Standing Alone

Sometimes, most of the time, I’ll admit, I prefer being alone. I can entertain myself without getting bored, and most of my best ideas and insights come from being alone. But there are times when I look around to discover myself standing alone, and it is a complete surprise. Last week, while eating at Chic-fil-A in Love Field, Dallas, waiting for my flight to Denver, I read in my Daily Bible from Daniel 10, about his last grand vision from God. It says, “I, Daniel, was the only one to see this. The men who were with me, although they didn’t see it, were overcome with fear and ran off and hid, fearing the worst.” (10:7, MSG)

I wrote in the margin of my Bible, “That is a hard part of leadership, being left standing alone.”

Apparently Daniel didn’t start out the day alone, but when the vision started it was so frightening the men who were with him fled even though they didn’t actually see the vision. Something scared them. Maybe it was the energy in the air, or Daniel’s reaction, a sound or vibration, who knows, it doesn’t say. But Daniel was left standing alone.

And so, when reading this, I thought about the two opposing sides of leadership. Leaders cannot function without community, yet leaders are often alone. Leaders cannot lead, cannot succeed, cannot know or understand God’s will, on their own. They need other people, valiant men and women. Not only that, but being a leader means intentionally bringing other people alongside. It is an obligation.

Yet, so often, the leader is left standing alone, especially when the scary visions begin.

One of my greatest leadership revelations of recent years happened on the porch of Sam’s house in Ann Arbor, MI, when I was writing and thinking about my calling, trying to put it on paper, meditating and praying on the idea of being a lifelong pilgrim for Jesus, when out of the blue I prayed, “God, I don’t want to finally find you, standing alone.”

I don’t want to find myself standing before Jesus and hear him say, “Well done, Berry, you searched for me your entire life, and now here you are, with more understanding and insight than most.”

It was in that moment I realized what had been true all along but I didn’t understand it or know how to articulate it. My life’s calling was not merely to pursue God, which is what I thought, but to bring people with me. I could imagine Jesus saying, instead of congratulations and well done, “Let me see who you have with you.”

But yet, there’s Daniel. He was left alone when the visions began. So much of leadership means being alone, whether setting up chairs, or making coffee, or studying to put together a talk, or gassing up the bus at 5:00 AM, or walking hallways all night looking for leaks. At some point, the number of people willing to stay gets very small. In Daniel’s case, they ran away.

There is another thing about this. Daniel didn’t remain standing before the vision because he trusted God more than the other guys, or because he wasn’t scared. In fact, verse 10:8 says he was “left alone after the appearance, abandoned by my friends, I went weak in the knees, the blood drained from my face.” (MSG)

Daniel stayed because that’s what leaders do, they stay. Daniel stayed because that’s what people who want to hear from God do, they stay. Even when they are frightened and weak in the knees.

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

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Breaking Patterns

Wednesday I walked for two miles, my first time to walk that far since surgery. Not only that, but my average pace was about eighteen minutes per mile, which I would’ve once considered slow, but in my current rehab era seemed quick. By the time I got back to the gym I was already rethinking my plan to enter the Kick for Kenya 5K and ready to move up to the 10K. I was feeling full of my own, new, bad self. I finished the workout with my regular prayer: (1) Thanks for keeping me safe, (2) Thanks for giving me the desire to keep moving, and (3) Thanks for one more turn.

But later Wednesday afternoon as I walked down the basement hallway connecting the parking garage to office elevators I discovered I was now praying, “Thank you for this talk, you know, it really eased my mind.”

It occurred to me I was praying with song lyrics, from the Chicago V album, released in 1972.

I hope it’s OK to pray in those terms. David prayed with poetry, surely I can pray in song lyrics.

I was so encouraged by my two-mile walk I drove to Run This Way and bought a pair of Hoka Clifton running shoes, which are extremely cushioned, not because I’m ready to start running again, which is the most frequent question I’m asked, I promise not to consider a return for six to twelve months, giving my legs time to completely heal and rebuild strength, but to make walking softer and more fun. And, to signal that a new day has arrived.

I knew I needed to jump-start this next phase of life. I’m certainly guilty of what Patricia Ryan Madison wrote, that “age produces an increased tendency to rely on known patterns, if not all-out petrifaction.” Buying those Hokas was a departure from my known patterns.

Sometimes incremental change, the very sort of change I’m most likely to make, doesn’t really change anything. We end up pushing things around, re-arranging furniture, making small tweaks, living our lives in the way. Sometime we need bold changes.

I’m using my summer of new knees as a launching pad for the next phase, or next remake, or next reboot, of life. After all, I’m firmly on the eve of my 6^th decade and I don’t want to waste the opportunity to make the most of it. I don’t know how many more major fresh starts I have left.

I told my friend Rabon, in our conversation about the possibility of jazz lessons, that I wasn’t doing anything scary nowadays, and that scared me a little. I have a great tendency to settle into the things I do well, the things I like, and put off the things that scare me, the risky things. And I don’t mean risky, as in rock climbing or hang gliding – those are nothing. I mean the risky things that I might fail at and damage people’s impression of me and then I’m stuck living with that. How can I be brave if I don’t do scary things?

So besides jazz, the scary things I’m beginning to think about again are half-marathons or marathons, and long-distance backpacking. And finishing my next book, the one I’ve been massaging and manipulating for over a year. I have to stop worrying whether anyone will think it’s good writing, or a worthy topic, and write what’s on my heart. I need to let it go, to quote my granddaughters.

Sakyong Mipham wrote, “Movement is good for the body, and still is good for the mind. To lead a balanced life, we need to engage and be active, and to deepen and rest.” (Running With The Mind of Meditation) What Mipham didn’t say was that both movement and rest speak to our souls, and amplify our spiritual journey toward God.

St. Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you." I expect to find continued rest in God as I find ways to break my known patterns. Who knows where this journey will lead.

“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.

Wild Places

“Why does the desert have such a hold on me?” was the question I found scribbled one of my old 3x5 cards. That’s a good question. The desert doesn’t have trees or water or shade, three of life’s best gifts to humans. So why do I keep going back to the desert mountains?

One reason is because the desert is so stark and minimal, stripped of all excess. There is no pretention in the desert. What you see is what you get, and you can see a lot since none of it is hiding behind trees. In the desert you can always see the horizon, so you don’t have to worry about falling off the edge.

Specifically, I enjoy the Guadalupe Mountains, even though hiking and backpacking there can be very difficult. I love to sit up on Bush Mountain or Hunter Peak and look out across the desert expanse and imagine ancient oceans and infinite possibilities.

I need wild places in my life, and I haven’t been in a wild place in at least two years. That’s too long.

It’s just that with my deteriorating knees I couldn’t physically handle the trails up to the ledges, and any wild place I could drive to wasn’t truly wild. The closest I’ve come to a wild place is a mountain ridge I ran to last May, up a long winding well-maintained dirt road, if you are generous enough to consider what I did as running. I was uncomfortable (= in pain) the entire time but I kept going because the top was calling out my name, and besides, we were in Italy and I thought this would be a noble outing in case it turned out to be my last entry in my running log, a log that traces back to 1978.

It was hard work, and a stunning view of Tuscany, but it wasn’t very wild. I’m glad I hobbled to the top, but it didn’t feed the hunger in my heart for a wild place.

I need to feel dirt under my feet. I need to live off of whatever I can carry on my back. Why? Because God speaks to me most often when I’m moving, and when I’m vulnerable. Dirt trails have become a big part of my spiritual journey, and being on top of mountains helps keep my eyes open to the larger, wider, wilder world.

Barbara Kingsolver wrote, “We need it to experience a landscape that is timeless, whose agenda moves at the pace of speciation and glaciers.” (Small Wonder)

The wild place I immediately thought about when reading Kingsolver’s quote was Hunter Peak in the Guadalupe Mountains of Texas. It is a noble and brave place, and certainly wild. While the elevation is only 8,368’, small when compared to mountains of the world, it demands a vigorous hike, climbing 2,540’ elevation in 4.5 miles. Hunter Peak gives you a magnificent panorama of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas.

The wilderness overtakes me when I sit just below the ridge facing east, so that all I can see is the harsh and prickly slopes broken only by dramatic cliffs, all of which drop suddenly 2,500’ to the Chihuahuan Desert. On a clear day you can easily see over a hundred miles to the east and south.

The starkness is breathtaking in its raw unconcern for the hiker. There is nothing in this scene friendly to man, and nothing that cares whether or not man crosses. It’s complete and self-contained and stingy, offering no comforts to sooth a human being. Oddly enough, it’s that very indifference that speaks to my heart. Again, from Barbara Kingsolver: “Looking out on a clean plank of planet earth, we can get shaken right down to the bone by the bronze-eyed possibility of lives that are not our own.”

The reason I rediscovered my old 3x5 card (with the question on it) was because I was digging through my backpacking file and dreaming of future adventures. Now that I have brand new knees I’m once again hungry for those favorite wild places. As my friend Paul Ross likes to say, “My boots are dancing in the closet.”

 “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.

September Reboot

September is a season for fresh starts. In fact, since in my opinion September should be the beginning of fall, I’m taking advantage of this change of seasons by reengaging with my own life. I’ve always looked forward to the beginning of school season as a return to structure and predictability after the chaos of summer, and I still think of it that way even two years after Cyndi retired from teaching and decades after our own children finished school.

I don’t even mind the sudden intrusion of school zones. The yellow flashing lights are reminders we are finally back to normal and it is now time to reengage.

Because I am a creature of discipline and structure and process, I do my best work when I have a system that works, a place to record progress, and a reminder what to do next. I will go to great lengths of effort and time to find the best system, and once I’ve found it, I will not change my pattern unless forced by extreme circumstances.

For example, I have been using the same log for recording miles I’ve run (or now, biked) for over twenty years.

For example, I record my blood pressure, heart rate, and body weight every morning. I put the numbers into Excel so I can generate plots. I intend to track the physical factors that could actually kill me someday if I forget to take care of them.

For example, I have a black backpack I keep in my pickup, and it contains the items I need to begin each morning: my Daily Bible, my journal, and whatever book I happen to be reading. It also has other things, like reading glasses, pens, headphones, etc., but those are in the backpack to serve the first two items. So when I grab my backpack and head to my favorite booth, I know what to do with my first moments of the morning. And so, my day is better, happier, more productive, and more understanding.

I am currently working on the processes and projects that will carry me through this next season of life. It feels like I’m surfacing again from weeks of recovery, rehab, and house arrest, all due to knee replacement surgery. I feel like Gale and Evelle climbing out of the mud in Raising Arizona.

I’m happy to be riding my bike outside on the streets again, in the sun and wind, even if the doctor only allows me twenty minutes per ride per day. It is my return to discipline and routine, and I am happier for it.

I’ve also been paying close attention to how I walk, trying to erase the ten-year muscle memory of limping and waddling. I’m lifting my head and neck, keeping both feet pointing forward, using my core muscles, and bending my knees. To be honest, it feels awkward, like I’ve morphed from walking like Granny Clampett to walking like Chewbacca.

Lauren Winner wrote this in her book, Still, “Every ten years you have to remake everything. Reshape yourself. Reorient yourself. Reboot.” I intend September 2015 to be my next remake. My new knees will change who I am and what I do and say. They have already changed my dreams.

Whenever I record my (twenty minute) bike rides in my logbook I can see the future, and my future looks like longer rides, epic backpacking trips, long-distance walks, stronger legs, and pain-free knees. The return to pattern and discipline is the return to life.

I hope this September is your season for change, your opportunity for fresh starts. My challenge to you is this: Ask God to speak to you about your future; ask Him to give you the courage to start over and reboot.

“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.

Transitions

After pump class last Friday morning I complained to Cyndi about the new shoulder workout track, and how they expect us to bounce up and down, from pushups on the floor to standing barbell presses. They repeat the pattern two or three times; it feels like doing burpees. I’ve never enjoyed that sort of exercise – I want to stay up when I am up, or stay down on the floor when I am down. And now, since I am still babying my new knees, it takes me even longer to move from standing to floor, back to standing, and back to floor.

Cyndi agreed with my complaint, and then she said, “Well, you are slow at transitions.”

It occurred to me she meant more than exercise routines in the gym. I think she was tapping into the truth that I am slow at all of life’s transitions.

What I mean by life’s transitions are those unstable intervals when we cross from something familiar to something unfamiliar. Most are small and pass by unnoticed. Some, however, are major disruptions and force us to re-examine our values and lifestyle.

This summer has been one of those major disruptions, one that was planned and anticipated, but I’m ready for it to be finished. The good news is, I have new knees and my joint pain is gone. The (temporary) bad news is that I still have muscle pains and stiffness from the surgery, making it hard to find a comfortable position to sleep.

I expect those pains to go away, and in fact they are receding. I feel much better this week than last, and I know I will feel even better next week. I can feel the transition happening as it happens.

It’s just that I want to feel better right now. I want to get on my bike and ride for two hours. I want to go to the mountains and hike up Tejas Trail with my backpack on my back.

I have to remind myself that what I went through was not a minor procedure. When I look at the disappearing scar on my knees it is easy to forget that only a few weeks ago they used power tools and angle grinders and tourniquets to, as Cyndi reminds me, “cut off my leg,” and reassemble it with new parts. It was major surgery and that sort of thing takes a while to heal.

I am being impatient because I can imagine a brighter future, one that I’ve only dreamed about for years, and now I’m ready to get on with it.

However, at the same time, I don’t want to waste this transition period. Moments of change and transition should never be ignored. Most of the time, our lives are too crowded and rushed to hear from God; it is during those intervals of upheaval when our heart is softest.

Transitions are gifts, opportunities to lean forward into the future and open our hearts to a fresh new word from God. And so, as I continue this long transitional essay, my prayer for you and for me is the same: Don’t let these times of change pass you by. Listen to God.

Well, I wrote this journal on Wednesday, before I had my first post-op visit with my doctor on Thursday. It went well, and he was happy with my progress. He told me I could take my bike outside as long as I didn’t ride more than twenty minutes at a time for at least two more weeks.

But he reminded me that the deep, inner stitches that I can’t see, take eight weeks to heal completely. Meaning my right knee is ready, but my left knee is only 50% healed. Meaning no matter how good I feel, or ready to move on with active life, I must go easy so healing can occur and I don’t tear myself apart.

Maybe some transitions take longer than we want because we need the time for the deep inner stitches, the ones we can’t see, to heal. Deep healing takes longer.

“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.

Do You Need A Fresh Start?

I will have to learn how to walk all over again. Well, not completely from scratch. I can still move down the sidewalk on both feet with very little conscious thought, but I still have a hobble in my step, a limp. I still walk like a combination of Granny Clampett (from the Beverly Hillbillies) an Uncle Joe Carson (from Petticoat Junction). I still walk like I did before having my knees fixed.

My knee problems began in 2004, which means I have an entrenched, 11-year muscle memory for walking with a limp, for walking without bending my knees, for hobbling from side to side.

Just because I have new mechanical knees, and so far they are working great and making me very happy, doesn’t mean I have new muscles or new neurons.

I’m writing about this because just two days ago I noticed myself limping down the hallway in my office, not from surgery, but from habit. I wasn’t happy to have a persistent limp I didn’t need and didn’t want. I was compensating for something that no longer existed.

Is it possible to live so long in injury that our bodies forget how to live without it? Is it possible to forget how good life can be? Or is it possible we learn to enjoy limping? After all, it provides a convenient excuse to explain away poor performances.

I know this much: It’s possible to limp so long we make agreements with ourselves. As in, “Pain-free walking just isn’t for me,” or “I’m stuck in this lousy relationship but I’m used to it now,” or “I’m saddled with this addiction for the rest of my life, I should just get used to it.”

We live on and on, limping through life out of habit, and something inside us dies.

The question we have to ask is this: Do I want to get well?

Jesus asked this same question of a man in John 5:1-9. The man had been paralyzed for 38 years, and Jesus found him lying by a pool of water, a place where blind, lame, and paralyzed people were left for the day by their families.

There was a tradition that when the water was stirred, the first person into the pool was healed. Jesus asked the man, “Do you want to get well?”

The man said, "Sir, I have no one to put me in the pool when the water is stirred up and someone else steps down ahead of me"

Curiously, the man didn’t answer Jesus’ question. He started making excuses. Jesus didn’t ask him, “What are your problems? What makes your life so hard?” He asked, "Do you want to get well?"

This man had been sick so long he forgot about wanting to get well. All he could do was explain his own limp.

Too often we settle when we don’t have to, because we forget how good life can be. We forget about God’s healing. We hide behind our limp to avoid living the life God has for us.

I would encourage you to ask yourself: Am I limping? Have I given up hope? Am I settling for a life of habit instead of living the life God has for me? What have I allowed to die within me?

Maybe, like me, you’ll have to learn how to walk all over again.

“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.

Healing

We were eating dinner at the neighborhood clubhouse across the street from my house and listening to a friendly police officer talk about neighborhood watch, when Amber looked at the scars on my knees, both the old one – six weeks old – and the new one – two weeks old. She said, “I’ve got scars five years old that aren’t as smooth as that.” I pointed to my left knee and said, “The curious thing is, I am almost 60 years old, and it takes all my willpower to keep from picking the scabs off this scar. Why am I still addicted to such a childish thing?”

Scabs are an important protective mechanism used by the body to prevent bleeding and infection (and deserve a nobler name). We should leave them alone. Especially as adults. And yet, we don’t.

Picking scabs is like pressing bruises, touching painful teeth, or rubbing a sore elbow. It’s almost instinctual. As if we were born unable to leave well-enough alone.

And even worse, our tendency to pick isn’t limited to physical wounds. During the past two months we’ve had controversial and painful changes in our church. This is the church we’ve attended for 33 years, that helped us raise two children, and comforted and nursed our family through multiple layoffs and crises. The changes left a lot of people hurt, feeling removed and unappreciated. Our church is now in the process of navigating through the debris field, and we have a long way to go before we’re clear.

I’m in a unique position since I serve on the church governing council. It gives me insight into the process and background of the controversial decisions, yet I’m not part of the committees that actually had to make those decisions so I still have a thin layer of separation. As a result, I get lots of questions from friends who want my thoughts about the situation. I’m happy to help.

In addition to the questions, I get emails from well-meaning church members who see conspiracy and manipulation behind every decision, and now are standing on the ramparts at full-alert watching for the next bit of news that might confirm their theory.

The fact is, and it is a fact that is hard to accept and understand, but good people who seek God daily, who have dedicated themselves to serve others and live in grace and love, often end up on the opposite sides of decisions. How can that be? Shouldn’t godly people think alike?

But often, they don’t.

Why can’t we disagree without assuming the other side is deceived, or worse, possessed by evil?

It takes constant vigilance to avoid becoming a cynic; cynicism is simply too easy. Cynics seldom solve problems. They might point them out, but that is never as helpful and they think. Being a cynic is nothing but lazy thinking. It requires no faith, no imagination, and no trust to talk about the worst of the worst.

So this morning as I read yet another scary email about the underhanded things afoot, I thought about my left knee.

I decided to stop picking scabs. I vowed to let healing occur, stop picking and poking and pressing, and let Jesus heal my knees, and heal my church, in His own good time.

I don’t mean to belittle the pain we’ve all felt, or underestimate the loss and hurt we’ll live with going forward. I don’t mean to say I’m completely comfortable with all the decisions that have been made (to be truthful, I’m not comfortable with many of my own decisions, especially during my twelve years as an elected member of city government).

But all I have to do is walk down the hall with my cane to remember that healing takes a long time. Maybe years. And not all healing is complete. Sometimes we move with a limp even after all the scars are gone. There is nothing easy about healing deep wounds.

But I want to live the rest of my life allowing people and churches and knees to heal. I want Jesus to show me patience through the debris, give me hope for clear sailing ahead, and the wisdom to spread that to everyone around me. I hope and pray that will be your life as well.

“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.

From Weak to Strong

My recently repaired right knee, still tender and stiff from surgery in late June, went from being my weakest link to one of my strongest links, just like that. How did that happen? I didn’t actually increase its capacity or flexibility. I didn’t do any hyper-effective leg workouts that transformed overnight. I didn’t get a visit from the knee fairy who tapped me with her wand.

What happened was, I was crawling around on the floor of Katie’s house in Mansfield trying to find a graceful way to stand up without putting my knees down. I didn’t fall. I was on the floor on purpose so I could do rehab exercises with 5-year-old granddaughter Madden. I could’ve, maybe should’ve, called for help, but part of rehab is learning how to do stuff, and I was determined to get up on my own. I knew this wouldn’t be my last time down on the floor. I needed to learn new techniques.

Finally, I gave up and put my right knee on the floor with full body weight and stood up. It was amazing. It was easier than I’d expected.

The thing is, only three days before, I was babying that same knee and I would never have pushed off the floor with it like I did. It was too weak and too sore, and I was too nervous and afraid. But now, after having the left knee worked on, what was once my bad knee became my good knee, and what had been my good knee (although not that good) became my bad knee. What was weakest became strongest, just like that. It was instant phase change.

Most of life’s changes take months or years. As in training for a marathon, or learning to speak French, or graduating from engineering school.

But some phases change in the blink of an eye. For example, in 1970, Apollo 13’s mission changed in one moment. In 2001, the future of the United States change in one Tuesday morning in September. In 2010, I changed from goofy fun-loving dad to patriarch, with the birth of one granddaughter.

And now, in 2015, my right knee went from weak to strong. It went from being the dependent leg to being the supporting leg. Why? Not because it literally gained strength, but because its role changed.

And since I was forced to depend on my right leg more and more, even before it was ready, it actually did get physically stronger. The process was self-fulfilling; being used added strength.

Of course, I wouldn’t write about this if it was just about knees. It’s really about us.

How do we get stronger? We change our place in community – become supporters instead of dependers. Changing places makes us stronger.

Spiritual leadership is not about being the smartest, boldest, or strongest on the room. It is about being the most loving. It is about serving. About giving yourself away every day.

What to be stronger? Find a new role. Serve others more.

“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.

Walking Distance

I saw this quote from comedian Stephen Wright: “Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time,” and so to prove the point I asked the mapping app on my phone to give me a route for walking from our house in Midland, Texas, to our daughter’s house in Mansfield, Texas, 319 miles. The app said it would take 4 days and 13 hours to walk. I assume that does not include rest breaks, eating, or sleeping. Like the man said, everywhere is within walking distance. Which reminded me of one of our great family stories, a vacation to Washington DC in 2002. In order to save money I found a hotel outside the actual city and planned for all of us to ride the subway, the Met, from our hotel to the center of DC. When I phoned to make the reservations I asked, “How far is your hotel from the nearest Met station?” The young man answered confidently and convincingly, “It’s within walking distance.”

But our first morning we discovered our hotel was a solid thirty-minute drive from the station. And most of the road had no shoulder or sidewalk, so walking alongside was dangerous if not impossible. Hardly what a reasonable person would call “walking distance.”

The other part of the story, and an added observation that might explain the “walking distance” misunderstanding, was the gentleman who checked us into the hotel when we first arrived. He was the slowest person any of us had ever seen.

I don’t mean slow in the sense of dim-witted, although we had our suspicions. I mean slow in that every single one of his actions, like typing on his keyboard, moving his hand from keyboard to mouse, reading data from his computer screen, was so slow it was all we could do to keep from laughing. It was all we could do to keep our balance and not fall to the floor. He was so slow he was even slower than that. I don’t think anyone could be that slow on purpose, even if he was being forced to give us the room he’d hoped to keep for his fiancé when she arrived from France and it was the only room left and if he didn’t have a room for her she would fly back home and the wedding would be off. He was slower than that.

It occurred to us that maybe he was the one who told me over the phone that the Met station was within walking distance. Maybe he lived in a wrinkle of space-time so that normal distance and normal pace were different for him than for everyone else in the world.

I’ve been thinking about walking a lot, lately, being between knee preplacement No. 1 (right) and knee replacement No. 2 (left). One of the reasons I opted for this procedure was so that I could enjoy walking again. And today, three weeks after No. 1, I’m already walking even better than I expected. Better, in fact, than before surgery, which I suppose, was the point of replacement.

I recently finished a book by Jim Forest titled, The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life, and he wrote: “Walking is a physical activity that is meant to have spiritual significance.”

Walking is so simple and common, and one of the earliest things we learn how to do as human beings. We learn to walk long before we learn to talk, or go to the potty, or find our own food.

For me, walking includes running and hiking … at least, the spiritual significance of it. Some of my richest spiritual conversations with God have come while walking, hiking, or running on a dirt trail.

Forest wrote, “Unimpeded walking is one of life’s most ordinary, least expensive, and deeply rewarding pleasures … Putting one foot in front of the other and going forward can provide a foretaste of heaven.”

Well, walking didn’t feel like heaven a few weeks ago when we spent seven hours on the medieval stone streets of Florence. It was fun, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it felt far from heaven.

However, I can already see a brighter and deeper future ahead of me. I am glad to be walking again. Ready to converse with God again on the trails.

“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.

Step Forward or Step Back

Monday morning I was on my bike in the living room of our home, spinning on a trainer, watching a documentary called “The Wrecking Crew.” I was cycling (stationarily) as part of my physical training rehab following knee replacement, and watching the documentary as part of my plan to catch up on unwatched DVDs. The documentary was about the recording studio musicians who played on most of the rock and roll hits of the 1960s … you might not know their names but you certainly know their music. They played amazing music and seldom saw their own names on record labels. They used their world-class skills to make other people famous.

One of the questions implied in the documentary was, “Would you be OK knowing you are the best in the world, yet living completely behind the scenes and out of the spotlight?”

I realized I was looking at the life I want to live nowadays. Not that I want to be a recording studio musician (although I’d love to have the chops), but I want to be a spiritual leader who pushes heroes forward so they can shine. I’m happy staying behind the scenes. I’m even happier when one of my guys steps forward into his place of leadership and ministry.

I would rather be the consigliore than the Godfather, Bagger Vance than Rannulph Junah.

Early in my adult life I’ll admit I held back out of fear. I thought the front row was for the cool kids and not for me.

Later, I began to accept more lead roles, hoping to replace my fears with boldness. But even then, most of the leadership roles I held were because I was drafted, or pulled up, or recruited, not because I pursued them.

And now that I’m firmly on the threshold of my 60s, my challenge is to know when I should stay behind and push others forward, or stand up and be the front man.

Even now I’m haunted by the question: Is my desire to remain behind the scenes a noble effort, or is it merely my own fear of standing tall and taking on the risks of leadership? Am I still afraid I don’t have what it takes and so use the humble card to stay back, hiding my fears behind the mask of nobility?

Cyndi reminds me often that if I avoid positions of leadership, an important voice will go unheard and unheeded. I can’t disagree with her. I know she’s correct. I married a very smart and insightful woman. I have an obligation to give away what God has given me – grace and love and peace – and I cannot always do that from the back of the room.

And yet, I was talking to Joe Willis earlier this month about his participation in the Timothy Ministry, a mentoring program for new deacons, it occurred to me how many of the new young deacons in the past three or four years have been part of Iron Men or Journey Group with me, and I realized the unique place God had put me, to speak into the hearts of future leaders. God has entrusted some of his best young men to me, and that probably wouldn’t have happened if I insisted on being the front man in everything I do.

And so, my prayer: “God, thank you. Keep my heart full of integrity and humility and generosity. Thank you for trusting me with these young men. Give me wisdom to know when to stay in the background, and when to stand up and step forward.

“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.