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.
To take the ADHD test, click on the picture (or follow the link below). Answer 31 yes-no questions and you can score your behavior patterns against “disorder” symptoms.
It’s official. I have ADHD. The internet told me so.
I am proud of my 71% score. Kim only got 13%. Hopefully, you will take the test and post your score in the comments at the bottom (don’t forget to leave a first name). Maybe it will explain why we relate to each other the way we do.
ADHD is a legitimate medical condition that causes severe challenges for some people. I sympathize with those people, but I am not one of them. I’m just a bit of a harmless spaz that can’t sit still, but you probably already knew that.
I am also a dreamer who happily pictures things that aren’t as they could be. My 71% allows me to apply nearly infinite energy to build those daydreams in our shared reality.
Sometimes the outcome of my efforts is imaginative. I love finding solutions to nearly any home repair with the stuff you find in your junk drawer.
Sometimes the outcome is pointless, like the time I spent two days and twelve sheets of sandpaper to reshape a cube of wood into a ball. We had a houseguest that weekend, and I thought doing that would make me seem more attentive when she talked.
Sometimes the outcome is productive, like this past week when I came home from work and, while still in office attire, saw that our garden weasel had arrived. I compulsively spent thirty minutes hand tilling most of our back yard and then spreading grass seed. I got mud and that weird, green, grass-seed dust all over my good clothes.
Each of us has a brain that works differently. My thoughts joyfully romp down a thousand rabbit trails while I sit and watch your mouth move. Considerations race through my mind as my body unsuccessfully dashes to keep up.
It is easy for me to live in the future because its images constantly flood my brain. I am comfortable with tomorrow because it holds infinite opportunities that seem just within reach.
It is also difficult for me to live in the present. Events can play out too slowly for me to stay engaged. But if I try very hard and fidget endlessly, it is possible to stay on point just long enough to finish this post.
It has everything to do with my relationship with God.
I seldom pray for the present. My petitions are for the images that swarm my imagination. I feel closest to God when he assures me that a particular glimpse will become a reality and then walks with me while we build it. Those spirit-filled moments give me indescribable joy.
It also explains why Luke 2:52 is a scary verse.
In the preceding verse, Jesus was a twelve-year-old child. In the next verse, he was a thirty-three-year-old adult starting his life of ministry.
Twenty-one years slipped by as Jesus quietly went about his life. God walked with him as he patiently focused on all the daily details that make us human.
Jesus spent over two decades immersed in the same details that my brain skips past every day while it pursues something new.
I envy my wife. She loves the details. God holds her hand and she smiles. She is at peace spending quiet moments with him when nothing is happening. She enjoys their daily routines. For example, she has delivered Meals on Wheels for years. Same routes, same people, same hot food. Jesus shines through her and her simple acts of devotion.
There is incredible power in living a quiet life of obedience. God’s voice is a gentle whisper because he is at peace. He wants us to live the same way – trusting that our needs will be met, sharing our time, obeying the voice of truth.
In truth, I don’t want God to sit quietly with me. I want him to run with me in wild adventures that seem totally out of control.
Life has more days of quiet faithfulness than it does moments of divine calling. That is a challenge for me.
Many people are scared that God will call them into uncertainty. The test’s top scorers aren’t. We pray for it. We thrive on it. We become desperate when it doesn’t come fast enough.
Maybe your brain is wired like mine. Meetings are tough. Relationships come slowly. People laugh because we act differently. The world says it is a disorder. God calls it his design.
He made us this way and did it for a reason. We were fashioned for a purpose by a loving father. We have been set apart. Our lives are full of special blessings and special challenges.
Maybe you got a low score, but you know there is a test out there where your score will be high. That is OK. You were designed that way. Seek God in it.
In the meantime, you probably have a family member, friend, or coworker who is a top scorer. You know who they are. Accept us as God made us. We need you to keep us grounded. We are different, but one day you’re going to need us, too.
When the whole world seems crazy and out of control, just look around. We’ll be the ones smiling.
I flew to Chattanooga this past weekend for a family visit. It was my first trip to see my mother since she recently moved into a memory care facility, and I was blessed to spend time with her, my dad, brother, sister, and their various families.
It is really difficult to see mom as she loses her battle with dementia because the lady I see in front of me isn’t the person I remember. Dad made a comment that he hoped people would not remember her like she is now, and I understand his feelings.
I can pray for healing, but that would not restore the young mother who raised me or the friend she became later. I do pray for God to grant peace to the elderly lady who now holds my highest regard. If I cannot have back the time that has now flowed downstream, I can at least share a reflection of the eternal soul that lives inside the diminishing shell.
Saddened by her condition, I walked through the house mom and dad lived in for the past twenty-five years. Mostly, it is the usual stuff that I’ve seen a thousand times. This time though, I saw things differently.
Their house has pictures all around. That is not unusual for people their age. What is unusual is the lack of pictures with only her in them. Most of the pictures don’t have her in them at all.
She has lived a life full of adventure. She loved to travel and in addition to trips around these United States, she also made trips to Ireland, Scotland, Germany, Australia, Newfoundland, and other countries. But with all those famous places, there are no framed pictures of her standing next to a historic landmark. She didn’t feel important because of her surroundings.
Mom was the first person in her family to graduate from college, and she was fiercely proud of receiving her degree. Higher callings had delayed her schooling until later in life, and she graduated about the same time that I did. Her cap and gown still hang in an upstairs closet, and I occasionally stumble across a picture of her receiving her diploma in a box of jumbled photographs. Displaying her achievements doesn’t have value to her.
In the late ’80s, Glamour Shots became popular, and we gifted her with a photo session at the mall where they gave her a makeover and took various pictures in fancy clothes on colorful backgrounds. Those pictures are beautiful, and sometimes I find them thrown into a box with countless others. Capturing her best features didn’t matter very much either.
The “best” pictures of mom are never the ones that decorate the living areas. In her favorite pictures, she is frequently leaning to one side or maybe looking the wrong way when the picture was taken. I don’t think she ever noticed or cared.
The first thing I do when I find a picture with me in it is to see if it is a good picture of me. Mom isn’t like that. She has always looked past herself and seen the people next to her.
Mom’s most memorable moments were never ones that focused on her “where” or the “what” she was doing. “When” didn’t seem to matter much either. The only thing of significance was who she shared time with.
Most of what I learned about how to love well came from my mom. She was content to spend time with me doing whatever I chose. I know the gifts God gave me because she patiently told me as many times as was necessary for the truth to sink in.
She taught me that happiness doesn’t come from success, or being in a certain place, or doing a certain thing. It doesn’t come from focusing on yourself.
Happiness comes from loving the people you share life with.
I want to live like that.
Mom has always loved God passionately. She made a journal entry the day she was diagnosed with early onset dementia. Her note reflected a sadness, but no anger. Even in a moment of personal defeat, she wasn’t focused on herself, but on who else was in the picture.
“I know God will control my time…I pray for God’s guidance moving forward.”
Thanks, Mom, for reminding me who to look at in my pictures. And in my life.
If you have been in a picture with Jan McAfee, take a moment to go find it. Remember her in that happy time, and enjoy the warm feeling you get.
Then go give that feeling to someone else.
If you want to read one of my favorite posts, it is something I gave her for Mother’s Day a couple of years ago. Click here to read “The Wish”.
The coffee maker’s alarm awakened Simon, who stretched and rolled out of bed. In the kitchen, he grabbed his coffee mug with one hand and the pot’s handle with the other. He reflexively listened to the rising pitch of the pouring liquid as it filled his cup. He walked to his favorite chair, settled into the embracing cushions, breathed in the steamy aroma, and enjoyed his first, hot sip of the day.
He picked up his daily devotional and read through the familiar verses looking for fresh insights. He reflected quietly for a few moments, thinking about how this could affect him and his friends, then picked up his phone.
Simon posted the day’s comfort verse and an accompanying thought before looking back at his last message. Two thumbs up, one heart, and no comments. He wondered if anyone had even paid attention, or if they had just clicked and scrolled.
The chirp of an incoming message shook him from his thoughts, and he opened his email. It was from his serving team leader, reminding him that he had signed up to serve this weekend.
Simon loved to serve with his team. He believed in their ministry and enjoyed the time spent with the friends he had made there. His leader did a great job, and he looked forward to joining them.
At the same time, he wondered about the impact he was having there. He never heard much feedback from the people they served. Were his efforts affecting a long-term change? Were lives being changed through his sacrifice?
Simon set his phone down and sighed. For all of his efforts, what impact was he having?
“It’s tough, isn’t it?”
Startled, Simon looked up to see Jesus sitting in the chair next to him. Not knowing how to respond, he nodded his head. Jesus continued.
“I left paradise to become a carpenter in a dusty, small village. Then I left the meager comforts of that life to wander from place to place, teaching whatever God asked me to share. I was effectively homeless.
“I performed miracles greater than any ever seen before crowds that grew increasingly larger. Instead of understanding who I was, many were coming to see a show. Some just wanted a free sandwich. I had to send away some of the very people I wanted to reach.
“I poured wisdom, truth, and life into the twelve disciples who traveled with me while they argued about seat assignments. Often as I was making a key point, they weren’t fully focused. There were times when I wanted to say ‘You guys think you ought to be writing some of this down?’
“Still, I loved every one of them, including those of you who weren’t even born yet.
“When the time came for me to pay for your sins, I pleaded with the Father to find another way. The physical pain would exceed comprehension, but worse, it would mean being separated from my Father for the first time in all of time. I didn’t want to do it and asked for any way out.
“But when there was no other way, I chose all of you. I endured the worst so that you could have the best.
“That selfless act of perfect love was the key that unlocked the meaning of every miracle and every spoken truth. As that love was recognized, gospels were written, churches were built, and lives were transformed. My earlier actions had laid the foundation, but their full impact wasn’t realized until the magnitude of my love was revealed.
“Which brings me back to you. The same key will unlock the impact you are hoping for.
“Simon, do you love them?”
Simon answered quickly. “Jesus, you know that I do.”
Jesus paused for a long moment and said “Do you visit them when they are sick or buy them presents for their birthdays? Do you send them simple notes explaining why they are special to you? Have you made a major sacrifice or taken their punishment hoping only for their happiness? Do you ache to know them better?
“Simon, do you love them?”
Simon sat silently, staring at the floor. He was ashamed.
Jesus spoke again. “Look at me. I love you and am proud of you. Receive my love and share it.
“Simon, do you love them?”
Simon closed his eyes to process the question and when he opened them the next chair was empty again. His thoughts drifted to the individuals he had shared verses with and to the people he had served. He wanted the best for each of them, but had he loved them?
It was so many people. How could any answer address all those individuals, each with their own stories? Was there some approach he should be using? Each person was so unique that he couldn’t think of any common way to connect with them all.
His phone shook him from his thoughts as it announced another incoming notification. It was a new thumbs-up on his post from a few minutes ago. He looked closely at the man’s name who had responded. He thought carefully about that one person. Did he love him?
Before putting his phone down, Simon replied back, inviting his social-media friend over for dinner. He would find the answer to Jesus’ question.
One person at a time.
Frequently, I reflect on those simple words. Love your neighbor as yourself. Sometimes I do well, and other times I don’t. Occasionally, I wrestle to understand what it means to love them. May God continue to reveal to me his perfect love, so that it can flow through me into the lives of others. And with you. – Jimmy
Do you harbor an ambition that you protect from the scrutiny of the outside world, afraid that others wouldn’t understand or worse, may laugh if they knew? Are you afraid that if you did speak it out loud that it may seem ridiculous even to you?
I have a dream like that.
In my mind, I can see it clearly and it all seems very reasonable. But dreams are like a candle in the wind, so I have protected my flame from careless extinction, entrusting God with this hidden desire of my heart.
Two years ago, someone called me to discuss an opportunity that could have made my dream become real. Over the course of a few weeks, we had several conversations. My heart and mind raced as I imagined my fantasy becoming reality. What I desired was finally within my grasp.
I prayed about it, asking God for his blessing, pleading that he would grant my wish. When no clear approval came, I felt like he was answering me with a question: What do you really want?
It seemed like a strange thing to ask. I knew what I wanted. I had a future mapped out that gave me exactly what I wanted. Why ask me something so obvious?
Then it started to sink in. God had set me aside to lead community ministry. For years, I had been anointed by him to do more than just lead work days for the First Fruits team. I was a local missionary. God had promised to be with me as I pursued his calling on my life.
But what if I could have both? What if I chased my dream and still did what God had called me to?
That is when the full weight of his question fell on me. I couldn’t pursue two different things at the same time. I knew they were in conflict with each other. I had to choose either the achievement of my dream or a journey with my Father.
I knew the answer. I called my friend and declined, stating that the timing was wrong. In a moment of surrender, it seemed like my candle had blown out.
I didn’t talk much about it to anyone. How could I? Virtually no one would have understood what it meant to me. I was afraid that my pain would be met with mere platitudes. Mourning is made worse by overused clichés that don’t acknowledge what you are going through.
I dealt with my grief by pouring myself into my work. I was in the middle of writing a book that would take all of my faith and courage to publish. I was leading a team that needed me. I was bringing hope to families who were crying out for it. It was all very time-consuming and took my mind away from my loss.
All of these tasks required me to surrender totally to God. I had never written anything and had no other guide than Him to follow. The team I led had nowhere to serve if He didn’t send someone. The only hope I could offer to a neighbor in pain was the same love I was receiving from Him.
It has been almost two years since I made my choice. I have enjoyed every step of the journey that I chose and have been rewarded beyond my imagination.
My book, Build Neighbors, resonated with my sister, Kelly. We had drifted out of touch so many years earlier that neither of us knew how to bridge the chasm between us. Through God’s grace, I got my big sister back. In a season where the pain of losing my mother to dementia can be overwhelming, I am comforted by the same light shining brilliantly in her eyes that is becoming dim in my mom’s. She is awesome and I love her.
When God sent us into fewer work days, my friends Pam and Steve took on leadership roles within our church’s local missions. Through them, the spirit of First Fruits is replicating in a way I could never have imagined. Our connection is stronger than ever as we share an understanding of the total surrender required to lead. They are my friends and I love them.
In a time of transition and uncertain future, Kim and I began to search for answers together. While I wrote, she edited. As I struggled with loss, she comforted. We are stronger together. More than my wife, she is my other half, and I love her.
I found my voice not in front of the audiences I had imagined but in front of a keyboard. The comfort I found writing led to the blog, Making Waves, that allows me to process through my feelings and share the light and hope of Jesus.
There are so many other examples that I cannot list them all. I am blessed beyond measure.
So my secret dream will have to wait a little longer. I will still hold onto it and protect that flame, but I know where hope lives.
Jesus was all I ever really wanted. He just helped me to see that more clearly.
