it’s about creating a new Christmas tradition or reaching for a goal that we’ve had simmering on a back burner, Maxwell’s sage wisdom might be one key in moving forward.  

Of course, human beings are usually terrified to take risks, because risk can result in failure. “Trying new things – and sometimes failing – is one of the best ways to grow,” counters the national leadership expert.

As we wind up the final days of 2024, may we all be more like the toddler who experienced the wonder of Christmas lights for the first time. There’s a whole world of firsts out there, regardless of our age. Let’s go fearlessly explore!

Christina Ryan Claypool is a seven-time Chicken Soup for the Soul book contributor and the author of the inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel“. Contact her at www.christinaryanclaypool.com

You don’t ever forget someone who protected you in what could have been a life-or-death situation. The memory of Jeff’s bravery on my behalf will live on in my heart forever. 

My story dates back to the early 1990s.  I was in my 30s, and owned a vintage store named “Christina’s Second-Hand Heaven” located on Elida Road in Lima. My shop’s merchandise came from auctions, yard sales, flea markets, and occasionally from local folks who stopped by with items they hoped to sell. The store operated on a shoestring budget, so I couldn’t pay much for anything, because I never knew if I could resale it. Turning a profit on inventory was crucial to keep the little business afloat, since as a single mother it was the sole support for my young son Zach and myself. 

Besides not being able to spend much for merchandise, I couldn’t afford to hire extra employees. Although, on occasion my grandmother, a young friend named Stacey, or my neighbor Hershey, would stop by and assist me at the shop for a few hours. 

Still, most of the time, I was there by myself until a customer stopped in.  A couple of sketchy incidents occurred while I was working alone. Yet nothing was near as threatening as the day when Jeff courageously and somewhat supernaturally intervened to protect me. 

That afternoon seemed like it was going to be uneventful. Only a few customers had dropped in, leaving me in the shop alone. Then three twenty-something men, who looked pretty rough, walked up the steps seemingly unnoticed and entered my store as the busy traffic sped by on Elida Rd. Women typically frequented my boutique-like store, and the males who did stop to browse, were usually antique collectors or connoisseurs of vintage clothing. These suspicious strangers didn’t fit the typical vintage shop vibe at all. Thankfully, Jeff Ryan, a former Lima Central Catholic classmate, noticed the men, and realizing how out of place they appeared, Jeff quickly turned his Harley motorcycle into my store’s graveled parking lot. 

By this time, the trio had already sort of surrounded me as I stood behind the jewelry counter filled with glittering costume jewelry. Despite the sparkly appearance, the baubles were pretty worthless. Thankfully, the six-feet long glass display case acted as a barrier, separating me from the men. Unfortunately, I could sense the group’s intentions were probably not good, but it was too late for me to escape. 

That’s when Jeff walked through the store’s door, and relief washed over me. I wasn’t close friends with my former classmate, and I don’t think he had ever visited my shop before. So, I was beyond grateful when he followed the men in that afternoon and took up a guard-like stance close by. 

A dedicated motorcycle rider, Jeff must have appeared to be some kind of tough gang member to the intruders, but he wasn’t. He was a good guy with a kind heart beating in his biker chest. Reinforced by his presence, the trained newspaper reporter within me tried to throw the three men off balance by rapidly asking them a few personal questions. Things like: whether they were local, what their names were, where their parents attended church? 

Jeff stood silently, casually folding his arms over a tall metal clothing rack looking like a formidable foe. His intimidating presence, biker attire,  and solemn demeanor kept the trio’s behavior in check. Although the men quickly tired of my questions. 

That’s when their obvious leader who was clutching a ratty old fur jacket said they wanted to sell me the coat. The jacket was worn, threadbare, and not anything I could resale, so I tried to politely decline. This angered the man holding the coat and he violently slammed his elbows down with a thud on my glass jewelry counter and said, “Look! We want some money.” 

I glanced at Jeff, searching for confirmation about what to do next, and he sort of nodded. Somehow, I understood that given the situation, his nod meant to give the men some money. “How about $10?” I offered, trying not to sound frightened, pretending it was a normal business transaction. Back then, $10 was equivalent to about $25 now, and I was surprised when the ring leader agreed that would be a good deal. He grabbed the $10 bill leaving the tatty fur on the counter and the three men rapidly left. 

The truth is, there was rarely much cash in the register. Maybe, $40 total and I would have happily given them all of it, just for them to go away. I don’t know why they settled for $10, but that left me with grocery money for the week. The really good news is, they never came back. 

When I remember this terrifying experience, I have always known that, if Jeffrey Ryan hadn’t courageously followed those three men into my store, the outcome would probably been tragically different. 

I haven’t seen Jeff in decades. I’m not sure I ever got to properly thank him for his courageous act of valor all those years ago. Sadly, earlier this week I saw a mutual friend’s Facebook post that Jeff had passed away. I thought perhaps it might comfort his family and friends, if I wrote about his selfless act of bravery. Until the end of my days, I will be forever grateful to him. As a damsel in distress, he was definitely my knight in biker armor that fated afternoon.

Rest well, friend and classmate. I will be looking forward to seeing you on Heaven’s shores one day!

Christina Ryan Claypool is a freelance journalist and inspirational speaker who has been featured on Joyce Meyer Ministries and CBN’s 700 Club. She is a frequent contributor to the Chicken Soup for the Soul book series and the author of the inspirational book, “Secrets of the Pastor’s Wife: A Novel”. Learn more at www.christinaryanclaypool.com.