Palm Beach, Florida - Christmas is definitely the season that lies closest to the hearts of the crew of Northern Magic. Herbert and I are unabashedly sentimental about Christmas, so before we left home, we devoted considerable thought to how we would maintain our family traditions on the boat.

People thought we were crazy when we placed an artificial Christmas tree on our list of essentials, but to us, this was an essential, as were Christmas lights. We took delight in stringing them along the rigging and all the way up to the top of our mast. It means running our engine a little longer each night, but it is worth it.

We couldn't begin our Christmas decorating until we arrived in Palm Beach a few days ago and set anchor.

Deep from within the bowels of the boat, Herbert emerged with the Christmas tree and lights, and I dug out the Christmas stockings and tree decoration. The children contributed some seashells. Together, we decorated the tree and the inside of our salon.

We retrieved the many mysterious packages that had been secreted away and carefully placed them around our little Christmas tree.

We have had many discussions about how Santa Claus was going to find us so far away from home. Since we weren't sure whether Santa was linked into the Global Positioning System, Christopher made a point of informing him of our location in his carefully printed letter.

After singing Christmas carols and feasting on Christmas cake and cookies, one by one we hung up our stockings on the ledge beside the Christmas tree. Then, as always, I read The Night Before Christmas, and three excited boys climbed into their bunks.

I am pleased to report that Santa did find us, and that all of us must have been very good this year.

Naturally, Christmas brought our thoughts back to those we love. We have discovered that our decision to leave behind our friends and family has opened the door to another kind of reward, a reward that has proven to us, that the spirit of Christmas is alive and well.

As we sit here, bobbing at anchor beside a beautiful island beach, we can't help but think back on those frantic and difficult weeks before we left on our journey three months ago.

In retrospect, I don't know how we actually got through them. We had so many disappointments and hurdles to overcome and for a long while it appeared that some of the obstacles were insurmountable.

For many months, it seemed as if we would never sell our advertising business -- not because we didn't get any offers, but because the offers we got were from people whose intentions were less than honourable.

But our prayers were ultimately answered and the eventual purchaser turned out to be a true gentleman. It was only weeks before our planned departure that we overcame this obstacle, but no sooner had we put it behind us than another hurdle arose.

Just days after the business was sold, my dermatologist detected an enlarged lymph node in my groin. Very often this is the first sign of spreading cancer. In the case of melanoma, this would reduce the excellent chances of my long-term survival to very slim.

In the three years since my melanoma was diagnosed, I have been under the constant care of doctors who conducted many tests to detect whether the cancer had spread. Melanoma is a deceptive disease. If arrested when it is still on the surface of your skin, it is 100-per-cent curable, but if it infiltrates your body, there is no effective treatment. So every day you have to live with the mostly unspoken worry about whether the unseen cancer has spread.

While waiting for my appointment with the surgeon to have the node removed and microscopically examined, I did my best to downplay any anxiety. I was simply too busy to afford too many thoughts of what the impact of this might be.

We carried on with our departure preparations, signing a two-year lease for the rental of our house. The new tenants needed to take possession only two weeks later, which put us in a nearly impossible situation -- we had to pack up and store all our worldly possessions and move whatever we needed for our three-year trip around the world over to the boat by dinghy, all in two weeks. At the same time, I was still obliged to go to work, and the two of us had to provide care for the three children. Herbert was still far from finished his work on the boat.

As I put my name to the lease to our home, I couldn't help but listen to that little voice of doubt in my mind: What if the cancer had returned? If it had, we couldn't take the trip. How can I give away my beloved home if I needed it to die in? Herbert and I didn't talk about it much, but we privately pondered whether all our plans were about to come to a screeching halt.

We signed the lease anyway, and busied ourselves with the enormous task that lay ahead. We didn't have a clue how we would manage it alone. And this is where the spirit of Christmas comes in. First was my mother, who miraculously offered to take the children in Calgary for three weeks. Mom is an extremely busy lady herself, so this was no minor offer. The boys spent three wonderful weeks being feted by their grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins in Calgary.

Next was Aunt Gina, who, having heard about our plight, put on her oldest clothes, hopped on a plane from Washington, and arrived ready to paint, clean and pack boxes. Her help was particularly welcome, because on Monday of the week we had to be out of the house, I underwent surgery and was uncertain as to how that might affect my ability to move heavy boxes.

And then it seemed everyone we knew leapt in. Former employees appeared unbidden to move furniture. Robert Alain, the purchaser of our business, arrived ready to paint.

By 8 a.m. on moving day, somehow the house was empty, the carpets cleaned and the walls painted. All our stuff for the boat was piled into a huge mountain in the garage. But at least our tenants could move in, and they pulled into our driveway at exactly 8:01.

I felt a lump form in my throat as they arrived, as the little unbidden voice again jumped in with the troubling question: "Why are you doing this? What if you are dying?"

As Herbert turned over the keys, I called one last time to see if the results of the surgery were in. They were. Everything was fine.

I paused to absorb the news, then walked slowly to the driveway. I whispered in Herbert's ear and then all the unshed tears of all my worst fears came welling out. I stood there blubbering for at least half an hour.

We had scaled one large peak, then another, and still one lay ahead. Would we ever get everything done? Packing everything on to the boat, finishing up my obligation to the business, buying everything we would need for the trip -- from piano music to pasta -- dealing with property managers, the Ministry of Education, the banks, the post office, selling our cars, and all without a phone, since we were living on the boat.

It was at this time that once again people came to our rescue. Perhaps it was the panic in our eyes, perhaps it was divine intervention, perhaps people just knew we really needed it, but wherever we turned, friends were there to help. Meals were offered, favours were done, whatever we needed was offered. By the time we brought the children to the boat the night before we left, it was almost midnight and I was a mess, overwrought from all the emotion of the truly generous spirits of those around us. That we left at all was only possible because of them.

The most beautiful surprise of our trip so far? It is that this wonderful generosity seems to follow us wherever we go. From the University of Toronto professor who is sending science projects for the kids, to the ham radio enthusiasts who have offered to help make radio contact with us, to the sailors who help us out of tight situations, and the many other wonderful people whose generosity continues to amaze and overwhelm us, all of us on Northern Magic feel enveloped by a spirit of giving that is not confined only to a few weeks around the end of December.

We feel incomparably richer for having experienced it. Because of it, our decision to sail around the world has rewarded us in ways we never dreamed might happen.

And so to you, whose interest in our adventure has been responsible for many of the expressions of caring that have touched us so deeply, the five of us aboard Northern Magic would like to wish for you the same gift you have given us: peace on earth, and good will toward all men.