Sometimes Christmas has to find me. When it seems nothing – even signs reminding me that “Jesus is the reason for the season” – can jolt me into the spirit of Advent, something will emerge from the sugar-covered, shop-til-you-drop party parade to reach out and catch me.

This year, the spirit caught up with me when, just after Thanksgiving, I traveled to my childhood home of Northeastern Ohio on business.

I, of course, made all the obligatory visits (my parents and three of my siblings still live in the area). My first visit was to my 70-something parents, who live in rural Carroll County in central Ohio.

Wandering along the winding ribbons of Ohio road to find their near-cabin of a home, I passed the Carroll County Electric Cooperative. It vaguely occurred to me as I passed that perhaps I could contribute a bit of money to my parents’ electric bill as a gesture of holiday kindness.

My visit with them was lovely. Heading toward Cleveland for my next visit at my brother’s home, I snaked through Carrollton and stopped at the Cooperative (don’t you just love that – “cooperative”?) to ask if my payment could be made there.

The woman at the counter was surprised that I wanted to pay for my parents’ bill. The day before, it turned out, someone had done the very same thing for parents on a fixed income.

We both found that fascinating and somewhat delightful that there are so many grown children out there willy-nilly paying utility bills for their hard-working and now-retired parents – Johnny Appleseeds of bill paying embracing a literal pay-it-forward ideal.

After I gave her the account name, she left to process the information. When she returned, she appeared even more astounded. I was paying on the same account name as the adult child had requested the day before! A sibling of mine had done the same thing.

Well, now aren’t we special? I was proud of “us” good children. But I was impacted more by the synchronicity of the event. My drive to Cleveland was filled with musings about the phenomenon of two of us having this similar notion simultaneously.

When I arrived at my brother’s home, he asked if I had seen my sister’s e-mail. Of course, having been on the road, I had not. He explained that sister Cindy (who lives in Phoenix) had sent out information about all the utilities in Carroll County, suggesting that a gift payment might be a great Christmas gift for Mom and Dad.

Wow. Living so far apart – Spokane, Cleveland, Phoenix – is not always conducive to moments of group think (not like the days when we could “will” our brother to get into trouble). But here one was.

Moments of collective inspiration arise, the power of caring interconnects and a spirit emerges that is greater than any of us can muster alone. I believe these moments that catch our breath and our attention are what Christmas is all about.