Gifts

They matter. Because they speak the silent language of the soul.

There are, I believe, three kinds of gifts.

The first kind comes from God. Unearned. They are the miracles we breathe without noticing – – – the beating of our hearts, the spark in our minds, the design of who we are – – – our particular, beautiful, unrepeatable make-up. The gift of life itself. And above all, the gift of grace. Given freely. Paid for fully. A love we could never deserve, yet can never lose.

Then, there are the gifts we give each other – – – the unseen ones. The gifts of love, kindness, compassion, protection, prayer, and presence. The gift of belief (thank you, Chet). The gift of time (thank you, John R). The gift of prayer (thank you, KittyA). The gift of clarity (thank you, band). These gifts can’t be bought, and yet they are priceless. They are the currency of the heart – – – measured not in dollars, but in devotion.

And then, there’s the third kind – – – the tangible ones. Things we can hold, use, read, or hang on a wall. Objects that somehow become vessels of meaning – – – symbols of something far deeper. Sometimes, these gifts carry so much spirit, they can alter the course of a life. I’ve known such gifts.

A Bible given to me the day my wife and I were married. Larry Allen’s personal Bible. A Qur’an from my Afghan father. A first edition of The Seven Pillars of Wisdom. A lighthouse necklace. Five boxes of Built to Lead books. A Dallas Cowboy jersey from my dad. Signed copies of books from my favorite author – – – his words changed my world.

But hear this: My Afghan father, Malik Noor Afzhal…Sitting Bull…once told me something I have never forgotten. He said, “A gift is not a gift unless it hurts to give it away. It’s not a gift if you won’t miss it.”

And so, today, I am giving a true gift. One that hurts. I’m sending something to one of my dearest friends and mentors…a man I love more than a brother, a man who changed my life forever: Steven Pressfield.

It’s an acorn. “Just” an acorn, some might say. But not to me. Steve gave it to me more than fifteen years ago. He picked it up at Thermopylae – – – at the very place where 300 Spartans stood against the Persian empire, where one of the greatest books and stories ever written – – – Gates of Fire – – – was born. This acorn has been with me ever since. I held onto it through battles both seen and unseen. It has been a symbol of everything I have fought for and believed in – – – courage, brotherhood, honor, sacrifice.

When my wife finished writing American Spartan, I gave it to her – – – because she had fought a war of her own, and she had won. I asked her to give it back to me so that – – – I could give it back to him.

I’m sending it back. Because Steve lost everything he owned in the California fires. And I have no other way to tell him how much I love him. How much he means to me. How much he has shaped my life.

As I packaged it up, I cried. Hard. Not from my eyes, but from my heart. Because the act of letting it go – – – of returning it – – – cut deep into my soul. But that’s how I know it’s real. That’s how I know it’s love. This acorn isn’t “just” a seed. It’s a symbol of rebirth – – – of fire and ashes, of loss and resurrection. It’s being sent back across time and space carrying every ounce of my hope, my faith, and my love.

“Just” an acorn?
Oh, hell no.

It’s my heart. My offering. My way of saying…

I love you, Steve. Old friend. Old warrior.

You are a gift to me – – – one I can never repay, one I can never truly put into words.

Receive this, brother, for what it truly is – – – a part of my soul in your hands.

I love you, Steve!

Together We Transform – always, ALWAYS TOGETHER.

Jim

John 14:1-7

Gifts of Honor: A Tale of Two Captains

Twenty years ago…

Not too long ago…