by Jimmy McAfee | Jan 26, 2019 | Uncategorized
“You sound like you’re getting sick. Make sure to get plenty of vitamin C.”
Everybody has heard that before. Most of us have no idea why vitamin C would help us to stay healthy, but we have quietly adopted it into our belief system. Supplements, orange juice, or
fresh fruit – it doesn’t matter how you get your C – just get it.
Nobody wants to get sick. If there is a simple way to avoid the fever, coughing, nausea, aches, and pains, then bring it on. Take no chances.
When a virus invades your body it initiates a series of responses. They can come fast and furious. The same body that was bouncing along on top of the world can seem like a prison within a few hours. It can become impossible to continue your daily schedule as all attention turns inward in a battle for control.
In ways, my soul feels like it is going through cold and flu season. I am being exposed to things that I know can bring me down. This season’s flu strain for my soul is my mom’s declining health. The emotional pain that can cause is capable of sending me into overload. My crippled soul can mirror my body’s response to sickness.
I need some vitamin C to keep that from happening.
Thankfulness is the preventive measure for my soul. I need to start each day taking 1000mg of gratitude. That joy can keep my spirit from becoming sick.
When my soul is under attack and God seems far away, I need visible reminders that he is with me. When the suffering seems to serve no purpose, evidence of his love can keep me healthy. When attacks threaten to overwhelm my spirit, his love is my protection.
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made… (Romans 1:20)
Just like vitamin C is on every supermarket shelf and easy to find, the proof of his love surrounds me. My daily dose is ready when I wake up each morning.
The beauty of a sunrise reflects the hand of an artist. No big bang could yield a perfect magnolia blossom. I know that God is real because I can see his handiwork all around me.
The liquid gold in a cup of hot coffee and the intoxicating smell of bacon weren’t created for his joy. The explosions of flavor didn’t come from some distant artist. He created my ability to enjoy these things because my joy is important to him.
The blurry smile on my wife’s face each morning when she comes downstairs to see me and the overload of joy from my dog, Tarzan when he sees me both come from a Father who wants love to fill his children’s lives.
The sound of a few notes prepares my heart for the music that follows. Within seconds, the past and present are woven together as my mind races across time to find a connection so specific that it could only come from a God who was present in all of my life.
The steam of a hot shower on a cold morning envelopes me and releases the tension in my muscles. As the water runs down my back and chest it seems to embrace me in a special way.
There are a thousand more gifts just like these that await me every morning within the first few minutes. All I have to do is receive them and thank the one who gave them to me. That simple action releases a peace that guards my soul.
I still don’t know why people I love have to suffer. I still don’t understand the bad things in this world. But the constant stream of proof of a present God reminds me that I am not alone. The intimacy of each act of a loving Father comforts me and brings me peace in knowing that it is going to be OK.
Maybe more than OK. Today may hold more than an everyday miracle.
I’m going to take my vitamin C and go find out.
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalms 118:24)
by Jimmy McAfee | Jan 17, 2019 | Uncategorized
When I was a kid, someone told me that each person is the very best at something. Because God created each of us in his image and yet totally unique, every person has something that they are able to do better than anyone else.
God created mankind in his own image (Gen 1:27)
With the simple faith of a child, I believed that superpowers were out there waiting to be discovered. What was my ability? Would I jump higher than anyone in history? Maybe I could spit a watermelon seed almost forever. I practiced until my mom told me to stop because it was bad manners.
I read the Guinness Book of World Records until the pages became dog-eared. It was full of hundreds of people who were official. They were each the best.
I watched professional athletes on TV and envied them because they had discovered their gift. I had a favorite book about the baseball hall of fame. I would re-read stories about “The Babe” and think how awesome it must have been to be the greatest home run hitter in history.
Samson earned my admiration. He walked past a sword and spear to kill 1,000 of his enemies with the jawbone of a donkey. Strength and style. What a guy.
Of course, some talents aren’t physical. Albert Einstein was a supergenius theoretical physicist with a sense of humor and amazing hair. How cool to be him?
My daughter, Erin, is probably the fastest ever at the Solitaire app. She’s a blur of thumbs and iPhone. It is unbelievable to watch. It’s like she moves cards with her mind before I can even identify them.
As a twelve-year-old, I thought others were lucky to know how they were special and to be celebrated for it. However, I would silently wonder why I hadn’t discovered my special power. Had God given me one?
There is another kind of best. A gift that may not be as widely recognized, but is more powerful. I call these examples “Granny’s cookies”.
My grandmother makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. No doubt. Ever since I was a little kid, she would bring me (well maybe the whole family) these gallon-size Ziploc bags overstuffed with the most mouthwatering cookies anyone ever tasted. I would gobble them down and risk how many could be eaten before getting in trouble.
She sent the same, generous, giant bags of them to my dorm in college. They were like gold. Granny’s cookies.
When I got my own house and kitchen, I asked to make a copy of her recipe. She said she didn’t have one written down. I thought to myself “This is awesome, she has memorized a recipe held in secrecy, probably passed down from her grandmother in the old country.”
Then she finished her response, telling me that she didn’t keep a written copy of the recipe because it was on the back of every bag of Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chips.
What?!
Images of passing down an old family recipe vanished as I wondered how they could be the world’s best cookies and be made from a recipe on every bag at WalMart.
The answer was simple. They were the best because she made them just for me, out of the pure love a grandmother has for her grandchild. Nobody else will ever be able to do that the way she did.
Babe Ruth’s most famous home run may be his called shot in Game 3 of the 1932 World Series. My favorite home run of his is from a World Series six years earlier when he promised a hospitalized “Little Johnny” Sylvester that he would hit a homer just for him the next day. The Babe loved children and dedicated much of his life to them.
Erin may achieve fame and fortune on the Solitaire circuit, but my favorite gift is the way she makes me laugh. She effortlessly weaves together jokes with stories of the times we have shared and the reasons she loves me. Nobody else will ever be able to do that like she does.
Each of us is capable of greatness. It may be as simple as knowing that a neighbor needs a hug and giving it freely. It may be quietly listening when someone needs to vent their frustrations. It may be summoning the courage to tell a friend something they need to know but don’t want to hear.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Eph 2:10)
Maybe I won’t be a celebrity because of athleticism, genius, or a novel skill. That’s OK. I’d rather aspire to the second kind of greatness anyway.
Giving love to someone, gift wrapped in an act of kindness is an amazing power. Nobody can do it just like you can. God made sure of that.
I want to radiate the very image of God that was used as a blueprint for my design. I want his love and perfect timing to be my power. I want that to be what I am best at.
The amazing part of this second type of gift is that you don’t have to prove that you are the best. It isn’t about winning a championship or being awarded a Nobel prize. It is achieved by taking your best and giving it to someone else.
I probably wouldn’t have loved Granny’s cookies if she had only brought them once. Her persistence forever linked a simple act of kindness to the love she had for me. I remember her fussing to herself when she cooked a particular batch too long. She wanted them to be perfect. She knew what they symbolized.
My friend Kelly stops by to see me at work almost every Friday afternoon. He has had that habit for years. When we worked in different states, he would call instead. Sometimes he has news to share, and sometimes he doesn’t. The visits were never about productivity, they were about letting me know I was important to him. Maybe he’s the best at that.
Too often, I hold high regard for gifts that the rest of the world tells me are valuable. I need to spend less time cheering for them, and more time thanking the people who have given me the world’s best.
Thank you, Granny. You give me the best and I love you.
I was right as a kid. Superheroes are all around me. I just wasn’t looking for them the right way. My heroes look more like Clark Kent than Superman.
And true greatness is a cookie more often than it equals mc2.
by Jimmy McAfee | Jan 6, 2019 | Uncategorized
This post is drawn from an entry in my private journal, dated August 2017.
Sometimes I question if my life matters. Regardless of how hard I try, nothing appears to change. Dark forces seem to follow me, undo every good thing I’ve done, and target the people I love most.
In moments of quiet desperation, I contemplate whether the world is better because I am here or not. Have I really made a difference? In my absence, would the darkness have left my loved ones alone?
I believe that God loves me unconditionally and that Jesus has redeemed my life. I know that they regard me like family and that I will spend eternity with them. But at times this life can feel more like a trial than a predecessor to greatness.
The whole world seems to be built on a foundation of sand. All of my efforts are undone by waves that continue to crash, flooding over my efforts, erasing any marks that they existed.
Do I make a difference?
Serving is a key part of our family life. I have spent years trying to teach my kids that the same love poured by God into our lives will flow from us into others as we get involved in their lives. We can help them to receive His love by ministering to their physical needs.
Both of the kids faithfully follow where I lead, sometimes out of choice, and other times out of obligation. They serve well, and I am proud of them. However, as they grow into independent adults, it is hard to tell if they have internalized the lessons I’ve tried to teach.
Are they following me or their own hearts? Will they carry a life of love into the world? Will they be a beacon of hope, or will the waves of this world wash away the sprouting seeds I have spent twenty years nurturing in them?
“Please God, help me. Give me a sign that my faithfulness will be rewarded.”
And he showed me a pair of neglected boots.
Pastor Dustin is the youth pastor at a local church. James attends there occasionally with friends and has bonded with him. He and his wife are expecting their first baby soon and are moving from an apartment into their first house in eager anticipation of a growing family.
He asked for help with the move, and James volunteered. It was scheduled for one of the last lazy days of summer before James’s senior year started. James asked if he could borrow my pickup truck for the day. I gladly told him he could, and that was the last I heard of it.
The night after the move I asked how it went. He grunted something to the effect of “it was all right” and returned to his silence. I wanted more. I needed more.
As movers go, James is a first first-round draft choice. He is big, strong, and experienced. He has been on the other end of furniture I have carried countless times. He is my go-to when I need help. I know his potential better than anyone.
I also know that he can stare at his phone when it’s time to work. He can idly talk to people when help is needed. His inactivity can be interpreted as lack of interest by the person he is serving. In short, he is a typical teenager.
There was no way I could know what happened while he was gone. Did he lead, follow, or get in the way? Had my years of careful instruction and example been worthwhile or wasted?
Kim had been home that day, so I asked her what she knew about his day. She said he hadn’t told her anything either. All she knew was that he had come downstairs, grabbed my truck key, put on his work boots and left. She apologized that she couldn’t give me anything helpful.
Unknowingly, she had given me the hope I had prayed for.
James has had steel-toed work boots for years. He hates wearing them. They aren’t fashionable. They aren’t all that comfortable. He only wears them if I insist on it. Regardless of how many dad speeches he heard about how they protect his feet and allow him to move furniture more efficiently, they sat in his closet with a light coating of dust on them while he wore running shoes or (say-it-ain’t-so) flip-flops.
But not today. He volunteered when Pastor Dustin needed help and then pulled his boots out of the back of his closet. When the day called for leadership, he brought his best game. He had not only heard me, but he had been listening. A seemingly insignificant preparation revealed his desire to serve well. I had made a difference.
I don’t know Pastor Dustin personally. I didn’t know he needed help. James could have stayed home. No pressure from me had motivated him. He could have shown up and followed along. But he didn’t. He decided to lead and give his best. He chose to be a champion to someone in need. A dusty pair of boots revealed his true nature, even if he wasn’t aware it had happened.
Thank you, God.
When things look hopeless, we don’t need God to pull back the curtain and fully reveal all truth and majesty. We only need a glimpse. Hope is the force that keeps us moving forward.
When I need it, He gives me the small glimpse that I need.
It fills my heart with hope.
Hope rests between faith and love. We need infinite love but only a tiny, mustard-seed of faith. One soul radiating a measure of hope is enough to inspire the world.
Hope is a light that pierces the darkness. If you stand in a large room that is pitch black except for a candle burning twenty feet away and are asked what you see, the flame will always be your answer. When we have lost our way, even a small light conquers consuming darkness. We are drawn to the light. So it is with hope.
God provides hope to each of us in our own way, just when we need it. He revealed a trivial detail that would only mean something to me. It is the personal nature of a loving Father.
Do I make a difference? Yes, I do.
I know that I make a difference because he tells me so. Whenever I need hope, he will give it to me in a special way.
This time it was a neglected pair of dusty work boots.
by Jimmy McAfee | Jan 2, 2019 | Uncategorized
Every family has quirky habits, strange preferences or rituals that defy understanding but are rigidly followed. I’ve been told that my family has more than its fair share.
One of our strange habits is that when we are driving, we aren’t allowed to
turn around and retrace our path. It may require going to the same store in a different location, but you don’t retrace your path. It may mean changing your shopping list, but you don’t go backward.
It had an innocent inception. Kim would drive our small children around town, and they would repeatedly ask to go someplace she had just passed. In an effort to make progress in her daily routine, she established a rule: We don’t go back.
Now it is a “mom” rule, and there is no process for repealing those.
Most of us have rules like this. If you open the hood and take a look underneath at the motivation for these guidelines, you will find frustration with something relatively insignificant and a workaround to avoid it. Rather than simply accepting that kids are inconvenient, we put a rule into play. When I look over my life, I find a lot of these.
I create rules for my life to avoid things that get on my nerves.
It seems harmless. Or is it?
Is there a cost of “blocking out” inconveniences or embracing my preferences over others? Do I avoid people when I avoid annoyances?
These behaviors send a clear signal to the person with me. They become well aware that our connection is secondary to my desire for a perfect sanctuary. I avoid sharing my time, feelings and experiences with people if I don’t get to do things like I want or if they are irritating.
That brings me to the title of this post. What if Jesus couldn’t read a map? What if he routinely sent us “right” when we should have turned “left”? Or what if he routinely forgot to tell us to make a turn because he was talking? Would I have been his disciple if he got on my nerves?
Maybe he wasn’t bad with directions, but he was human. That means that he would have snored loudly in a room he shared with other people, made funny noises when he chewed, told the same not-funny jokes, or smelled funny.
None of these idiosyncracies would disqualify his perfect love, sinless life, or redemption of my sins. Perfection in my sight isn’t the same as a perfect life.
It is easy to regard biblical characters with disbelief when they were offended by Jesus’s teaching or the way he acted. We already know who he really was. But would we have done the same thing?
Our culture calls it news when a leader’s acts “aren’t presidential”, an athlete offends people while trying to highlight injustice or a celebrity promotes a ridiculous position. Every day, we place perfection over perfect love. I regularly place my perfect satisfaction over perfect love.
If I am honest with myself, Jesus would have gotten on my nerves sometimes, and I would have had to decide how to deal with it. Even now, I have moments now when he gets on my nerves because he is silent when I want a voice, or still when I want action. And I get frustrated.
If I had been one of the twelve disciples, would I have stopped following Jesus if it meant eating fish and bread…again? Could I have heard the wisdom in his parable if he said “umm” too many times? Could I have embraced him when he was sweaty? Would I have looked past what I wanted him to be and accepted who he was?
I hope so. Otherwise, I would have missed the chance of my lifetime.
My brokenness causes me to let frustrations stand between me and others, even between me and Jesus. I may blame others, but really it is my issue. It may not seem like a big deal, but admitting it is important if I want to move forward in loving my neighbors.
Being irritated with someone isn’t the same as not loving them. However, with people that I don’t know well, irritations keep me from pursuing a relationship with them. After all, why try to make friends who get on your nerves?
If frustrations don’t keep me from pursuing Jesus, why should they keep me from pursuing friendships with my neighbors?
Loving my neighbor as myself means looking past their annoying habits. Valuing people over my preferences means sacrificing things that I hold dear. It sounds easy, but it is hard.
Jesus loves me through every obnoxious habit and even when I am downright mean.
I want to love like that.
The truth is, my sanctuary gets lonely sometimes. When I avoid discomfort, I am left in an empty room. My preferences don’t make great company.
Eating out with people is nice, but inviting them into your home is special. I want to do that, even if they stay too long or never reciprocate. Changing my sacred sleep schedule should be worth it if I get a chance to make better friends.
Rearranging my budget is a small price to pay for a chance at a relationship that may last a lifetime. Being embarrassed because I am bad at something is a silly reason to avoid connection. Only volunteering to do “things I like” is too restrictive.
I want to learn to love better, even if it means turning the car around and retracing my path. I want to love Jesus, even if he can’t read a map.
I want to walk through a city full of people that I care about, and who care about me. I want to go to the movies with so many friends we can’t all sit together. I want to be invited when neighbors laugh and celebrate, or when they cry.
I guess that is the meaning of “the last will be first”. Friends first will mean me last.
Hopefully, 2019 will be the year I get this right.
If I get on your nerves, please forgive me. I hope you’ll give me a chance.
