by Jimmy McAfee | Nov 8, 2018 | Uncategorized
The holidays are coming! I’m looking forward to having a full house again. Holiday traditions are probably my favorite ones.
Starting in November, our family regularly watches classic holiday movies and the new classics also. Before or after the big meals, we favor throwing frisbee instead of football. We skip Black Friday shopping in favor of Shootin’ and Pie Day and usually wear t-shirts emblazoned with a target and pie slice.
We grill steak and refer to it as our Christmas ham. We stage an annual, elaborate disagreement about whether to open presents on Christmas Eve or Day. Before opening the gifts, we remove all of them from under the tree then obsessively stack them into neat piles for each person.
We close out the year building a funeral pyre that floats in the pool and brightly burns lists of things we need to bury in the past. Then we make our list of wishes for the coming year.
When “outsiders” join us, we excitedly explain our traditions to a gallery of confused faces.
Everybody has their own, unique way of celebrating. Like the Peanuts characters in the holiday show, we hold tightly to the traditions that remind us where we come from. For a few magical days each year, we know that we belong together.
During family gatherings, we frequently revert to the roles we held in days gone by. The youngest child is treated carefully, no matter how old he or she may be. Mom and Dad still cast the deciding vote, even though generations may have multiplied. Some of these roles are healthy, others aren’t.
Whether we are sharing time with family, friends or coworkers, the results can be the same. Rivalries are too often rekindled and old hurts can feel new again. It’s hard to avoid.
This year I’m going to be different. I will pick my character.
The familiarity of the characters in holiday movies provide comfort, but their endless, unchanging loop shouldn’t apply to my life. This time I want to play a different role.
I love Buddy the Elf, but instead of conforming to the spirit of the holidays, I want to be intentional about connecting with each person.
One at a time, I want to celebrate the different people in my life by letting them know why they are special. Not just special to me, but special in all the glorious ways God created them.
Most years I relate to Cousin Eddie. I come off as awkward and don’t want people to find out how many problems I really have. Nobody should feel embarrassed about the challenges they have faced in the past year or worry about how other people will judge their responses. Instead, they should find acceptance and sympathy.
Scrooge was only consistently generous in handing out unwanted advice. My new character will be an encourager instead. My Christmas wish is that people would remember me for finding a spark within them and fanning it into a flame.
When things inevitably get crazy, I don’t want to wish everyone would disappear, like the Home Alone kid. Instead, I want to lean in. I want to be the person that you seek out when you want a spellbound audience. I want to be a friend who can see your success before it ever happens.
My favorite character is the lovably well-intentioned Clark Griswold, constantly worrying when traditions never play out quite right. Instead, I want to relax and remember that the best stories are born from the years that don’t work out as planned.
As my focus shifts to building other people up, some of our traditions probably won’t come off right either. If anyone is disappointed, I apologize in advance.
I love traditions. But more importantly, I love the people they are shared with, hope they can feel that love, and have faith in our future together.
Maybe Hollywood hasn’t created the perfect character meant just for me. That’s OK.
I’m going to write this story myself.
I hope you find your character, too.
Happy holidays, everybody.
by Jimmy McAfee | Oct 17, 2018 | Uncategorized
All of us have something that our emotions can’t deal with. For some people, it is childhood illness. For others, it may be mistreatment of animals, domestic abuse, or something else. When we are confronted with the struggles of those victims we try to deny it, then become overwhelmed by anger and sadness.
I wasn’t aware of the area where I was totally defenseless until it found me. It is a condition that cannot be fought and robs people of their very identities.
My mother-in-law was a victim of early onset dementia. We witnessed her frustration when she first couldn’t find the right words to finish a sentence, and then later when she was unable to complete tasks she had once enjoyed.
Our kids could not understand why their grandmother didn’t know who they were anymore. Eventually, when Kim told her “It’s my fortieth birthday, Mom” there was no recognition left in her eyes. Her mother wanted badly to know who people were, but her memories of them were just no longer there.
Day by day, we sat by helpless as a vicious disease slowly stole her life. Each of the little things that made her special disappeared, one at a time. It was a heartbreaking process that lasted for years and took an enormous toll on everyone. By the time she passed away, there was nothing left of who she had once been. I wouldn’t curse my worst enemy with that pain.
Less than five years later, my mother could no longer hide the same symptoms.
I don’t like to talk about my mom’s condition. It hurts me to answer questions when there is no hope of a cure. I don’t know how to help, or even how to handle my own jumbled emotions.
I have always been close to her. We talked almost daily wherever I lived, but we can’t anymore. I still visit her regularly but miss her desperately. I wish I knew a way to reclaim the sweet, loving person who touched so many lives. I am helpless.
When I recognized the same early symptoms in a friend the other day, I didn’t want to believe it, then alternated between being angry and wishing I could push it out of my mind.
The Gospel of John, chapter 11, verse 35 is the favorite verse of every lazy kid assigned to memorize a Bible verse. It reads simply
Jesus wept.
It is part of the story of Lazarus. Four days after Lazarus’ death, Jesus joined the funeral party. When he saw the overwhelming sorrow that had consumed both family and friends, he became angry at first and then began to cry. He gathered himself and raised Lazarus from the dead. Showing his power over the grave was a pivotal point in his ministry.
In my search for comfort during hard times, the simple verse “Jesus wept” troubled me.
Jesus knew his identity as the author of life. He knew with certainty that Lazarus would rise to live with him again in a glorious celebration that exceeded anything he had known before. He even knew that Lazarus would walk out of his grave in a few moments to rejoin those he loved.
But the sadness, pain, suffering, and loss of life brought the Savior himself to tears. Although he was able to do anything, the sorrow in this world was so great that he wept.
If Jesus was affected that deeply, how can I hope to find peace?
Crushing sorrow became unbearable in the knowledge that the creator himself was reduced to tears. The pain was so great and relief so far away that I simply gave up.
That was when God told me that I had it all wrong.
Jesus didn’t weep because of the situation. His tears didn’t come because of the hardship or lost hope. Even as he brought the answer to their prayers, he had paused to connect with them and to share their pain.
He cried because he had never wanted it to be this way; he never wanted to see us hurt.
There is a big difference between Jesus crying with us in our pain and crying because the pain in this world overwhelmed him. He conquered this world, but he never left us behind.
It is hard for me to fathom a savior who can breathe life into a hundred billion galaxies but patiently comforts me. He rules over everything but cares about the daily struggles of one small man who is sad because his mom is sick.
That is why I make a decision every day to give my life to him. It’s not the infinite power. It’s not a sense of obligation. It’s certainly not a fear of hellfire or endless punishment. It’s because I can always depend on his love for me being total and complete. His love is so personal that he will cry with me. He cries for you, too.
One day all the pain will be gone, and I will be reunited with those who have been taken from me. We will sing praises to the one who not only saved us from death but loves us enough to share every moment. If he is there in our sorrow, how much more in our celebration?
Jesus wept.
Hope is alive.
My prayer today:
Father, help me to reflect your spirit. When I serve others, remind me to slow down and connect with them. Your light shines the brightest when others feel that I care, not merely because they receive my assistance. May I be filled with your love and compassion for each of my brothers and sisters. Amen.
by Jimmy McAfee | Oct 4, 2018 | Uncategorized
I grew up in Nashville and country music is part of my DNA. It’s not the first thing you’ll hear on my radio, but if you dig into my music library you’ll find a lot of Willie, Hank Jr. and my favorite
– the Man in Black. I also love Garth Brooks. When I hear the sounds of lightning strike and thunder roll, I have an uncontrollable urge to roll the windows down, turn the volume up and sing like nobody’s listening.
One of my favorite Garth songs is Unanswered Prayers (click on the song title if you want to hear it). The lyrics tell the story of a man who takes his wife to a football game at his old high school. They stop to talk to a woman he had dated back in the day. He remembers how he had prayed for things to work out for them, but his prayer wasn’t answered. Later, he understood the genuine blessing when God brought him the true woman of his dreams.
I sympathize with the high school kid in the song, wanting something so badly that he would pay any price. I can imagine him sitting alone, lost in his thoughts, begging God to save a relationship that was failing. That feeling of powerlessness and desperation is too familiar. It is the prayer of a humbled person spoken to the only one who can offer hope.
When life races out of control, we are drawn to Him. As we sink lower, our cries instinctively go higher. We know that he is powerful enough. With a thought, he can make any pain go away. Miracles happen every day.
He is a god of hope. But why does he remain silent sometimes?
Like every parent of a teenage child, I’ve laid in bed sleepless, long after the world fell asleep, praying that no harm would come to someone too naive to understand risk and too innocent to suspect the evil that roams the world. I have prayed for angels to guard my children. I asked for more than regular angels, but that he would assign the fiercest and most vigilant warriors to defend them from dark forces. “Please God, keep them safe.”
Physically, they survived unharmed. Did their hearts, though? When friends disappointed them or young love didn’t last, I would worry about the seeds that had been planted. “Please God, give them peace.”
The teen angst that marked those years seemed to stand in defiance of my prayers. All I could do was to pray for them and ask God to show them a love that changes destinies.
If success was measured by results, it didn’t seem like he was listening.
Countless mornings found me awake long before the sun rose or the kids got out of bed. I would leave brief notes taped to their doors for them to find when they woke up. I wanted them to feel that they were loved.
The messages were simple things like “I enjoyed our time together at dinner last night. You are funny. I love you.” or “You have good friends. Be thankful for them. I love you.”
They never acknowledged they had read or even seen the notes. I wondered but was afraid to ask.
Other unanswered prayers came at the request of a friend. People whose own prayers remained unanswered and asked me to join them.
I have prayed faithfully for the reconciliation of broken families and watched them fall further apart. I have prayed passionately for healing and laid hands on friends whose sicknesses progressed.
I’ve asked other friends to join me in these prayers. We have sat together with heads bowed, begging for God to reveal himself. Sometimes he did, at other times he didn’t.
As the years have passed, the number of prayers that seemed unanswered has grown larger, and so has the number of people who have joined me in crying out for God to be with us and to comfort us. We know that he is big enough. We know that he loves us. He is faithful. He is good.
Through all of the pain, we stayed together. When no answers seemed to come, we held to each other tightly.
Recently, the miracle of the unanswered prayer revealed itself.
Kim asked me to provide her with a list of names to invite to my birthday party. It took just a few seconds to rattle off the people I hoped would come. After all, these were my best friends.
Later as everyone arrived at the party, I realized something.
My living room was filled with my unanswered prayers.
People I had prayed for and others who had prayed alongside me were celebrating together. We laughed and remembered the good times we had shared and the things we loved in each other.
The pains that had once seemed unbearable were fading into the past. We remember each of them but have learned to find hope together. We have revealed our secrets to each other and shared our innermost pain. After battling hardships together, we know each other’s strengths and when to offer help. We are better together.
As music and laughter rang out, I realized that God had been answering our prayers all along. We had asked for momentary relief and in his wisdom, he had given us something much better. He provided friends. He connected us to love each other, pray together, and to give comfort when it is needed.
What an incredible answer to prayer.
As I was getting ready for bed that night, I plugged my phone into the charger and realized I had an unopened text message. It was a note from my daughter. It was digital but reminded me of all the ones I had left taped to her door, never knowing if she read them.
It was the best gift I received that birthday.
All those prayers I had made night after night to provide the kids with protection hadn’t gone unanswered. He had surrounded them with warriors who had a preternatural ability to sense danger, he made them brave enough to challenge any foe, and he gave them the ferocity to charge the gates of Hell to defend those entrusted to them.
These guardians were vigilant not only to outside threats but were charged with deflecting dangers that would harden hearts. They did all of it while remaining inconspicuously in the background. The kids never suspected a thing.
They only knew us as mom and dad.
While we prayed for defenders, he had given us the strength to meet their need.
God always hears our cries for help from the middle of the storm. He may not provide exactly what we request, but he answers our prayers. Sometimes when we ask for short-term relief, he responds with grace and gives us more than we asked for.
Thank you, Father.
by Jimmy McAfee | Sep 17, 2018 | Uncategorized
If you read my last post, “Letting Go“, you know it’s been a couple of weeks since the kids moved out, and I started to mourn the passing of my time as a full-time parent. If you haven’t read that, check it out!
I still miss them, but I’m adjusting. I’m trying to figure out our new rules of engagement.
Should I text/call or wait for them? Is it OK to clean out and rearrange their old bedrooms to accommodate guests, or is there some unspoken waiting period? When should I offer advice, and when should I wait for them to ask? It’s all different.
At the same time, it is exciting. I feel a freedom I haven’t had in a long time. Without the kids depending on me, I am free to choose who I am and what I do. I am standing on an open road.
I’ve asked God where he wants me to go. Instead of directing me somewhere, he has given me peace.
I feel him saying “I love you, son. Which way do you want us to go?”
How do I answer that question? Which way do I want us to go? Before responding, I’m considering carefully.
The last time I felt the open road beneath me was in my early twenties. Like then, now I can pick a new career, live where I want, invest in the friends I choose, and fill my days with activities I select. It is exciting, but there is also a lot of anticipation in making decisions that may affect me for years to come.
There are mistakes I don’t want to repeat, things that have kept me from getting the most out of life. I need to break some bad habits.
The first habit has caused me to choose the wrong paths in the past. I have struggled my entire life with a chronic need to receive praise to make me feel loved. For example, while you are reading this post, I will be battling a constant urge to check the number of views it has received. Big numbers mean people like me, right?
This search for validation leads me to spend my time working on activities that earn praise instead of finding joy.
I am loved. I need to quit chasing after something I already have.
My second bad habit prevents me from relaxing. It is a need to feel like I am in control. There are times I have needed to retreat to a personal sanctuary to survive chaos and uncertainty. Over time, I have tried to expand my sanctuary instead of finding peace in my situation. It has led to an obsessive focus on insignificant details instead of enjoying the people in my life.
Every message I send does not require an immediate reply. Coffee tastes the same from a different mug. I can sit on the left side of the couch. Telephone batteries operate for a long time below 50% charge. The legs of the dining room chairs do not have to form a perfect line. Pepperoni pizza is not the only choice.
Life is full of unexpected pleasures. I’ve missed too many while I insisted on doing things my way.
It is time for me to imagine what I want my future to look like. I want to dream big, but I’m afraid of being disappointed because my goals aren’t achievable. There was a time however when any dream seemed within reach.
One Christmas when I was a child, I had a huge, boxed gift that I believed held a five-foot-tall rocket. I could close my eyes and visualize huge plumes of fire as it lifted from the ground. I wondered how I would find it when it returned from outer space (it turned out to be an air hockey table though, still a cool gift).
In high school, I had a poster of a huge mansion with five high-end sportscars inside. At the bottom, it said “JUSTIFICATION FOR HIGHER EDUCATION.” It seemed reasonable for an aspiring engineer.
When my kids were young, I built them rooms full of fantasy – bookcases that looked like castles with functioning drawbridges and walls covered with comic book covers.
Somewhere in the dad years, my dreams took a backseat to practicality. Being a practical father allowed my kids to grow up without worrying if they would have food, clothes and a place to sleep every night. I have no regrets, but I am now free to chase my dreams.
Lord, awaken the dreamer inside me.
I also need to be patient and enjoy the process of achieving my dreams. Years ago when my daughter said the blessing over dinner, she would pray “God, please help us get through this week so we can make it to the weekend.” Unintentionally, I had taught her to focus so much on results that she wasn’t content in her work.
Goals and dreams are important, but the reward is found in pursuing them, not from the trophies collected for their completion. I worked so hard to achieve my dreams that I had overlooked the very reason they exist. I don’t want a list of accomplishments. I want days that are full of love, life, and laughter.
God grant me patience.
Last, I want to surround myself with people I care about. I have a lot of great friends. I’ve also got a great family – children, a brother, a sister, parents, and others by blood or marriage. I want time with each of them. Together, we are a community. My community.
Of all the people I love and want to spend time with, I want Kim to be at my side. I want to live out a love story with her that generations will remember. Twenty-six years have convinced me I was blessed to marry the perfect person for me. May I take every opportunity to be thankful for her and to indulge in the time we have together.
But I never answered God’s question. Which way do I want us to go?
The harder I try to pick the perfect destination, the more I realize that enjoying the trip is more important. I am thrilled to spend my day walking with Him. But I owe him an answer to his question, so I reply.
“That path on the right looks like an adventure. Can we go that way?”
by Jimmy McAfee | Aug 30, 2018 | Uncategorized
I’ve had a long month. It started when I moved my daughter into her studio apartment, where she starts her first grown-up job soon. It finished with me driving several hours across the state to drop off my son at college. The return trip home seemed much quieter and much longer.
Kim and I are officially empty-nesters, and our kids are “on their own”.
One of these now adults is a loving, nurturing soul who is attentive to the smallest details of the people in her life. She hops from one interest to the next, soaking up new experiences. She celebrates the quirks that make each person unique.
The other is easy-going. He works hard, but he and life have achieved harmony in a happy kind of dance. He can find and reflect humor in any situation. He is at his best in small crowds, with friends who laugh together and stand up for each other.
I am proud of both of them, and there is no reason for me to worry. They have much to learn but are ready to face what lies ahead. God smiles at them, and they smile back. They’ll be fine.
While their worlds are expanding, mine has suddenly contracted. I have no “little buddy” to ride with me to the grocery. Even if I went alone, who am I cooking breakfast for anyway? I catch myself starting tasks that are no longer necessary.
There is nobody left to teach how to change a flat tire, light a grill without burning your eyebrows, or iron a shirt like a pro. Now I await phone calls asking for advice.
I’ve spent most of my adult life building a home for my family. The smallest details have been carefully organized to prepare the kids to fly out of the nest one day. Now that the day has come, I wonder how it got here so quickly.
I am suddenly left to walk through a house that seems much larger and lonelier than before. Many rooms now sit unused except by the memories that live in them.
In one bedroom, a memory sits behind a tightly closed door and sings softly while strumming a guitar. The music provides relief from the angst of teen years. I like to close my eyes and listen silently from the hallway.
In the next bedroom, another memory is playing one vinyl LP record after another in a world that went digital decades ago. Albums are strewn across the bed while their collector admires each and carefully reorganizes them. I see so much of her mother’s beauty in her.
The family room holds the echoes of a father and son intently watching superhero cartoons that they’ve seen many times before. They occasionally interrupt the show to discuss which superpower they would choose, and who is the greatest hero. Could that little boy imagine the man he would become?
The small table in the kitchen holds the memory of a mother and daughter surrounded by scattered crayons while they carefully color pictures of animals and flowers. I tell them that their pictures are beautiful, but the memories don’t seem to notice.
The dining table hosts a noisy feast. “Everybody talking and nobody listening” is the family motto. Comfort foods fill every empty space but are seldom chewed thoroughly in the wild race for seconds. I think we took a picture that day. I wonder where it is?
Some rooms have silent occupants. I sigh at the piles of dirty dishes that reappear on the kitchen counter overnight. I shake the empty milk carton that found its way back into the refrigerator door. I remember wondering how they would ever get along without me.
More memories are living in the garage and backyard, but I’ve seen enough. There’s no hurry to visit the others now. I have lots of time, and they’ll still be there.
My celebration of a new life with a wife I love will need to wait for a short while. Oh, I’m excited about it. We have plans for grand adventures. But not just yet.
For the moment, I will quietly mourn the passing of my days as a full-time father and wait for the separation pains to subside. I need to let go of my previous identity and discover who I am now.
I know that all of us will be together again. More memories will move in one holiday weekend soon. We love each other, and that hasn’t changed. But the seismic shift is impossible to overlook.
Today, I will sit quietly with the memories who share my home. I need their company and comfort.
Maybe I’ll watch that cartoon with those two guys. It’s one of my favorites.
