I'm standing a few days into a brand new year. Having a lot in common with a guy from the 1st Century B.C.

Actually, a Roman officer, leading his men on a mission that took them into uncharted territory. Back then, mapmakers drew dragons beyond the line of what was known.

So, from "dragonland," the commander dispatched a courier back to headquarters with an urgent message. Which is where I cross paths with this ancient warrior.

Guest Column By Lisa Hutchcraft Whitmer

It happened on a little girl's Thanksgiving. It has changed that grown-up girl's Christmas. I am - or was - that little girl.

My parents sat our family down in the living room. To tell us that we didn't have much money - so we wouldn't be having a Thanksgiving meal. I remember we all got on our knees and prayed together as a family. My memories of that conversation - and those prayers - are permanently stamped in my memory.

It's on virtually every newscast, here and around the world. The death of Nelson Mandela. First Black president of South Africa - where the 90% Black majority had never had the right to vote. Or many other basic human rights, for that matter.

Four American Presidents, the head of the United Nations, the leaders of scores of nations - they will all be there this week to honor him at his memorial service.

But beyond all the tributes of the powerful, Nelson Mandela has a message for me.

About how to be truly free.

Because what changed his nation can help change ours. It can change a family. A feud. A fractured relationship.

The headlines are about a movie star dying. But Paul Walker was a lot more.

For those familiar with the "Fast and Furious" movies he was famous for, his death was especially jarring. Because of the way he died - a high-speed accident, the exotic race car exploding in flames. Eerily reminiscent of the movies that made him famous.

But now, in the days following the initial shock, people are focusing on Paul Walker the man, not just the movie star.

There is no bargain known to man that would entice me to camp out overnight in a frigid store parking lot.

Or risk the only body I have in a stampede of wild-eyed bargain-hunters.  

So the annual “running of the bulls” – otherwise known as Black Friday – will have to go on without me.

Okay, it probably sounds a little cheesy, but you just had to be there.

My wife gave each member of our family a colorful piece of paper on Thanksgiving Day.  On it, an acrostic of the word Thanksgiving, with the letters down the side.

Our “before we can eat” assignment (a powerful motivator) was to list by each letter an “I’m thankful for” that started with that letter.  Then we talked about them.  Not for real long.  We could smell the turkey.

Some of us wore a construction paper Pilgrim hat. Others wore a paper feather on our head. So I've known since kindergarten that Indians were part of the First Thanksgiving.

What I didn't know was how much we should be giving thanks for them.

Today, with friends in dozens of tribes, I know what amazing people Native Americans are. With their warrior spirit, their deep spiritual nature, their ability to read a heart. I've tasted their generosity, enjoyed their sense of humor, admired their values of respect and courage. And I've grieved all that was taken from them...loved many as sons and daughters.

It's November. We're thinking turkey not tornadoes. But this weekend there were some 68 tornadoes that didn't consult the calendar. From EF-2s to EF-4s, they left a swath of erased homes and devastated communities across the center of America.

Washington, Illinois was clearly one of the epicenters of the violence from the skies. And the pictures from there are all too familiar. Splintered neighborhoods. Residents trying to figure out which pile of rubble was their home. Oh - and what one reporter called "the good stuff."

Facebook has afforded us the wonderful privilege of knowing more about our friends than we ever really wanted to. "I just blew my nose. Thought you all should know." "Status: mad at everybody."

Best of all, we can share our selfies. Pictures of me. Taken by me. Because it's all about me, right?

Actually, no. At least it's not supposed to be.

The video images from the L.A. airport are just plain disturbing.

A human stampede of terrified passengers, fleeing a gunman on the loose in the terminal.

This time it was an airport. Who knows where it will be next time. These explosions of violence have happened in a theater . . . a mall . . . an office . . . a school . . . a church.

The bullets may start flying anyplace. Leaving behind lost and shattered lives.