This year we had one of the merriest Christmases ever. Happened because I entered the season with a plan: Set a budget for Christmas spending; Don’t dip into family living expenses to buy Christmas gifts. Don't go into debt. The plan worked. I learned that Christmas does not have to be stressful. Too bad I almost lost my home learning this lesson.

Several months ago, we received a foreclosure notice. I was shocked. My wife wasn't. I had been too busy with work. I wasn’t paying attention to boring stuff like family finances. I wasn't paying attention to my wife who was flailing in a raging river of endless bills, disconnect utility notices, demands for payment.

I dealt with the problem by hoping it would go away. I was on deadline. I had books to sketch. Manuscripts to rewrite. I had speaking engagements, book signings, literary mix-and-mingles, school visits. I didn't have time to bother myself with a foreclosure. Who are these people messing with my fun anyway? I left the problem to my wife, she’ll fix it. I illustrate children’s books, she puts out family fires. Thing was, I was too busy (or blind) to realize she had resigned from her position as family firefighter long ago. Our family finances were like a tiny boat in a big roaring sea, with no captain steering the thing.

Several more weeks passed, and I continued to work. Occasionally I popped my head out of the studio long enough to ask my wife how things were going with the foreclosure. She'd smile, try to reassure me that everything would be okay. "Stop worrying," she said. "God doesn't want you to worry." She’s a very spiritual woman, so she prayed and didn’t think about finances beyond that.

One day, while I was home alone painting a book, we received another certified letter. It stated that our home would be sold at auction in a few weeks. I stood there holding the letter, my Adams Apple growing a size so large I couldn't breath.

I was scared. Embarrassed. Ashamed. Mostly, I worried about my son. Our house is the only home he’s known since birth. And while families move all the time, a sudden move from our 2,600 square-foot house to a cracker-box-size apartment . . . somewhere . . . would surly wreak havoc on his world. Heck, my grown, adult daughters still give me grief about my move from Des Moines to Austin when they were teenagers. I didn’t want to let my son down, not to mention disappoint my wife.

Over the next few days I got busy—no, not illustrating children's books—making phone calls, sending emails, contacting customers. The thing about being a freelancer is that someone always owes you a little somethin’—somethin’. Thankfully I was able to fix our situation before the house went to auction.

Things happen for a reason, I believe that. Almost losing our home was stressful, but in the end, I'm so thankful it happened. My wife and I, we a