This weekend I finished another one of my “I wonder if I could _______” workouts. It doesn’t have a name. It took a full three-day weekend to recover from it though. That’s kind of how they go.
I like to set high goals just to see if I can achieve them. Recent examples are:
Workout #1: 3-mile run, 3 times in one day, with temperatures over 100°F, each run faster than previous
Workout #2: 500 ab wheel extensions from kneeling position
Workout #3 (this past weekend): 5-mile run, 200 chin-ups, 400 push-ups, and 600 squats in any sequence
They are weird, random ideas born out of workouts intended to push my limits. They require weeks or even months to prepare. The fatigue during the workouts and the sore muscles that follow are intense, both during training and on the big day.
It may be surprising, but staying in shape is not my primary motivation.
These workouts help me to find peace. The mechanical repetition sweeps away inner turmoil. My mind relaxes and my thoughts run free. God frequently uses that time to speak to me. During this special prayer time, typical distractions lack the power to break through.
When the stresses of life wear me down, I am drawn to my workouts. As my effort increases, my mind clears and the strange “I wonder if I could _______” ideas formulate. The goals keep me engaged as God slowly unties the knots in my soul.
The workout that I just completed took a lot of focus and a lot of time. God knew that when he gave me the idea. He knew there was a lot of untying to be done.
Maybe workouts aren’t your thing. What does give you peace and allow you to spend time alone with him? Do you knit scarves, go fishing, read books, do yardwork, or bake desserts?
Creating the right environment for a conversation is important. God gives each of us a passion as part of our design, something that encourages us to relax and open up. It helps set our mood to talk with him so that we enjoy our time together, the way a father and his child should.
Too often, I approach prayer as if it is serious work that is best performed in a comfortable chair with eyes closed and hands folded while I ask God to work miracles and give me answers. Sometimes that is best. But not always.
When I need to hear his voice, my first reaction is to grab my running shoes. It’s like going to visit him.
In Luke 5:16, we learn that Jesus frequently withdrew to lonely places and prayed. I used to assume that he would find a spot where he wouldn’t be interrupted and prayed for a long time on his hands and knees. When I read closer, a “lonely spot” sounds more like he went for a walk on a quiet path, admiring the star-filled sky while his thoughts became clear.
Perhaps Jesus’ soul was refreshed while he strolled with his Father and enjoyed the beauty of creation. After all, God did that very thing with Adam in Genesis 3:8. That seems like a great way to talk and regain focus.
The first step to obedience is to align your heart with his. That means shaking off the worries of the world and looking at life the way he does. Relaxing with him while you do something you love is a perfect way to discover his heart.
Sometimes I focus so much on doing the right thing that I forget to dedicate the time to stay connected. It doesn’t take long until my stress builds and my heart strays. Then God invites me to join him.
That means doing push-ups until I can’t count them anymore.
My workout this past weekend required completing 30 sets of various exercises. To keep track of my sets, I used a deck of cards. I counted out 30 cards and flipped one over as I completed each set. It’s a special deck of cards that Kim made for me. Each card has a reason she loves me written on the back. With each set, I read the message and was strengthened. I am loved. God helped me to receive that.
It was one of my favorite workouts.
God, please continue to invite me to share time with you. Call me to the passions you created in me that foster intimacy for our time together. Let our conversation be like a father and his son that leaves me refreshed and makes my heart yearn for the same things as you do.
The morning’s first light crept into the room, but couldn’t penetrate the darkness that engulfed John.
He realized that he hadn’t slept in days. He hadn’t eaten either. He didn’t care.
Could the Passover dinner really have been just a few nights ago? It seemed like a lifetime. Everyone had been celebrating; the euphoria of their entry into the city was still fresh on their minds. They had eaten together, sang songs and Jesus blessed them. It was incredible.
What came next seemed impossible. Jesus had been executed. Judas hanged himself. Nobody knew where Thomas was or if he was alive. The other terrified disciples didn’t know who they could trust and were silently planning desperate escapes from the city.
“How did it come to this?” he thought to himself.
John reflected back to the time just after the Passover dinner when they were praying in the Garden. He recalled the dancing torch lights coming toward them and his shock at realizing they illuminated a mob armed with swords and clubs. The torches showed that all exits were blocked and the mob canvassed the area, demanding to know which person was Jesus.
What happened next was a blur. The soldiers arrested Jesus. He was only guilty of healing people and teaching them about the kingdom of heaven. For that crime, he was arrested and held for trial. Any chance of justice disappeared as a vast conspiracy unfolded that enveloped one of their inner circle, the Jewish high council, the governor, and even King Herod.
Almost immediately, Jesus was convicted, sentenced and beaten in front of the same people who had just celebrated his entry into the city. The disciples scattered into hiding, afraid for their lives. Hours later, he was dead. Gone. John’s mind ached with the searing memory of Jesus looking directly at him with a bruised face and his broken, bloody body, hanging above a city street as a warning to others.
John couldn’t remember anything after that point. He had gone into shock. When the sun rose the next morning, he was inside this room with several of his friends. He still didn’t know how he got here.
In the early dawn, the magnitude of his situation fell on him. The conspirators would immediately move to erase any chance of a rebellion. He and the other disciples were a loose end. It would be a miracle if they survived the week.
Jesus’ dying request to him was to care for his mom. John sighed and thought “I can’t even take care of myself.”
Saturday day and night had passed in silent despair. Marked for death, he couldn’t stay in Jerusalem. If he could escape the city, where could he go without being identified? Thousands had seen him with Jesus. He would have to leave the country if he wanted anonymity. With no money or friendly harbor awaiting him, any attempt seemed futile.
Over three days, it was as if the light of hope had disappeared from the earth. John’s heart had turned cold, buried in a grave inside his chest.
He spoke to himself. “Is this all there is?”
Suddenly, Mary burst through the door and screamed “He’s gone! He’s gone! His grave is empty!”
John was running past her before she could get out of the doorway. As his feet flew through the empty streets, his mind raced even faster.
If the grave was empty, something wasn’t going as planned. He had heard about the soldiers stationed at the grave to ensure that Jesus’ corpse wasn’t moved. If he was gone, something was happening. He had to know what it was.
He had seen something flash in Mary’s eyes. Confusion, but behind it, a glimmer. What was it?
John rounded the last corner and stopped in his tracks. The soldiers were all gone. The grave was wide open, the giant stone that had sealed it was pushed aside. He could see inside. It was empty.
He stooped to the ground and touched the linen wraps that had fallen off of Jesus. A whirlwind of unanswered questions swirled in his mind.
Where could Jesus’ body have gone? Who did it? How did they get past all the armed soldiers?
He inhaled deeply. Air that should smell like death burst with a sweet aroma. Although it was barely daylight, everything glowed like the sun itself. His muscles should have been tired but felt stronger than ever before. He could feel warmth flowing through his entire body. It was radiating from the tomb, inviting him in.
Voices whispered in his ear that it was time to leave, that he should run away before being recognized. They told him that it was no longer safe here.
He realized that he could no longer stand still, waiting for answers. He made his decision and stepped forward into the empty tomb.
His fears melted away in an instant. His dead heart began beating again. Tears streamed down his face as he realized the truth.
He wanted to tell everyone what he knew.
HOPE IS ALIVE!
This Easter season, if you are looking for answers or feel something pulling on your heart, I hope you will make the same decision as John. Step forward. Seek truth. Find life. If you don’t already have plans to attend a church service, I invite you to join me. Leave a comment below (please include your name) or text me at (214) 206-6490. You are always welcome at any of the services with my church family. For details, go to https://valleycreek.org/easter/ If you from an area other than Dallas, ask anyone you know who attends church if you can join them. It will be the highlight of their week. May love be your guide. Happy Easter.
The statistics tell the story of the age we live in.
The median length of time a person:
Owns a home – 9 years.
Attends a church – 7 years.
Works for a company – 4 years.
I am a 12-year guy, whether I am walking down my street, worshipping at church, or sitting in a meeting at work. It doesn’t seem like so much time has passed until I look at all the new faces around me.
These statistics aren’t too surprising. We live in an age that is perfecting instant gratification. With little more than a thought, you can change your circumstances.
If your home, church, or employer no longer meets your needs, then you can accept any of dozens of digital invitations. Once you have made your selection, just hit your reset button.
More and more of my friends are deciding that a new start would be refreshing. They are leaving their pasts behind. The boredom of routine or an ongoing frustration that is magnified by a personal hurt can be enough to spur them into action. They want a better life, and the button promises it. New beginnings, new people.
But is it an improvement or a nuclear option?
A good friend of mine at work recently determined that he wasn’t part of the “inner circle” and quit to pursue a new job with a new company. He chose to walk away from the many friendships he had built. In the end, they weren’t enough to prevent him from pursuing something new. He hit his reset button.
A family just left our church to join another one in the same town. We met a decade ago and helped raise each other’s kids. Churches aren’t a perfect haven from conflict though. Eventually, I guess they had enough. They have pressed their reset button and are starting over too.
I had hoped to share my future days with the now-former-coworker and recently-departed-church-family. I imagined we would always be together, pursuing new adventures while we offered each other a sympathetic heart and ear. Their absence leaves a void not just in me but in all the lives they routinely touched. They are still inside my phone, but mostly outside of my life. I miss them.
I accept responsibility for the times that I was the source of their frustration. I also accept responsibility for the times that I didn’t do enough when they were struggling. I’m not giving up on either of them yet though. I will try to find a way to let them know how much they are loved and missed. Maybe there is a way to undo a part of the reset.
As my 12-year streak extends, I am placing more value on the people who have been in my life for a long time. We may have seen the worst of each other’s brokenness, but we have also seen the special spark Jesus designed into each other. My new friendships don’t offer that.
In Sunday School, we used to sing “Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver, and the other gold.” If you are already one of my friends, then you are as valuable as gold to me, and one of the most special things in my life.
I will try to become better at telling you how important you are to me and even work on showing you more often. I can’t always prevent the hurt, but maybe I can be the encouragement that arrives when you need it most. I pray that the voice of hope will be stronger than the allure of the reset button.
If the button is calling out to you today, please tell me. Or just stop by. Let’s work on building a bright future together.
They are smart, talented people who are blessed by God with many gifts. Instead of rising to the full potential the world hopes for them, they remain in the background, unnoticed by the masses, and living unremarkable lives.
The underachievers are hidden in plain view. They are your neighbors; they work with you; they ring up your groceries at the store. You may even be one of them.
Some of them have been underachieving their whole, adult lives. Others renounced their pursuit of recognition and forfeited the rewards that come with high accomplishment so that they could pursue something different.
I became an underachiever nine months ago. It happened quietly and nobody really noticed. Even me.
For years, I had led the First Fruits team. Although someone else founded our ministry, I was able to be a part of setting a new direction. Never famous, I was at least widely recognized as the face of our team. God anointed what we did, meaning he authorized us to speak on his behalf while we served him in that area. It was awesome.
Nine months ago, we handed that ministry back to God. The church that most of us attend launched a similar ministry. The needs that God had routinely directed toward us now flow there. He had entrusted us with a task and we had finished it. Sowe released it back to him.
I was a ministry leader one day and underachieving the next.
Now I spend my available time writing this blog, faithful to the new calling on my life. I can log into my Blogger account and see that a relatively small number of people view each post. Every week Facebook asks me to boost my results, hoping that I will seek to become an achiever again.
But that is not the job that God has for me in this season. So the world quietly scrolls past me, not noticing me and my underachievement, but occasionally wondering where I went.
I am a low-ranking underachiever. Kim is much better than I am. But in fairness to me, she’s been practicing longer. For twenty years, she has devoted her full time and attention to raising two children, building a home environment that fosters love, and helping others to pursue their dreams. She could have been a celebrated employee, but chose me, Erin and James instead. Classic underachievement.
She’s nothing, though, compared to her father. Bob spent forty years delivering the U.S. Mail. He quietly walked his route or drove a mail truck, making modest money with great benefits that provided food and shelter for his family and even a college education for his kids. Like most mailmen, he was seldom noticed. His family noticed, though. So did his church, where he was a deacon. He was much loved and is now desperately missed.
People notice the underachievers the least, but then miss them the most when they are gone.
People like Kim and Bob have helped me to recognize my newfound peers. I have been (and still am) both an achiever and an underachiever. One is not inherently right or the other wrong and neither is necessarily better than the other, but underachieving is harder.
Achievers enjoy a constant stream of encouragement and admiration. It is easy for them to reach for greater heights as crowds cheer them on. They are esteemed and rewarded with things that the world envies.
The underachievers busily build the foundation of our families and cities while the world adores the towers and cathedrals.
They pursue their calling quietly. Lacking encouragement from others, they pray a lot, seeking it from the Father who loves them dearly. In the kingdom to come, many of them will become achievers. After a few seasons at the end of the line, they will enjoy an eternity of favor.
They don’t have to wait, though. We can reward them today. They are easy to find, just look behind any achiever, or see who has been silently helping you. They don’t want much, just a “thank you” or acknowledgment of the value of the job they perform.
God loves all his children, and he will make sure the underachievers get their reward. It would please both him and if we would bless them now. While people associated my name with First Fruits’ successes, there were people who served equally faithfully but quietly. I think I’ll start by thanking some of them.
As people continue to ask what is next for me, I am trying to focus less on my next step. Instead, I am trying to see my life through the Father’s eyes and share what I learn. It’s been challenging and I still have a long way to go.
Hopefully, I will gain the patience of a champion underachiever along the way.
My Thank-You List for Today (apologies to those I missed)
Carra Day Carra joined our team during a season of her own crisis. Regardless of how difficult things were for her, she faithfully gave her best. Thank you, Carra, for showing me that seemingly overwhelming needs will be met by a loving Father and that empty hands always have something to give. (Picture of Carra praying over a homeless man at Operation Care) Hank Cates Hank joined our team later than many of the core team but instantly became a key ingredient. On days that were too hot, during tasks that were unfathomably difficult, when we needed it most, Hank’s ready smile and genuine laugh charged the atmosphere. Thank you, Hank, for reminding me that serving is a joy, and friends are meant to be enjoyed. Thank you for being my friend. (Picture as Hank saw the gutters he was asked to hang on a 100° day) Mary Jo Johnson Though she be but little, she is fierce. Nobody works harder than Mary Jo. Across the years, she has always given her very best. Whenever I was ready to give up and cut corners, she encouraged me to find a way and summoned the strength for both of us. Thank you, Mary Jo, for pushing us all to excellence in the details. We wouldn’t have been the same without you.
Steve Hermann Steve was always the most equipped person on our team. He arrived early every workday, always prepared for the task at hand. He was the first person we asked for advice on how to perform a task. Despite that, he served with inspirational modesty. Never seeking attention, he remained in the background. Thank you, Steve, for modeling the nature of humility.
I went to the same, small school for eleven years growing up. The graduating class averaged eighty to ninety kids each year, and many of us had started first grade together. Although Goodpasture seemed a strange name for a school (or anything except for a farm), nobody ever seemed to notice. It was easy to accept things as they were in our comfortable cocoon.
The staff size was understandably small and families like ours that had several children enrolled were widely recognized. Invariably, my teachers were hand-me-downs from my older sister and with an uncommon name like McAfee, it wasn’t too hard for teachers to draw a connection.
I was a slightly above-average student, who usually got about as many As as Bs. I was a maybe average athlete, small for my age with no particular talent. As far as artistic gifts I had none. All in all, I was a regular kid. Only one thing prevented me from getting the attention I thought that I deserved.
My older sister, Kelly, was two years ahead of me. She was never average. If our school could have supported a gifted program, she would have sat first-chair. She always had perfect grades. She was 5’9″ by the fifth grade and an exceptional athlete. She played piano, clarinet, and saxophone. As her brother, I wouldn’t have known if she was pretty, but the regular stream of boys asking her out felt that she was.
Every year when I was promoted to a new grade, I felt like my new teachers had high hopes for me and then sighed as they realized that genetics was an imperfect science.
In our yearbook, each graduating senior chose a quote. Kelly’s was unusual, and I have since asked her why she chose it. She replied that she had gotten it out of a book of quotes and it seemed fitting. One of the world’s most prolific chatterboxes had made her selection.
How do I know what I think until I see what I say?
It’s kind of a strange sentence that you have to read a couple times. After doing that, you still are not completely sure what it means. I was finally presented with a chance to be the McAfee that came out on top. I could do better than that. I would find something smart, funny, and cool. My senior quote would undoubtedly be better than hers.
As it turned out, mine was not better. First, I changed schools the month before my senior year and never had a senior quote. Second, that goofy quote turns out to be not only insightful but is one of my favorites. It has captured the essence of why I write.
Kelly won again. Oh, well. I should be used to it.
Over the past years, writing has become a passion for me. I write because it helps me to discover what is really going on inside my head. I only share these ruminations in the hopes of helping others to do the same. I do not write because I am good at it. I have quietly filled journals while assuming no one would be interested.
Most of the time, I intend to write about one thing only to finish and find something altogether different. It is as if my conscious mind starts the task, then my subconscious mind takes over. My focus transitions from the original subject into something deeper that I was processing. Unresolved conflicts find release as my words flow out.
My fingers dance across the keyboard, releasing images that are occasionally frightening. Thoughts escape that are either embarrassing, or I wish were not true. While reading a passage that I just wrote, I have to stop and ask myself if I really believe it or was merely repeating something I’ve been told to believe.
Expressing feelings that I wish weren’t true brings comfort. Like an infection that needs to be exposed to the air to heal, my internal conflicts resolve themselves once they are out in the open. Honesty is the only thing that matters.
“This above all, to thine own self be true.”
Hamlet by William Shakespeare
Occasionally, I write to capture a particular moment in time. Reflection on life’s highs and lows can bring comfort. Just like wounds heal and disappear, accurate recall fades as time slips by. The intensity of a season dissipates quickly. Memories tend to save a few facts, but forget the substance. Only the echo of your own voice will rekindle the moment.
Simple notes from the past are a time machine, transporting you back to relive moments of celebration and of pain. Stepping outside of time brings a hopefulness that is otherwise lost in the chaos that surrounds us. We need those windows into the past to remind us both where we come from and how far we have come.
God carefully created each of us. Our thoughts, dreams, and feelings were all designed long ago. Journalling is a discovery exploration of the soul he created in us.
The most important part of writing is to express your dreams. A life without hope is no life at all. If you could ask for anything, what would it be? Choose your answer carefully and it will guide your path.
I began to journal because a pastor friend invited me to give it a chance. I am extending the same invitation to you. If you don’t have a journal lying around, pick one up for a quarter on your next trip to Walmart. The awkwardness quickly goes away and most people learn to love it. You may, too.
We are eternal creatures. Stop racing in circles for long enough to spend time getting to know yourself and the Father’s spirit that lives in you. You are worth the time.
The world floods us with differing messages from social media, the news, commercials, church, friends, and more. For a moment, silence them all and discover what you believe. You may be surprised by what you think when you see what you say.
As I’ve written this post, long forgotten feelings of envy have emerged toward a sibling who was always smarter, faster and more popular than me. It was a long time ago, but those buried emotions were all alive and well. They were just waiting for a release.
Kelly has been gifted with even more amazing talents since high school. I still look up to her with admiration that is mixed with a little jealousy. She is my big sister after all, and I am one of her biggest fans. Her success has inspired me.
I learned to reach for the stars by watching someone who always seemed able to grasp them.
She can keep her senior quote as another victory in a life that has been full of them. It’s OK. I know she loves me.
If I could ask for anything, it would be to enjoy more time with her. And I am making those plans, but that is a story for another day.
That means doing push-ups until I can’t count them anymore.
