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Dearest Aunt Shirley and Uncle DeVoe,

Merry Christmas to you both, steadfast lights upon my horizon.

The year turns once again, and with it, we are reminded of life's tides—how they ebb and flow like the great ocean meeting the steadfast sea.

These waters, like faith, remain constant yet ever-changing, carrying with them the gifts of second and third chances, as infinite as their depths.

This season, I have thought often of roots—trees and bushes holding fast to earth, even as their green leaves tremble in winter winds.

Family and friends are such roots to me.
They anchor us, even when we stretch toward dreams like branches reaching skyward.
From them, we grow, and in growing, we learn: people can change for the better.

Time, though fleeting, is generous in its offering of forgiveness, compassion, and love.

Aging brings a sharp clarity, doesn't it?
Stubbornness to, like streams that cut through rock to reveal the measure of a woman or a man.

What I have seen in life, in others, and in myself, whispers that we are all capable of kindness, empathy, and moral strength.

Though time grows short, its fleeting nature gives each moment more weight.
We must hold close those who matter and speak of love while we can.

I think, too, of you: the faith you've shown, the quiet courage that binds you to each other.

I am of you, yet apart, shaped by the love you've poured into this your family. There is no greater gift.

Let us forgive what is past and walk toward what is to come, with arms open wide as puppies greet the day—with hope, trust, and boundless joy.

Merry Christmas, dear hearts.
You have always remained my harbor.
With all my love,

I am by blood bound to you, I am your nephew,
James

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