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.
A storm is coming into my life. I can feel it. Just like you can smell the rain that is about to fall, I can sense the change that is about to happen.
When I was a sophomore in college, I lived in North Carrick dormitory. My fifth-floor room faced due west and had an unimpeded view of the campus, the downtown and the horizon of the sky behind them. When a weather front blew in, you could see the storm coming.
Anxiety would immediately begin to set in. I had a 15-minute walk to class and no umbrella. How would I keep from becoming soaking wet? I was pretty sure my canvas backpack wasn’t waterproof either. Would my class notes be safe? How could I protect them?
As I gazed out the window at the gathering clouds and darkening sky, the beauty of the storm would seize control of my thoughts. I would watch the brilliance of the landmark Sunsphere contrast with the fury forming around it.
My habit became cranking up my roommate’s oversized 1980s stereo system and listening to “Riders on the Storm” by The Doors. The hypnotic sounds of rainfall and thunder would mix with the dancing keyboard notes before Jim Morrison hauntingly sang the last song he ever recorded.
While I sat there and enjoyed the beauty of the music and the coming storm, my anxieties faded away. I didn’t care that I would arrive at my next class dripping wet. My plans for the night would inevitably change, but it was OK. As the first drops of rain began to fall, a spirit of peace settled over the moment.
If you have never tried, take a couple minutes to click on the picture and listen to the song with your eyes closed and imagine the storm rolling in (the lyrics are just plain weird, but ignore that part). If you let your soul be calm, you can feel it, too.
My first reaction to approaching storms is to bring everything inside for protection from the strong Texas winds. I am tempted to run around making sure that after the storm everything will be the same as it was before.
But that isn’t the nature of a storm. When a season in life ends, a storm precedes the next season. As a new front brings change, it clashes violently with everything it is pushing away. It is pointless to guard against all damage. The storm only represents the larger change that comes behind it.
Christ followers should have hope that better things will come. A magnificent change requires a very great storm. We should embrace the storm, not merely seek shelter from it. We are not victims of the chaos. We should ride on the wave of change.
Like I said earlier, a storm is coming into my life. The undeniable signs are all in place. With no idea what lies ahead, it can be scary. But instead of worrying about the damage, I am trying to prepare for what is being ushered in.
In a city marked by violent hailstorms, I am not looking for shelter for the oversized truck that won’t fit into my garage. Instead, I sold it on Saturday. I don’t believe it has a place in the season that is coming.
I have released the ministry events that God faithfully sent to me every month over the past years. As they are blown away, something new will arrive. While I wait, I am sharing these messages of hope with everyone who finds them.
I am rediscovering the same peace that settled over my soul so many years ago as I listened to music and watched the storm clouds gather. My soul has a tranquility that only God can bring.
As winds howl and lightning streaks across the sky, may I not hide from what comes. May God make me fearless. May he strengthen my faith as the old season is pushed out and days of glory stretch in front of me.
“You sound like you’re getting sick. Make sure to get plenty of vitamin C.”
Everybody has heard that before. Most of us have no idea why vitamin C would help us to stay healthy, but we have quietly adopted it into our belief system. Supplements, orange juice, or fresh fruit – it doesn’t matter how you get your C – just get it.
Nobody wants to get sick. If there is a simple way to avoid the fever, coughing, nausea, aches, and pains, then bring it on. Take no chances.
When a virus invades your body it initiates a series of responses. They can come fast and furious. The same body that was bouncing along on top of the world can seem like a prison within a few hours. It can become impossible to continue your daily schedule as all attention turns inward in a battle for control.
In ways, my soul feels like it is going through cold and flu season. I am being exposed to things that I know can bring me down. This season’s flu strain for my soul is my mom’s declining health. The emotional pain that can cause is capable of sending me into overload. My crippled soul can mirror my body’s response to sickness.
I need some vitamin C to keep that from happening.
Thankfulness is the preventive measure for my soul. I need to start each day taking 1000mg of gratitude. That joy can keep my spirit from becoming sick.
When my soul is under attack and God seems far away, I need visible reminders that he is with me. When the suffering seems to serve no purpose, evidence of his love can keep me healthy. When attacks threaten to overwhelm my spirit, his love is my protection.
For since the creation of the world God’s invisible qualities—his eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what has been made… (Romans 1:20)
Just like vitamin C is on every supermarket shelf and easy to find, the proof of his love surrounds me. My daily dose is ready when I wake up each morning.
The beauty of a sunrise reflects the hand of an artist. No big bang could yield a perfect magnolia blossom. I know that God is real because I can see his handiwork all around me.
The liquid gold in a cup of hot coffee and the intoxicating smell of bacon weren’t created for his joy. The explosions of flavor didn’t come from some distant artist. He created my ability to enjoy these things because my joy is important to him.
The blurry smile on my wife’s face each morning when she comes downstairs to see me and the overload of joy from my dog, Tarzan when he sees me both come from a Father who wants love to fill his children’s lives.
The sound of a few notes prepares my heart for the music that follows. Within seconds, the past and present are woven together as my mind races across time to find a connection so specific that it could only come from a God who was present in all of my life.
The steam of a hot shower on a cold morning envelopes me and releases the tension in my muscles. As the water runs down my back and chest it seems to embrace me in a special way.
There are a thousand more gifts just like these that await me every morning within the first few minutes. All I have to do is receive them and thank the one who gave them to me. That simple action releases a peace that guards my soul.
I still don’t know why people I love have to suffer. I still don’t understand the bad things in this world. But the constant stream of proof of a present God reminds me that I am not alone. The intimacy of each act of a loving Father comforts me and brings me peace in knowing that it is going to be OK.
Maybe more than OK. Today may hold more than an everyday miracle.
I’m going to take my vitamin C and go find out.
This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. (Psalms 118:24)
When I was a kid, someone told me that each person is the very best at something. Because God created each of us in his image and yet totally unique, every person has something that they are able to do better than anyone else.
God created mankind in his own image (Gen 1:27)
With the simple faith of a child, I believed that superpowers were out there waiting to be discovered. What was my ability? Would I jump higher than anyone in history? Maybe I could spit a watermelon seed almost forever. I practiced until my mom told me to stop because it was bad manners.
I read the Guinness Book of World Records until the pages became dog-eared. It was full of hundreds of people who were official. They were each the best.
I watched professional athletes on TV and envied them because they had discovered their gift. I had a favorite book about the baseball hall of fame. I would re-read stories about “The Babe” and think how awesome it must have been to be the greatest home run hitter in history.
Samson earned my admiration. He walked past a sword and spear to kill 1,000 of his enemies with the jawbone of a donkey. Strength and style. What a guy.
Of course, some talents aren’t physical. Albert Einstein was a supergenius theoretical physicist with a sense of humor and amazing hair. How cool to be him?
My daughter, Erin, is probably the fastest ever at the Solitaire app. She’s a blur of thumbs and iPhone. It is unbelievable to watch. It’s like she moves cards with her mind before I can even identify them.
As a twelve-year-old, I thought others were lucky to know how they were special and to be celebrated for it. However, I would silently wonder why I hadn’t discovered my special power. Had God given me one?
There is another kind of best. A gift that may not be as widely recognized, but is more powerful. I call these examples “Granny’s cookies”.
My grandmother makes the world’s best chocolate chip cookies. No doubt. Ever since I was a little kid, she would bring me (well maybe the whole family) these gallon-size Ziploc bags overstuffed with the most mouthwatering cookies anyone ever tasted. I would gobble them down and risk how many could be eaten before getting in trouble.
She sent the same, generous, giant bags of them to my dorm in college. They were like gold. Granny’s cookies.
When I got my own house and kitchen, I asked to make a copy of her recipe. She said she didn’t have one written down. I thought to myself “This is awesome, she has memorized a recipe held in secrecy, probably passed down from her grandmother in the old country.”
Then she finished her response, telling me that she didn’t keep a written copy of the recipe because it was on the back of every bag of Nestle Tollhouse chocolate chips.
What?!
Images of passing down an old family recipe vanished as I wondered how they could be the world’s best cookies and be made from a recipe on every bag at WalMart.
The answer was simple. They were the best because she made them just for me, out of the pure love a grandmother has for her grandchild. Nobody else will ever be able to do that the way she did.
Babe Ruth’s most famous home run may be his called shot in Game 3 of the 1932 World Series. My favorite home run of his is from a World Series six years earlier when he promised a hospitalized “Little Johnny” Sylvester that he would hit a homer just for him the next day. The Babe loved children and dedicated much of his life to them.
Erin may achieve fame and fortune on the Solitaire circuit, but my favorite gift is the way she makes me laugh. She effortlessly weaves together jokes with stories of the times we have shared and the reasons she loves me. Nobody else will ever be able to do that like she does.
Each of us is capable of greatness. It may be as simple as knowing that a neighbor needs a hug and giving it freely. It may be quietly listening when someone needs to vent their frustrations. It may be summoning the courage to tell a friend something they need to know but don’t want to hear.
For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. (Eph 2:10)
Maybe I won’t be a celebrity because of athleticism, genius, or a novel skill. That’s OK. I’d rather aspire to the second kind of greatness anyway.
Giving love to someone, gift wrapped in an act of kindness is an amazing power. Nobody can do it just like you can. God made sure of that.
I want to radiate the very image of God that was used as a blueprint for my design. I want his love and perfect timing to be my power. I want that to be what I am best at.
The amazing part of this second type of gift is that you don’t have to prove that you are the best. It isn’t about winning a championship or being awarded a Nobel prize. It is achieved by taking your best and giving it to someone else.
I probably wouldn’t have loved Granny’s cookies if she had only brought them once. Her persistence forever linked a simple act of kindness to the love she had for me. I remember her fussing to herself when she cooked a particular batch too long. She wanted them to be perfect. She knew what they symbolized.
My friend Kelly stops by to see me at work almost every Friday afternoon. He has had that habit for years. When we worked in different states, he would call instead. Sometimes he has news to share, and sometimes he doesn’t. The visits were never about productivity, they were about letting me know I was important to him. Maybe he’s the best at that.
Too often, I hold high regard for gifts that the rest of the world tells me are valuable. I need to spend less time cheering for them, and more time thanking the people who have given me the world’s best.
Thank you, Granny. You give me the best and I love you.
I was right as a kid. Superheroes are all around me. I just wasn’t looking for them the right way. My heroes look more like Clark Kent than Superman.
And true greatness is a cookie more often than it equals mc2.
It is really difficult to see mom as
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.
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.
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.
