A message popped into my inbox today—unexpected, and pure. It began with:
“Nomad Santa, I want to thank you.”
I paused. I don’t get notes like this. Sometimes around the holidays, when the beard draws children’s attention and people are feeling nostalgic I get a nod and a smile from a young parent. But this one hit different.
The writer was someone I’d taught decades ago—confirmation class, back when I wore ties and a clergy collar more often than backpacks. It was Lutheran tradition. We were all just trying to make sense of it together.
Now, 35 years later, he was writing to say thank you. Not for the memory verses or the lessons on sacraments, commandments or Lord’s prayer. Not for any of the “right answers.” But because somehow, in all that time, one simple truth had stuck:
God loves me. And I know it because of you.
*Photo by [Desirae Clark]
That was it. That was everything.
He said it’s been a lifeline—especially during Pride Month, when many of his friends wrestle with whether there’s room for them in the story of faith. But he? He never doubted. Not since that seed was planted, way back when.
I sat with that for a long time.
We don’t always know the effect we’ve had. We teach, we stumble, we move on. But sometimes—long after the moment has passed—a message returns. And with it comes a quiet gift of grace. A reminder that something we said—or simply were—made a difference.
And in that moment, I didn’t feel like a teacher. Or a traveler. Or even Santa.
I just felt… human. Grateful. Humbled.
This is Nomad Santa, reminding you: In this small world, we’re all neighbors.
