Each Memorial Day for the past several years I have taken part in the Murph Challenge. It is an endurance workout borrowed from the Navy Seals in honor of Michael P. Murphy, who was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions in Afghanistan in 2005.
“The Murph” is a tradition that helps push us, humble us, and dedicate a bit of pain and sweat to honor all the men and women who gave everything they had for our freedom.
I trained harder this year than ever before. I recently celebrated my 50th birthday, and not a lot of guys my age still slip into the 20-pound vest and go run on a 95-degree day. The countless chin-ups, push-ups, and squats mercilessly punished my hands, joints, and muscles, but it was worth it. I was in my best shape yet. I was ready.
On Murph morning, I sensed trouble when I rolled out of bed. The tickle in my throat and aches in my joints warned me that my body’s defenses had been compromised. Hoping for the best, I went ahead with the plan. I survived for 25 minutes before becoming weak and lightheaded. I tried to continue, but had to give up halfway complete.
My spirit was crushed. I had expected to place last in the elite group that my brother assembled, but having to walk off without finishing made me feel like an absolute failure. It wasn’t supposed to end that way.
Later, when I had cooled down, I thought about the people who had lost their lives defending our freedom. They had trained harder than ever before also. Like my grandfather who died in World War II, it wasn’t supposed to end that way.
I wonder what he thought as he climbed into the cockpit of his B-17 bomber on that last fateful mission. Did he have a warning that today wasn’t going to go as planned, or did he go about his pre-flight routine like he had so many other times, totally unaware?
My grandfather, James McAfee, was a regular guy from Indiana with a pregnant wife and toddler back home. He had spent countless nights picturing his family that was half a world away. He must have dreamt of the day when he could return home to embrace his wife like he had the last time he saw her.
This weekend a different James McAfee walked through the door to see the woman who had patiently awaited her husband’s homecoming over seventy years earlier. The husband was replaced by his namesake great-grandson, who is now three years younger than the life that ended too soon.
She was visibly excited to see James. She hugged him again and again before engaging in small talk that only interests people who care about each other.
One James is now a voice from the past and the other is a part of the next generation we hope to inspire. The same, sweet lady has encouraged them both and served as the common link in the chain of events that forms their lives.
But so much changed in the time between the two, loving embraces.
The Greatest Generation went on to defeat the Nazis who threatened the world. Unfortunately, when the threat died, the evil was not destroyed. Instead, it rose from the ashes like a dark phoenix with a new identity in each generation. It has returned in the form of communism, then again as radical Islamic terrorism. It has continued to prowl throughout time, seeking to steal, kill, and destroy all of us in our weak moments.
But as the darkness rises, so do the heroes who stand in defiance.
Each generation must fight its own battles against the evil that threatens humanity. Each generation must do its part to guard the light of hope in a world that is under attack.
I wish I could thank my grandfather for his sacrifice and tell him that he made a difference to me, but he was gone long before I was born. However, I can honor him by remembering his bravery. I can also remember the sacrifices made by so many others. The memories of their acts of love strengthen us when the enemy returns.
I hope that my grandfather would be proud of what our family has done with the lives he paid for with his own. I hope we embody the liberty and freedom that he died defending.
It took a failed workout to remind me that evil will always be defeated and that God will continue to use common people to achieve his glory. Our goal is not victory in a battle, rather it is to live in the embrace of His love and stand in resistance to the evil that mocks Him, even at the cost of our lives.
Our fallen warriors are more than just stories. Learn their names. Remember their sacrifice. Then let’s go fight our enemy. It’s our turn to shine Christ’s light and drive the evil back into the shadows.
May our stories be told to strengthen our children.
I’ve been working on my next post for the past two weeks. I wanted to share God’s message of love, peace, and hope with the world. After several drafts that really fizzled, I’ve kept looking for something just right. I wanted something better. I wanted something big.
I imagined the post going viral, igniting passion in millions of people as they read it. But the harder I tried to find the perfect thing, the more elusive it became. Why wouldn’t the quintessential words come to me?
I have talked to other people who believe they have the next great idea in serving others. They have big dreams of taking away pain, ending hunger, or eliminating poverty. They imagine God using them to change the world. They become confused when others don’t get as excited as they are.
All of this may seem farfetched to you, but we all do the same thing in one way or another. Have you ever imagined how you would do things differently as the next Mega-Millions winner, then wondered why you don’t get the chance?
Our dreams seem noble, but the outcomes can be disappointing.
While waiting for inspiration I prayed, “God, what do you want me to do?”
The answer that came back to me was Psalm 100:1a, KJV.
Make a joyful noise unto the Lord
It’s a funny verse, written by King David. He was an accomplished harpist and wrote over seventy songs in the book of Psalms. He danced with all his might in front of a nation. He commissioned 288 men to serve as the Temple Musicians.
With the enormous vision, passion, and talent he possessed and with nearly infinite resources at his disposal, King David didn’t say to compose beautiful music and perform it to perfection. Why would he say to make a noise?
Noise isn’t something you make for other people. Noises just happen when you open your mouth and decide to make a sound. But when your heart is full, the sound is a joyful noise.
I don’t think that David ever sat down to author a chapter in the book of Psalms. One day at a time, his heart overflowed with the goodness of God and when he began to write, his joyful noise simply poured out. In the second verse of Psalm 100 he wrote: “Serve the Lord with gladness; come before Him with joyful songs.” David played for an Audience of One.
The reason for my frustration finding the perfect topic had been staring me in the face all along. I was focused on performing for a large audience when God asked me to make a joyful noise just for him.
I find peace sitting in my recliner and composing these posts. I love to re-read them and make subtle changes. It takes hours and frequently moves me to tears as I feel a connection with him. When I have finally captured the words that express my feelings, my heart overflows with joy when I hit the “Publish” button.
I get the same feeling again when I sit alone, reading back through old posts, remembering each special moment that I shared with him.
Making Waves is a collection of the joyful noises that I have made unto the Lord. Each post is an outpouring of my heart. It is enough that I can sing for him alone. Maybe one day God will use them as a prophecy to the nations. Maybe not. I shouldn’t even care.
God created beauty throughout the universe. There are billions of galaxies, each with billions of stars and countless planets in our nighttime sky. It is impossible to imagine everything that exists beyond our grasp. The wonders appear and disappear without anyone else ever knowing they existed. But their beauty is their song, and they sing for their Creator.
You have a song, too. It is more than singing in church or alone in your car. You have a special voice that God designed into you.
Maybe your song is prayer, singing, writing, serving, giving, or something else. It is a personal way that you can express your appreciation to a father who loves you. It is a way that you can connect with him and bind your heart to his.
If you haven’t found your joyful noise yet, that’s OK. Set aside time to focus on everything that God has done for you, then open your mouth and decide to make a sound.
I love the 80s. I used to watch the A-Team face a seemingly impossible situation, then everything worked out at the end. I always loved to see “the plan” come together.
The challenges in my life aren’t quite as straightforward as B.A. and Mad Dog faced. Many times my problems don’t come from “bad guys”, they come from inside me.
I am prone to believe that nobody cares about me. It’s not true, but knowledge alone doesn’t break its hold over me. Events become twisted in my mind and from my perspective, people don’t reach out to me because they don’t think I am worth the effort.
The reality is that I have great friends and family. I love them dearly and they feel the same way.
But there are times when I feel like I am always the one who has to reach out, always the one who has to initiate contact. I wish people cared about me enough to set aside their busy lives and come find me. My faith in God remains unshaken, but I feel alone and disconnected from the world.
When I pray for help, God strengthens me and I start the e-mails, text messages, and phone calls. Digital connection isn’t enough, though. Face-to-face time is the remedy.
During one of these episodes, I texted Bob to see if he was available to hang out over the upcoming weekend. He is one of my best friends and for whatever the reason, we hadn’t shared any time in the past three months.
Bob came to my house this past Saturday morning. It was beautiful outside, so we sat on lawn chairs chatting while we enjoyed coffee and bacon like we have many other times. This time, he brought experimental, air-fried bacon. I give it five stars.
I had something in particular I wanted to talk to him about. Bob’s house is next to a sober-living home. It is a regular-looking house that I only knew served in this capacity because he told me. It provides a safe environment to about a dozen men who are recovering from addiction.
A friend from my men’s group has a son who just graduated from a remarkable, faith-based rehabilitation program after thirteen months. Although I have not met his son, I heard that he had gotten a job and would be transitioning into a sober-living home. As God would have it, this particular home was the one next door to Bob’s, so I wanted to share the connection with him.
After our initial conversation catching up with each other, I brought him up to speed on my friend (who he had not met) and his son, Evan. I told Bob that Evan would become his new neighbor within the week and since Evan was looking to surround himself with godly people, that I hoped they could meet.
Bob said that would be great. He said that Evan was one of the “special ones” and he would be glad to see him again.
I told Bob that Evan wasn’t living there yet so he wouldn’t have met him before.
“Oh, no”, Bob said. “Remember two Christmases ago when I told you the story about the guy who helped me hang Christmas lights?”
I told him that I remembered.
“That was Evan. His mom came by as we were finishing up and I met her, too.”
I told Bob that it was very unlikely that we were talking about the same person. Evan is a common name, after all. Then Bob pulled out his iPhone and opened a picture.
“Is this him?”
Of course, it was him. I should have never doubted. Bob doesn’t believe in coincidence. Everything is by design. He’s right about a lot more things than just bacon.
I was happy as we finished our conversation. I was uplifted by time with a good friend but had received a revelation even more important to me.
Everybody in my morning’s story was interconnected with God and each other in ways we weren’t aware of. When I prayed for connection, God showed me that my life was overflowing with connections that I wasn’t even aware of.
A world full of such intricate, intimate connections requires a lot of planning. The planning wasn’t focused on the accomplishment of a task, though. It was focused on people.
We are God’s plan, and his plan is coming together.
Ever since God created Eve to fulfill something missing in Adam’s life (Genesis 2:20), he has been growing our number, trying to join us in spirit and in love. He is at the center, but we are connected around him in a giant, interwoven network. We need him, but we aren’t fully complete without each other.
He has been planning community.
So when I am sad, he gives me neighbors. That strengthens my connection with Him, but also binds my heart to his other children like a family ought to be. What a great plan.
To all of my friends that I haven’t connected with recently, I am sorry. I am trying to find ways to value you more than the busyness of my day. You are more important to me than any of the chores on my list, but I forget that sometimes. You are more precious to me than the extra hours that I work, but I forget that, too.
You are God’s plan for my life. If you become impatient waiting for me to reach out, please call me. I’ll drop whatever. You are worth it.
This past weekend was the opening for Avengers: Endgame. I drove from Dallas to Austin to watch it with my son, James. It was everything I hoped for.
In spectacular fashion, Marvel completed a franchise of twenty-two films spanning eleven years. They did a fantastic job weaving together characters, closing out storylines, all while pulling on your heartstrings.
James faithfully watched each movie with me. We went to the theater nineteen times and watched from home three times.
These movies have been an integral part of our father/son relationship. We went faithfully while he was in elementary-, middle-, and high-school and his freshman year of college. Various quotes have become part of our regular expression. I have unwrapped Marvel t-shirts most Christmases. We have talked about what is coming next and argued about our favorite characters.
As Endgame drew to its finale, I admit to tearing up. My emotion came not only from watching how the characters’ decisions unfolded but also because of the parallels to my life. Watching them deal with their problems has encouraged me to reach for the stars.
When Tony Stark was discovering Iron Man, I was discovering my own strengths that had laid hidden for years. As Thor struggled with the passing of his loved ones, I mourned my own losses. At the same time that Steve Rogers transformed into Captain America, I was stepping into my own destiny. While Bruce Banner confronted his inner demons, I have also faced mine. Like Peter Parker was mentored, I have been raising up the next generation.
To me, these movies are more than just entertainment. I believe that superheroes are real and have used these characters and their stories to help James find that spark inside himself.
There are people in the world who have exceptional abilities, but it isn’t their physical strength that matters most. Heroes are special because they hold onto hope. They believe that one person can make a difference and are willing to sacrifice everything for someone they do not know.
The world needs heroes.
Each superhero has an origin story. Some event or person inspired them to use what they have been given to help others. Once they were committed, they disciplined themselves mentally and physically for the task ahead. They learned the code.
Seek justice. Love mercy. Focus through the pain. Never give up. Forgive yourself when you fail.
During adventure, victory, and tragedy, I have tried to honor the code and be an example for my children. I have lifted them onto my shoulders, then waited for them to take flight. After twenty-two Marvel movies and as many years as a father, I am satisfied that I’ve given my best.
When the screen faded to black and credits started to scroll across the screen, I knew that an era had ended. Evil had threatened and heroes had risen. Their stories had been told and come to a close. They are now larger than the battles they won. They have become symbols of hope to a world that needs it.
I was thirty-something and when I took an eight-year-old boy to see Iron Man. Walking out of Endgame, I followed a nineteen-year-old man who is ready to make his own mark on the world.
My work is not finished, but his story is just getting started. This has been his origin story. His destiny lies ahead.
Fight the good fight, son, and know that I will always believe in you. Now go. The world needs you.
I wonder what he thought as he climbed into the cockpit of his B-17 bomber on that last fateful mission. Did he have a warning that today wasn’t going to go as planned, or did he go about his pre-flight routine like he had so many other times, totally unaware?
