I Need More of That

You might be happy to know I’ve already made opening steps toward one of my goals for 2015: “Make modifications to our seldom-visited westerly side yard.” The space I’m talking about, it’s an exaggeration to call it a “yard;” it is actually the small strip between our house and the fence on the west side, about five-and-a-half feet wide. It used to be weeds and dirt and we never thought about using it until last spring when Cyndi had it filled with cement, making a continuously smooth sidewalk-type surface. I have been thinking about how to use the space ever since Cyndi’s modification.

And my first idea was to set up my hammock. Once I put up a shade screen it would be a perfect place for swinging naps.

Cyndi and the kids gave this hammock to me back in the 1990s, and for years I had it set up in the shade under our Honey Locust tree in the backyard. I loved to lie in that hammock and read the Sunday paper while gently swinging myself by pulling on the slender rope tied to the porch post. I learned to swing and sleep at the same time. Sometimes I wrote in my journal and contemplated on spiritual things. It was wonderful and peaceful. It was home.

In my opinion, there are two marks of adulthood: (1) looking forward to naps; and (2) being happy when a phone call is for someone else. I’m always happy when the phone isn’t for me, but not as happy as I am when I’m taking a nap.

Nowadays, I typically take only one nap per week, on Sunday afternoons, and I have to work to keep it. There’s always something else important to do, even things I enjoy doing, like riding my bike with the cycling club. But if I miss my nap I feel cheated all week. I won’t be as creative, or as smart, or as friendly.

Unfortunately, napping in my hammock in the shade ended when I cut our Honey Locust tree down after bores attacked it in the summer of 1999. It broke my heart to lose the tree.

Cyndi and I planted it ourselves when it was just a one-inch diameter youngster, and through the years it grew into a trunk of 18 inches. It was a significant tree; the biggest and oldest impression we'd made on earth. I was inspired by that tree.

And without my favorite shade tree I didn’t know what to do with my beloved hammock. I tried setting it up around the yard and under the porch, but it took up too much space. With stand, it is about twelve feet long. Eventually, reluctantly, I put it into storage.

When we moved into our present house in 2008 I stashed the hammock and stand behind the freezer in the garage, hoping I would soon find a place to set it up.

And now, finally, our newly remodeled side yard seems perfect. There is plenty of privacy (No one wants to take a nap out in public), and I knew I could manufacture enough shade.

Last Saturday, in keeping with my 2015 goal, I pulled the pieces of the hammock and stand from the garage and set it all up. It was my first of many modifications to the side yard.

But the hammock was too wide. What I mean is, it fit inside the space, and with deft maneuvering I could climb in, but there wasn’t enough room on either side for swinging. It was quite disappointing.

I didn’t give up, though. I ordered a narrower net-style hammock and I’m planning to make it work.

Why does it matter, you may ask? Because having a hidden corner of the yard that feels like home is a big deal. Because a hammock that doesn’t swing is just another bed. Because, not only do I crave adult naps, but I need to move. Because swinging in a hammock settles brain floaters, calms storms, reduces to-do lists, and brings peace and tranquility. I need more of that,

And Because I’m certain that using my reborn hammock will open my mind and jump-start my creativity toward the accomplishment of all the rest of those 2015 goals.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Letting Go

The thing is, I’m continually searching for the sweet spot to live my life, the still point, the center. It’s my assumption that I’m only one practice, one habit, or one spreadsheet away from blissful yet productive existence. That’s one of the reasons I read so much, or at least, how I pick many of my books. I’m looking for ideas to find that intersection between stillness and adventure.

One of my favorite writers, Natalie Goldberg, described how she handles life’s burdens and the numbness that comes from constant disappointment, in her book, The True Secret of Writing,

She adopted a personal mantra that she repeats to herself; she calls it her “Loving Kindness Practice”.

May I be happy

May I be peaceful

May I be free

May I have the ease of well-being

May I be safe

May I be healthy

Goldberg believes that her own inner peace expands out to everyone and everything else when she repeats those phrases to herself. I’m sure she’s correct.

She also wrote about the process of letting go ... as in, what are the elements she has to let of in order to live happy, peaceful, free, and healthy. “What do I carry with me all the time? What should I carry with me from now on? What should I leave behind?”

Like a backpacker, we can only carry so much. It’s true that the more gear (or attitude) we carry, the better we protect ourselves from upsets, surprises, and accidents, but if our load gets too heavy it will break our back and destroy our will to continue down the trail.

Goldberg understood that it wasn’t enough to simply repeat a mantra over and over. She had to let go to make her Loving Kindness Practice really work.

I thought her Practice seemed like a cool way to avoid the trap of disappointment and live in more among good qualities. However, since she’s a practicing Buddhist, her suggestions come from that particular perspective. I wondered if I could adopt a similar practice based on a Biblical perspective. Even though the actual end result might be the same, and the specific practices not that different, it made a different to my own heart if I knew the source.

Which lead me to Galatians 5:22-23: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” Could I use this list to ground myself in God’s qualities in such a way they would expand out to everyone else around me?

So I am proposing the following practice based on the Fruits of the Spirit, and I’m asking you for suggestions to make it even better. What if we all repeat at least one of these phrases to ourselves every day, all day … would it change how we live? Would it change the people around us?

May I be accepting; let go of judging

May I be generous; let go of cynicism

May I be mindful; let go of my need for respect

May I linger; let go of quick success

May I be kind; let go of condemnation

May I give slack; let go of expectation

May I be loyal; let go of grudges

May I be gentle; let go of being right

May I be intentional; let go of careless living

So far, this list seems a little clunky to be sustainable, but it’s a good start to a brighter and more contagious life. Why don’t you join me by selecting one phrase every day and repeat it to yourself whenever life’s disappointments hit. Who knows what may happen.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Musical Roots

My daughter, Katie, posted a photo of my granddaughter Madden in her Lady Bug costume posing with a man and woman dressed as Mary Poppins and Bert. She captioned the photo, “M meets her favorites.” I wrote, “So who is the Mary Poppins couple in the photo?”

“I have no idea. We were at a trunk-or-treat thing. But M knows all the songs and loves the movie so it was perfect.”

Well, that just made me happy. Even more than seeing my cute granddaughter in her Lady Bug costume. She loves the movie and knows all the songs.

Music is a deep root in our family and it makes me happy to see it blooming in this little girl. It feels like success. Like one more family treasure has been preserved in the next generation.

I don’t know how far back music goes in my family; what I meant is, I don’t how many generations were musicians. But I know my grandfather, Cy Simpson, learned to play piano from a correspondence course. I wouldn’t’ve thought it possible to learn piano that way except we have a stack of his old correspondence. He learned to play shaped notes, which is an old-school way of notating music. Each shape corresponds to a different note on the scale, and changing keys is very easy.

My dad and his sister, Betty, used to stand beside the piano and sing duets while Cy played. He could change keys on a whim, even in mid-phrase, which he did often, just to mess with the singers. Joking at each other’s expense goes way back in my family, too.

As a young man my Dad lead the music in small churches all over central and west Texas. In fact, he men my mom at a revival at First Baptist Church in Ackerly, Texas. My other grandfather, Roy Haynes, was pastor, and his oldest daughter, Lenelle, played piano for the worship services. My dad was the visiting musician for the revival, what we used to call the music director and now worship leader. He was a student at the time, at Howard Payne College in Brownwood, Texas.

Music was part of our home life as far back as I have memories of anything. My dad had stacks of long-play record albums, mostly of Southern Gospel singing groups. He also had the Greatest Hits of Glen Miller, and I played it all the time. It was my first exposure to big band jazz, and hearing it so much was fundamental to my being a musician today, 50 years later.

I credit my dad with the fact I am a musician today. He never pushed or pulled me into music, but he certainly inspired me. In my life as a young boy, because of my dad’s obvious example, music was something grown men did regularly. It was a manly pursuit. So I pursued it.

And just like my Dad, I married a musician. Cyndi played melodic percussion (bells, chimes, xylophone, etc.) and I played trombone, and we played together in various church ensembles as often as possible.

Our children, Byron and Katie, became musicians. They both played piano and sang in children’s choirs. We used to sing songs together while driving around Texas in our Chevy Astro minivan. Especially during the Christmas season, which in our family begins November 1^st, as soon as Halloween is over.

Both B&K went on to play trombone, and one of my favorite memories is Christmas caroling as a trombone trio. We kept trying to bring Cyndi into our group so we could become the Simpson Family Quartet, but she said we were just making fun of her as a percussionist. She was a little bit correct in the making fun part, but still, we wanted her to join.

And Cyndi and I still sing along with movie musicals. Especially during the Christmas season. We’ve already sung our way through the Muppet Christmas Carol twice this season, and White Christmas isn’t far behind.

So, back to my first story: The fact that Madden loves Mary Poppins and knows all the songs makes me a happy “Pops.” I hope we have decades of music ahead of us.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Adventure in Our Own Backyard

“What’s wrong with your eye?” was the question I kept getting Sunday morning, which surprised me, since my eye wasn’t the part of me that hurt the most. In fact, I was totally unaware of any problem in my eye except that I remembered poking it on a bush branch while digging a ditch across our side-yard flower bed Saturday afternoon. I must have poked it worse than I thought. The parts of me that hurt the most were my hands and shoulders, which also surprised me, since I expected it to be my back and knees. My knees because they always hurt a little bit no matter what, but my back because I shoveled, not just dirt, but heavy sticky clay, for hours Friday and Saturday afternoons. Apparently that put a greater strain on my upper body than my lower body.

In spite of all that, I was a happy man. Why? Because I had taken the first step in fulfilling Cyndi’s anniversary gift wish.

This past July we celebrated 35 years of marriage. First we took a very cool trip to Mexico in May to celebrate. And if that wasn’t enough, when I asked Cyndi what she wanted for her anniversary gift she asked for an outdoor shower.

So this past weekend the weather was finally cool enough, and since it has been raining for two weeks the ground was finally soft enough, for me to begin making Cyndi’s wishes come true, which, as it turns out, is my primary purpose in life.

However, I should back the story up a bit. This idea of having an outdoor shower all started when Cyndi and I attended a retreat at Vallecitos in Northern New Mexico, in 2011.

One night after her workshop and after a late night shower, Cyndi whispered to me (whispering because it was camp silent time) “I took an outdoor shower - I was butt naked - and there was a man in the shower next to me!”

The next day after my morning run I decided I needed to know more about Cyndi’s experience. The outdoor shower turned out to be mounted on a flat wooded balcony that was closed on three sides, including the side between men and women, meaning Cyndi was correct when she said a man was next to her but there was a substantial corrugated tin partition separating them. Hardly as naughty as Cyndi made it sound.

But the third side was open to the mountain and the entire world. Granted, it faced a ravine and a steep wall of Aspens so that someone would have to go to a lot of trouble to find a place to watch naked bathers - probably more trouble than an adult is willing to make.

Still, while showering, you were definitely naked and vulnerable to the outside world in a way that seldom happens as an adult. It was fun, much more fun than a conventional shower, maybe because of the adventure, maybe because of the rarity but also because it felt free and wild.

And then last May at our vacation in Verana, Mexico, the only shower accessible to us was outdoor and open to the Bay of Bandaras. If someone in Puerto Vallarta had a powerful-enough telescope and knew where to look, we were only 16 miles across the water.

By this time we were old hands at showering outside and took it completely in stride. It was after that trip that Cyndi asked for an outdoor shower of her own.

So why am I writing about this except to brag on my own hard work and sore muscles? It goes back to something I read in Patricia Ryan Madison’s book, Improv Wisdom. "There are people who prefer to say Yes, and there are people who prefer to say No. Those who say Yes are rewarded by the adventures they have, and those who say No are rewarded by the safety they attain.

Granted, taking an outdoor shower in our own backyard, which is very small and close and private, is at best, a small adventure. But Cyndi and I know our lives will become more closed and private as we get older unless we deliberately open up. We have to intentionally add vulnerability, say Yes more often, to prevent that progression.

Besides, once we start using the shower, who knows what other adventures will open up to us.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Eliminating Hurry

Why is it so easy to get too busy? Too busy working and teaching and writing and leading and serving and giving - all important and necessary things - that we never relax? Why would anyone live like that?

Well, speaking for myself, doing lots of stuff all day every day is good for my ego. It’s fulfilling to be a part of so many good things, and being needed by everyone feels nice.

Also, staying busy removes the pressure to do those chores around the home that make it a nice place to live. If I’m busy doing important things I can explain away my slovenly homemaking: “Yeah, my yard is a mess, but it’s because I have been so busy at the church.” Who can challenge that? Staying busy is the best excuse.

My friend Gary Barkalow once said that if we want to follow God, if we want to be able to respond when He calls on our heart, then we have to leave margin in our life. We have to deliberately leave slack in our schedule and empty space on our calendar. Otherwise, we’re too busy to do what He asks - but more importantly – we’re too busy to listen to Him.

The reason I’m writing about this is because I recently finished reading a book by John Ortberg titled, Soul Keeping. He described a conversation with his friend and mentor, Dallas Willard, in which Ortberg asked how a busy pastor like himself could stay spiritually healthy. Willard told him, “You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”

Not only was that not the advice Ortberg expected to get, it was advice that seemed impossible to follow.

To slow down our life, to eliminate hurry, means we have to turn down some things that we are good at, things everyone else expects us to do. It might mean eliminating something we once chose to do.

I went through this process myself about six years ago without really knowing why it was important. When my twelve years of city government service ended in December 2007, I started paring down many of my obligations. I quite some organizations that had been an important part of my life for a long time. In fact, I left a civic organization that I had helped found and served as president. I don’t know why I was so determined to pare down my schedule except that it seemed I needed a reboot.

As it turned out, had I not done all that, I would never have finished writing my first book, much less two more books after that. I would not have had time to engage in Journey Groups, a discovery and mentoring ministry that has greatly benefited me and lots of other men. I would not have had the energy to devote to teaching in Compass and Iron Men and Axis classes.

My reboot worked. I was spiritually and emotionally healthier, but at the time if felt a little like I was bailing out on people. It felt self-indulgent and irresponsible. And yet, I knew it was important. I still don’t know what prompted me, but it seemed critical at the time.

In the past six years I’ve been better at not scheduling my life to the edges like I used to do. I’ve learned to leave margin in my life.

But still, that was six years ago, and the magnetic pull of busyness is relentless. So when I read Dallas Willard’s advice today I have to reevaluate my current life and wonder where I can eliminate hurry. I don’t immediately know the answer.

The thing is, I’m much more comfortable being busy. But if I want to grow in the Lord, I have to come home to Him, spend time with Him, and relax with Him. I need my home in Jesus. I need space where I don’t have to be afraid, or nervous, or political, where I can relax and linger in my relationship with Jesus.

I believe I am spiritually healthier and more creative when I intentionally leave margin in my life. I think I can do better, though. I need to learn how to be ruthless.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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A Good Day

Late Monday evening I received this email from my Dad: “If ever I made a suggestion for a journal, this would be the time – “It’s been a good day.” I have been asleep for an hour and woke up with that on my mind.  It’s the last thing you said to me after we delivered the flowers and you dropped me off.” He sent that message only hours after attending the memorial service honoring my mom, his wife of 59 years, who passed away five days earlier.

He considered it a good day.

Before I drove Dad home that evening we spent several hours with friends who came to our house to share comfort. We ate lots of food furnished by Dad’s Sunday School Class – they took excellent care of us – a network of support that instantly jumped into action to minister to our family.

Some of the friends who joined us were new friends, many were family, and some friends went back more than 60 years. They filled the entire weekend with hope and faith and love.

We often take the support we get from other Christians for granted because we see it in action so often. We know that if a disaster strikes our family we can make one or two phone calls and a hundred people will be holding us and praying for us and serving us. Most Christians have the same confidence in that safety net --but what about the rest of the world. I’m sure there are groups besides churches who do this sort of thing, but I don’t see them in action the way I’ve seen Sunday School classes minister to one another.

During those days before the memorial service I was reminded by several that “you mother is in a better place.” And it’s an absolutely true statement; a statement that my family believes so deeply we never actually discussed it. It was too obvious; as in, “Everybody knows that.”

Instead, our talk centered on how my mom lived during the 72 years before Alzheimer’s took over. Everybody knew without a doubt she was with God in heaven, so we told stories about her life and looked at photos and laughed together.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t intend to write about this again. I prefer to move ahead in joy and discover what adventure comes next. But I couldn’t resist my Dad’s suggestion. Like he said, “It was a good day.”

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Talk About Weddings

I want to go on record as saying this: Getting married was the best decision I ever made and the smartest thing I ever did. I know I’ve written this before, and maybe you’re tired of reading it, but we just attended a wedding and they always put me to thinking about marriage. In this case it was a family wedding. Kelli Goodan, the daughter of Cyndi’s cousin, married Mark Alvord, near Las Cruces, New Mexico. The ceremony took place outside under clear blue skies, the stunning Organ Mountains in the background, and with lots of boots and hats and blue jeans and cowboy vests. And, of course, there was dancing. Fun family dancing: Cousins dancing with cousins, uncles with nieces, grandmothers with grandsons, and fathers with daughters.

I will confess two things: (1) I have grown to love this sort of family gathering, and (2) I never danced a step until I married into this family. Some astute observers might add that what I do now shouldn’t be considered actual dancing, but I know where the beat is and I know how to pick partners that make me look like I know what I’m doing.

I suppose I shouldn’t pretend to write about a wedding while really writing about dancing, but in this case, the dancing and mingling and story-swapping during the reception defined and described this large family more than the simple wedding ceremony itself. And it is more representative of what kind of future is available to this young couple.

Anne Lamotte wrote: “That’s what’s so touching about weddings: Two people fall in love, and decide to see if their love might stand up over time, if there might be enough grace and forgiveness and memory lapses to help the whole shebang hang together.”

The fact is, I didn’t understand weddings when Cyndi and I got married. What guy does? We are in over our head from the moment we get engaged. Few guys spend time thinking about what their wedding will be like some day. I’ve never even seen a copy of Groom Magazine. We don’t dream about tuxes or favorite colors, or how many children we should have, or any of that important stuff. Men are simply out of our league when it comes to weddings.

But I realized after we got married how important it was to my family. And I don’t mean it was important to make the relationship legal and acceptable. A wedding gives a family the chance to tell their story, show the sort of people they are, and endorse the kids who’ve grown up into fine young adults.

By the time our own daughter got married I had a better understanding of it all. I wanted Katie and Drew to know Cyndi and I were proud of them, that we were giving our public blessing to their marriage, that we were standing up in front of all our friends and family and saying, “Check out our kids … aren’t they great!”

Getting married is a commitment to learn each other, to learn each other’s stories, to learn each other’s families. Weddings are about joy and hope and the future. No one gets married unless they believe there is a better future being together.

And another thing about weddings that I’ve learned to appreciate: they’re a reminder that I’m not the analytical creature I’ve pretended to be all these years. The most important decisions of my life, to follow Jesus, to learn Cyndi, had nothing to do with logic or analysis. They were decisions of my heart, not my head. They were decisions to learn their stories, to join their people, to become one of them.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Transforming Moments

So Monday morning I watched the live internet feed from the Boston Marathon on my computer. It was fun. I could feel myself swaying in my chair, trying to run with the leaders. In my head I was running the Newton Hills smoothly and quickly just like those tiny Kenyans. It was amazing. More than that, it was inspiring. I wanted to change into my New Balances right then and hit the road.

So I went home for lunch pumped full of adrenaline. I didn’t have time to run, but squeezed in a 13-bike ride. It was windy of course, especially riding west on Mockingbird, but fighting the headwind felt like solidarity with those runners on Heartbreak Hill. Even on my bike I was one of us.

It wasn’t until after lunch that people in my office started asking me about the bombs. I had no idea. I had to catch up on the news. And then, staring at the videos on my computer, I sat stunned, awash in my own vulnerability. These were my people. They were where I wished I were. They were winning their day. They were finishing a year-long, life-long goal. They could have been me. If my knees didn’t hurt, if I could run faster, they would have been me. I could hardly breathe.

Over the course of the afternoon, I was surprised how many phone calls, texts, and emails I received about the marathon tragedy. Friends wanted to know if I’d heard about it, if I knew anyone running, and even if Cyndi and I were running the race this year. The entire incident felt more personal than I’d expected. It felt like my own tribe was under attack.

I wasn’t alone in feeling that way. Blogger Peter Larson wrote, “In talking with other runners over the past 24 hours, the common thing we all feel is that our family has been attacked. It’s a family that includes not only those of us who run, but also those who gather to watch us achieve our goals.”

My daughter, Katie, texted: “It’s a sad day when the most passive athletes are targeted.”

She got that exactly right. Marathon runners don’t hit people, they don’t try to knock the ball out of your hands or steal it from you, and they don’t yell at line judges or referees. They’re self-contained, often introverted people willing to put in long training hours on the road. The only person they hurt is themselves.

I’ve been around a lot of marathon finish lines, either because I was running myself or because I was waiting for someone I love to finish. My first finish was in 1983 at the Golden Yucca Marathon in Hobbs, NM. It was raining when I crossed the finish line, and the entire area was deserted. A man and woman jumped out of their Airstream trailer, scribbled my name and race number and finish time on their clipboard, scrambled back inside out of the rain, leaving me standing alone in the rain, so proud of myself I couldn’t stop crying. I would have pounded my chest and howled at the sky but I was too exhausted to lift my arms.

I knew I was a different man from that moment forward. I was transformed into a marathon runner, and I could claim that privilege for the rest of my life. I knew my future would be different than predicted. I knew I was amazing.

All marathon finishes are like that. Even crossing my most recent finish line at the Crossroads Marathon, October 2010, was transformational. Once again, it changed my image of what was possible. It opened my heart and expanded my vision. Even exhausted, I knew I could do anything. I was indestructible. I was a mighty warrior who could not be stopped.

That is what marathon finish lines are like. They are joyful. They are emotional thin places. They are transformational. They are magic.

But Monday, in Boston, the finish line turned tragic.

The first thing I wanted to do after seeing the bombing video was to find Cyndi and hold on to her. I was soft and hungry for her touch all afternoon. I needed physical confirmation that we were OK.

John Bingham posted on Tuesday: “What we learned from the New York City Marathon is that runners are not immune to the power of the universe. Hurricanes don’t care how long you’ve trained. They don’t care that running a marathon is a life-list dream. They don’t care that you are a runner.

Yesterday we learned that we, elite runners, charity runners, young, old, male, female, runners are not protected from the dangers, the horrors, and the hatred that are in the world. We aren’t. If we thought we were yesterday morning, THIS morning we know we’re not.”

Through the years, Cyndi and I have run so many races together, running and love and longevity have intertwined through the years. It was my love for Cyndi and my desire to snatch her back from her track & field boyfriend that started me running back in 1978. But Monday morning my favorite sport reminded me that even something as benign as running comes with risk to the one I love most.

You can’t love someone without accepting the risk of losing them. Sometimes the threat of loss is only tangential, as in my fear of losing Cyndi because of Boston. We were both in Midland and far from danger.

But it felt more real than that. It was a reminder that the commitment to love someone is risky and can end badly. Tragedy can strike anytime, even in the middle of life’s best moments.

But to be transformed by love, you have to accept the risk and love deeply anyway. You have to cannonball in with all you have. You have to love with all of you, all day, all the time, right now.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

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Knowing the Answer

Why do I always want to know the right answer, right away? Maybe the engineer side of me wants to fix the problem and prevent further trouble, minimizing the damage. Or the writer side of me assumes I can see the big picture and describe the full meaning.

I used to believe conflict occurred because God wanted to teach me something specific, and the sooner I learned the lesson the quicker the conflict would end. I saw that as a spiritual principle, whether about school work, or relationship troubles, or sickness, or whatever. I don’t know whether I was taught that, or if I made it up myself.

I don’t believe it now, at least not in the same way. Conflict, and the lessons I learn, are usually months if not decades apart. This became clear to me as I worked on my personal timeline in preparation for the Storyline Conference. I realized I’m only just now finding meaning in events that happened twenty or thirty years ago.

So the night before I left for the conference, I finished reading Wild by Cheryl Strayed. It’s an account of her solo hike on a large portion of the Pacific Crest Trail.

She began the hike mourning for her mother who died at 47, her own failed marriage, and her descent into serial sex and drug use. But like most long-distance hikers, her reasons for hiking changed the further she went. Finally, the movement itself is what changed her; the daily monotony of covering the miles spoke to her heart.

She was a newby when she started. She had never been hiking or backpacking and knew nothing about gear or survival in the wild. (At least she was aware of her ignorance. Worse would be a beginner who thought they knew how to do it.) She wrote, “Every part of my body hurt. Except my heart.”

One thing about the book that personally spoke to me was how she accepted her inability to articulate the meaning of her trip. Making a mental flash forward to four years (married) and nine years (kids) after finishing her hike, she wrote, “I couldn’t yet know … how it would be only then that the meaning of my hike would unfold inside of me, the secret I’d always told myself revealed.”

“It was all unknown to me then, as I sat on that white bench on the day I finished my hike. Everything except the fact that I didn’t have to know. That it was enough to trust that what I’d done was true. To understand its meaning without yet being able to say precisely what it was.”

Cheryl Strayed addressed one of the lessons I’m trying absorb nowadays: to wait for the answer. Often, that means to wait for a long time. I’m learning to slow down and don’t get in such a hurry to solve the puzzle or know the answer. For lasting change, I believe we have to linger in the moment.

Don’t get me wrong. I believe God wants us to know him and know his purpose in our life, but it was arrogant of me to think I could quickly figure out God’s purpose in the middle of my conflicts. More often, I was lucky to survive, much less be spiritually insightful.

So I need to slow down, and stop being in such a hurry to understand my story. I’m learning to linger in the moment, accept the changes without knowing why they happened, and trust that God will show me the answer when he is ready. Or when I’m ready, or old enough, or wise enough, to handle the answer. This cannot be passive lingering, however, but constant conversation with God.

Well, speaking of conflict and trouble, last Monday I crashed while riding my bike. Specifically, I was turning a fast right-hand corner when my back tire went flat, causing my wheel to skid out from under me. It happened so fast I didn’t even know I was in trouble until my right hip bounced off the pavement. Instantly, I was down. I hit the asphalt hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs and make my ribs sore.

My first comment to myself was, “I’m 56 years old; I shouldn’t be doing this to myself.”

But now that its three days later and I can move round and sit up without getting dizzy, I tell myself, “I’m grateful I can still go hard enough at 56 to hurt myself. It means I haven’t given up.”

Yet, I can’t help but wonder: what should I learn from that crash (other than to stop immediately upon getting a flat)?

I don’t know, yet. And I’m comfortable with that sort of conclusion. My engineer self, and my writer self, wants to find meaning right away, but I’ll just have to linger a bit longer and listen to God.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Find me at http://berrysimpson.com and learn more about my books. Or find me at  http://twitter.com/berrysimpson and at http://www.facebook.com/BerrySimpsonAuthor

Life-Changing Moments

“Before I could convince myself otherwise, I paid the entry fee and changed my life.” - Martin Dugard Martin Dugard, author of To Be A Runner, wrote that about entering his first race, the opening move in a life of running.

My guess is that Dugard had no idea how important that first entry fee was when he paid it. Most life-changing moments are subtle when they happen. In fact, if we knew they would change how we were going to live we would probably get scared and back slowly away. It is usually better NOT to know the future.

One of my life-changing moments happened when I first started running, in the summer of 1978, between my first and second senior year of college. At the time, I could never have imagined how many years I would keep doing it, or how it would change my life. I had no idea of the greater running community or the existence of races or training or anything like that. All I knew was that I needed to do something physical to lose some weight and win back the affection of a girl who’d left me for a track-and-field jock. It was the first time in my life to do anything physical on my own initiative.

Those first few miles in Stan Smith Adidas tennis shoes and Levi cut-offs were the beginning of a practice that has lasted 34 years and covered over 36,000 miles. Who could have anticipated that?

Somewhere along the way, I picked up a Runner’s World magazine and caught a glimpse of the bigger running community. I saw photos of people in races who looked like me, and that planted a seed that I could do it what they were doing.

I entered my first race in the summer of 1980. A Lubbock radio station was pitching the Cap’n D’s five-mile and ten-mile race as a (joking) alternative to the Moscow Summer Olympics, which President Jimmie Carter boycotted due to the Russian invasion of Afghanistan.

The racecourse consisted of two five-mile loops. I entered the ten-mile race, having run nine miles a couple of times in Brownfield, thinking I was ready for the big time. However, it was a mistake to try to run so far. I knew nothing about racing and I lined up at the front of the pack, oblivious to the differences between my body shape and the bodies of the other guys who belonged on the front. Caught up in the adrenaline of the moment, and being stupid, I ran too fast the first lap. I had to pull up and finish after only five miles. I felt miserable, I almost threw up, but I was so happy I couldn’t stop telling my story to Cyndi. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was a changed man.

Not long after that first race, I discovered running writer, George Sheehan. I bought his first book, Dr. Sheehan on Running, at a grocery store in Duncan, Oklahoma, while at a two-week oilfield school, in the fall of 1980. Every evening I read a few pages from the book and then went outside to go out running. I noticed that it was possible to write about life and spirituality around the framework of running. It was a seed planted.

Running races led to new friends, and those friends led to my twenty-year involvement in the running club in Midland, Texas. I eventually served a couple of terms as club president, but more importantly, I served for several years as newsletter editor. And it was with that newsletter I started writing stories about running and life. Many of those stories ended up in my first book, Running With God, published twenty-five years later.

The thing is, I wonder what would have taken over my life if I hadn’t started running back in 1978. Would I be a writer if not for that newsletter? Who knows. It’s impossible to know such things.

But those first few miles down Sanger Street in Hobbs, New Mexico changed my life. And those miles are still changing me - I’ve run three times this week, and here I am writing about it, again.

So many things happen to us in the course of our life and we can never know in the moment how important they will become. Usually, we are just happy to have lived through it and survived. It is only when looking back that we see how our life was changed.

I have been reading the story of Abraham these past few days, and few of the events of  his life pointed toward the great man he would become. What seems to be random and unfocused action on his part was used by God over the course of Abraham’s life to turn him into the father of a nation.

I believe God works that same way in our own lives. It’s hard to see the importance as we live through the moment, but later we see how his grace turned us into different people. Life-changing moments are a gift.

“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

Find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson