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Texans wading through water that covers prized possessions. Floridians fleeing a hurricane that is wider than their state. Forecasts of apocalyptic wind and waves. Wildfires filling the west coast with smoke. An earthquake rocks Mexico. Buildings collapse. Tsunamis threaten.

Do any of these words describe you? Hurried. Scattered. Stuffed. Forgetful. Busy. Behind. Broke. If they do, you aren't alone. Christmas is our annual reminder of why Santa takes the sleigh rather than the interstate and how the mall got its name. Strange how a season of peace so often becomes a season of panic.

On the last night of his life Jesus prayed a prayer that stands as a citadel for all Christians: "I pray for these followers, but I am also praying for all those who will believe in me because of their teaching. Father, I pray that they can be one. As you are in me and I am in you, I pray that they can also be one in us. Then the world will believe that you sent me" (John 17:20-21 NCV).

We are really ready for this presidential election to be over. We're ready for an end to the rancor and tackiness. Voters on both sides feel frustrated, even embarrassed by it all. There is a visceral fear, an angst about the result. What if so and so wins? When we wake up to November 9, post-election, when the confetti is swept away and the election is finally over, what will we see?

Before the memories of Rio and the Olympics fade, can I take you there one more time? Two of our three daughters were born in the South Zone of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. We lived in the North Zone, separated from our doctor's office and hospital by a tunnel-pierced mountain range. During Denalyn's many months of pregnancy, we made the drive often.

I can't decide if it is a dream or a longing. Maybe it began as the first and morphed into the second. Yesterday I told my wife, Denalyn, "Last night I had the strangest dream." We'd fallen asleep watching the Republican National Convention. Not the most relaxing way to drift off, right? Politicians, pundits, pollsters and picketers. Tongues wagging. Finger-pointing. Accusations. Declarations. Blah-blah-blah.

Last week's blog struck a nerve. I wrote a piece entitled "Decency for President." The premise was a simple one. Shouldn't a presidential candidate who claims to be Christian talk like one? When a candidate waves a Bible in one speech and calls a reporter "bimbo" in the next, isn't something awry? Specifically, when Donald Trump insists that he is a Christian ("a good Christian" to use his descriptor) and then blasts, belittles, and denigrates everyone from Barbara Bush to John McCain to Megyn Kelly, shouldn't we speak up?

As the father of three daughters, I reserved the right to interview their dates. Seemed only fair to me. After all, my wife and I'd spent 16 or 17 years feeding them, dressing them, funding braces, and driving them to volleyball tournaments and piano recitals. A five-minute face-to-face with the guy was a fair expectation. I was entrusting the love of my life to him. For the next few hours, she would be dependent upon his ability to drive a car, avoid the bad crowds, and stay sober. I wanted to know if he could do it. I wanted to know if he was decent.

Not everyone in Jesus’ world gave him a warm welcome. Not everyone received him with grace. And many didn’t just ignore him, they rejected him.