2021 is already fading into the mist of remembrance, conjuring the same mixed emotions as the years that preceded it.
As the highlight reel flickers in my mind, it resurrects memories of the events of the past 365 days. There are moments that I wished would last forever. Other experiences haunted my days.
The week between Christmas and New Year is contemplative at our house. While we prepare our 2022 Goals, we also make preparations for 2021’s funeral.
Which past events do we want to use as building blocks for the coming seasons?
Equally importantly, what parts of the past year need to be properly buried and left in the past?
While I carefully untangle my emotions and try to be objective in my assessments, my hands stay busy building the vessel that will carry away the unwanted items, burning brightly as our lists are consumed by the flames.
It’s boat building time!
Every year, James laughingly tells me that my boats get bigger each year. He is right, but bigger isn’t the goal, they need to be better. If this boat is a reflection of my life, hopefully it improves as I continue to grow as well.
The first year was a plank that we ignited with a match. Then came a floating box doused in lighter fluid that we lit with a crude torch. Eventually, a Viking longboat emerged. The next bier was ignited with flaming arrows (Nerf darts). Last year, shields heralding my ancestral Scottish roots hung next to the oars as I contemplated my role in the circle of life.
The arsenal is ready for the archers to select their “weapons”.
What will this year add?
The cedar boards are in the garage ready to be cut and sanded. Blueprints for construction have been printed and were ultimately discarded in favor of “winging it”. Lastly, the pièce de résistance has been formulating in my mind.
However, 2021 wasn’t done yet. It was holding another surprise. A hand injury will prevent me from constructing my vessel.
When someone needed to rise to the occasion, James jumped at the chance. Ready or not, I have handed down my title as Chief Ship Buiilder to him.
“Generations” has been a central theme for me this past year, and it seems to be gaining speed. An event that began as an effort to raise my daughter free of anger and guilt is being passed on to the younger generation to carry forward when I cannot.
With my obligations limited and time suddenly available, I sat down to build my list of things to leave behind. The first few came pretty quickly, then took longer to formulate. It was the basics – forgiveness of offenses, angers to release, striving instead of accepting God’s path, and bad habits to abandon.
Looking back over my list, it seemed all too familiar. Although the details were different, the same types of items had been included in previous years. Laying down my pen and paper, I stopped to think about how my current situation compared to previous years.
I am trying to grow as a Christ-follower, but if I am continuing to deal with the same issues, am I really moving forward?
If I am struggling with the same things each year, am I making progress in my personal journey?
King Solomon was the wisest man of his time. For all of his insight and knowledge, he mourned the repetitive cycle of life in the first chapter of Ecclesiastes.
3 What do people gain from all their labors at which they toil under the sun? 4 Generations come and generations go, but the earth remains forever. 5 The sun rises and the sun sets, and hurries back to where it rises. 6 The wind blows to the south and turns to the north; round and round it goes, ever returning on its course. 7 All streams flow into the sea, yet the sea is never full. To the place the streams come from, there they return again. 8 All things are wearisome, more than one can say.
For all of his legendary wisdom and riches, Solomon was no more able to break his chain of events than me. So maybe we were both looking at things in the wrong way,
My list of things to bury might look shockingly similar to previous years, but it doesn’t matter how far I’ve come. All that matters is how I deal with the moment I am in today.
Right here, right now, am I doing the best I can – the best to forgive, the best to release anger, the best to serve and love my heavenly father?
Just because things look familiar, it doesn’t mean I’m not moving forward. It is merely part of the cyclical nature of this life.
Solomon built extraordinary castles, a kingdom, and a temple even though he knew they would not last. He did it to thank God for what he had been given and to provide an example to the next generation to do the same thing.
So I will smile when the sun sets on New Year’s Eve and bury again the same things I have buried before. It’s OK.
This past year I spent a lot of time getting to know my grandfather, James William McAfee. The first several months of the year were spent studying letters he wrote, details of his military missions, and particulars of his short life. After publishing both volumes of Your Loving Son, James, I felt a bond with him that never existed before.
The year is ending with insight into my other grandfather, who was also named James William. He was my mother’s father. His last name was Lewis.
A couple years ago, my dad was preparing to move and had set aside a number of items that he did not plan to carry forward. As the siblings sorted though the piles, I selected several Bibles belonging to family that had passed into the next life. They were once held by James McAfee, my mom, and by James William Lewis, who went by JW or simply “Dub”.
These treasures represent the eternal word of God that has been passed down through my family. My eyes rest on the same pages that comforted my ancestors, reminding me of our continuing purpose in this world.
Most people think of their lost relatives in terms of the circumstances that surrounded them – the years they lived, the lands they called home, or the professions that provided sustenance. While these things are relevant to me, some things are much more important.
When their spirits departed this earth, it became much harder to determine what went on inside their minds – what achievements they were most proud of, the struggles that gripped them, or dreams that guided their lives. These passions and priorities do more than establish our heritage, they bind our hearts together. Family is identified by shared purpose more than genetic markers.
Although I knew my grandfather for many years, we were never close. During the typical holidays, I don’t recall special conversations, moments, or interests that we shared. Separated across several states and half a century of age, we were never able to bridge that chasm and develop a tight bond. Educated about the details of his life, I never got the chance to embrace our connection.
This week, I got an early gift. It was a stray glimpse not only into JW’s mind, but into my mom’s too.
Picture 1992. Left to right: Jim McAfee, me, Kelly Savage, JW Lewis, Preston McAfee, Jan Lewis McAfee
In December 1987 while I was off at college, my mom bought a Bible for her dad. Bibles are a pretty common gift except to my knowledge JW had never been a very spiritual person. He undoubtedly already had various Bible’s laying around the house, many of which would have belonged to his wife before she passed away.
Mom would have chosen this New International Version because it was a modern, easy-to-read format. By now, JW was 72 years old and highly unlikely to begin reading a Bible that he had predominantly ignored for many decades. Busy with his routine, he wasn’t seeking more than a quiet life in retirement.
Mom knew this, but in her heart she hoped that somehow a Christmas miracle would light a spark in the heart of this gruff, aging man. She wished to give him time with the same Jesus whose grace guided her life.
Although she knew her father might simply ignore her gift, she selected something with the power to change destinies.
I don’t recall traveling to Louisiana that year so most probably Mom wrapped her gift and mailed it to her dad. She would have called him later to ensure it arrived and received a polite “Thank you” before he turned the conversation back to his garden or other events of the day. After she finished the call, she probably never heard more about her present.
But there was more to the story. Thirty-four years later, I found out what happened after he hung up the phone.
Against all odds, JW picked up his pen and reading glasses from the table next to his well-worn recliner. Whether or not he had ever considered it before, he was inspired to read that Bible. All of it. Starting right then.
As I thumbed through the pages, for the first time I recognized the shorthand notes that were made on occasional pages. What had seemed like random notations were his way of tracking his progress.
As days stretched into weeks and then months, he followed no formal plan. He finished as much as he was motivated to read each day. When he was done reading, he wrote the month/day at the spot then faithfully returned the next day (March 22nd in the picture above). For ninety straight days he absorbed the inspired word before smiling as he completed the final page.
Reaching over to his side table, he picked up the same pen he had used on Christmas Day to mark his commitment. With satisfaction he noted his completion.
Never considering why I was motivated to do so, I had recently chosen JW’s old Bible for my daily devotionals. After reading the New Testament letters, I moved on to Revelation.
Over the past week, that is how I happened upon the same last page that he had finished decades earlier. I had never noticed his notations on the first and final pages.
His writing is surprisingly formal. Signed with his legal signature on a page he never expected anyone else to see, this marked a contract between him and his Father.
JW was a voracious reader. Paperback novels were piled around his home, cast aside as soon as they were finished providing him a brief period of entertainment. This was different. He was proud of this accomplishment, which you can almost feel in his note -“the entire Bible”.
It is impossible to know if JW ever called my mom to tell her that he appreciated her gift in ways he could not explain. Somehow she understood the importance when retrieving this particular Bible upon his death years later and carefully storing for me to rediscover in days still to come.
JW’s simple, handwritten phrase did more to strengthen my connection to him than all the holidays as a child. Holding the same sheet of paper as he once held, I can feel the satisfaction that burned inside him. There is a part of us that is the same. I know that now.
God blessed mom’s Christmas wish by giving her not only what she asked for, but much more. He extended her blessing to grant me time with my grandfather and to understand that I am part of a powerful dynasty of Christians. We are a family of beloved sons and daughters of the King.
We never know what fire we may ignite with a simple spark, especially at Christmas. Each year, God softens hearts in the season he released his son into the world to reconcile all of mankind to himself. These are His special days.
It may be through a gift, song, or touch, but my Christmas wish this year is to release part of the flame that burns brightly inside my heart. Hopefully decades later, people will still see the impact of my simple actions that point back to a powerful and loving God.
