Jason F. Wright is a New York Times best-selling author of 10 books, including "Christmas Jars," "The Wednesday Letters" and "The 13th Day of Christmas." |
He can be reached at email@example.com or jasonfwright.com.
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I've traveled often throughout my life, but my recent 4,000-mile road trip across the West took me through some of the most gorgeous terrain I've ever seen.
What do you call 4,051 miles? Good question.
I've had a lot of ideas in my approximately 40 (cough, cough) years. Some were brilliant. Some were brilliantly awful. But from each one of them, I've discovered something interesting about myself. Usually, as I wrote in this column on failure, I've learned what not to do next time.
During my middle school bus-riding years, my family lived in the quiet country several miles outside of Charlottesville. Unfortunately, I was usually the last to board each morning.
At some point during the evening of Election Day, Tuesday, Nov. 4, 1980, my parents happily went to bed knowing that their guy, Ronald Reagan, was going to be elected the next president of United States.
Last week, my family hosted a few good friends for dinner. At some point during the banter between pizza and brownies, one of our guests abruptly changed topics. "So, I've been meaning to ask, what's all this fuss about 'Frozen'?"
A year ago in this weekly column, I described the relief at getting a clean bill of health from my doctor. My mother had threatened that if I didn't schedule a checkup, she'd cut me off from inheriting her extensive thimble collection.
Cue the inspiring music.
Stephanie Robinson of Toms Brook is a wife, mother, friend and Christian. She's also a very thankful soul, and she wants heaven and everyone in between to know it.
Our beloved Virginia has been hit with another winter storm. That means schools have been closed, plows are busy and grocery stores look like the set of a Michael Bay disaster movie.
Every year I speak to thousands of students in public and private schools across the country. At the end of the day, when I walk out the front door and climb back into my rental car, I always have a bit more faith that the future is in pretty good hands.
I've stayed in every imaginable hotel brand from sea to shining sea.
Like many Americans of all faiths and backgrounds, I like to pray often. You probably do, too. We pray at church, over meals, at bedtime, before road trips and when life presents a need that only heaven can meet.
I'm something of a worrier. I worry about our country, my kids, my half-written books, my friends, my mother, money and time. I even worry that I won't have time to do all the worrying I've already scheduled for 2014.
Every year, a few days before Christmas, my family walks into a superstore and with mom and dad's help, our children scatter and purchase pre-budgeted presents for one another. They bob and weave like spies to avoid detection, hiding in clothing displays or playfully posing as mannequins.
By Jason Wright When my novel Christmas Jars, was first released in 2005, our goals were modest. We aimed to sell a few books and inspire readers to experiment with the tradition for themselves. On a personal level, I hoped to reignite the spirit of Christmas in my own heart and home. In 2005, it was about a book. Nine years later, it's about a movement of miracles. For the uninitiated, the tradition is simple and works for anyone and any size family. Simply place an empty pickle, peanut butter, jam or other Mason jar on your kitchen counter or desk at work. Each day, every member of the family drops their spare coins into the jar. Even in this day of electronic money and debit cards, you'll be amazed at how quickly a few shiny pennies and a quarter will accumulate into real change. When Christmas arrives, gather with your family, church friends or officemates and select someone who might benefit from a little boost. During the last nine years, based on thousands of emails and anecdotes, we've calculated that by the time a jar is given away, the average Christmas Jar holds just more than $200. For many...
It's not that I didn't see this coming, right? I've known for a long time that Oakli, my oldest child, would turn 18 this week. Come to think of it, I guess I've known for, well, 18 years.
I first collaborated with Glenn Beck on his 2008 novel, "The Christmas Sweater." Though categorized as fiction, the inspirational story was carefully poured in the concrete of Beck's childhood, and with every edit, he insisted we stay as true to his personal history as possible.
One of my biggest regrets celebrates a birthday this month. Ten years have passed since I ignored three of the most important words I've ever heard.
It's hard to imagine just 10 years ago we lived in a tragic world where no one knew what their friends had for breakfast.
Twenty years ago a young married woman was sexually assaulted in California. The attack resulted in a pregnancy that the woman refused to terminate, despite her husband's threats of divorce.
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