Just Keep Breathing

Every time I fool with my feet I realize I need professional help, but I’ve been too timid to simply walk myself into a nail salon and ask for a pedicure. My recent birthday reminded me that I’ve reached that stage in life when I must turn my toe maintenance over to someone else.

So, last Saturday afternoon, when Cyndi pulled out a gift card to a local spa and said she wanted to “have her toes done,” to my own surprise I seized the moment and asked, “Do you ever see men like me in there when you do that?”

“Occasionally. Do you want to come with me?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about it. Nowadays I can’t bend my feet enough, or see well enough, or stretch over enough, to take care of my feet. I’ve been considering a – pedicure – but too chicken to walk in by myself.”

“OK. Let’s go.” And just like that it was a done deal. I couldn’t turn back.

The spa had at least forty big, leather, mechanical massage chairs with fancy, plastic bag-lined tubs for feet. I didn’t see any men, but going to yoga classes has conditioned me to being the only man in a room full of women, so I was fine.

The maître d' sat Cyndi and me in adjacent chairs and handed us laminated menus from which we could select the treatment. I showed the menu to Cyndi, and she selected for me “Elegant Pedicure: Indulge your feet in an aromatic foot bath while having your legs exfoliated with a Sugar scrub. This is followed by a mask treatment wrapped with a warm towel. This pedicure also includes a soothing foot massage With a moisturizing scented lotion.”

She added, “No, he doesn’t want polish.”

“Thank you, Cyndi.”

I watched Cyndi to see where to put my feet, mostly because I didn’t understand what my technician, Kim, was telling me to do.

I was braced for Kim’s scream when she saw my crooked toes and protruding bunions, but she must see that sort of thing often because she had no reaction. She immediately started clipping nails only nanometers from my delicate skin. I averted my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts.

When she reached into her toolbox and pulled out a wood rasp, I gripped the armrests and stared across the room, trying not to flinch in front of Cyndi.

      Apparently, I was shaking the entire chair as Kim scraped skin off my feet because she stopped, smiled, and asked, “Does it tickle?” I didn’t know how to tell her it reminded me of when I had stitches removed from my left foot. Simultaneous pain and tickling. Complete and total discomfort.

      Cyndi smiled, looked at my grip on the armrests, and said, “Just keep breathing.”

      I’ve never been a barefoot guy. Not even when I was a kid. So I haven’t built up resistance in my feet. It took me seven years of regularly seeing the same masseuse before I was comfortable having him jack with my feet. I’ve spent a lifetime keeping my feet to myself.

      And now Kim is rasping my soles.

      I told Cyndi through clinched teeth, “I didn’t expect this to an ab workout.”

      “You aren’t supposed to tense-up your stomach muscles. You’re supposed to relax.”

      “Every part of my body is tense. Even my eyelids.”

      “Just keep breathing.”

      Cyndi knew I couldn’t resist writing about this experience, so she suggested I not use the word “toenails” in the first sentence. I told her I wouldn’t, and considered two reasons she might feel that way: (1) she thinks toenails are funny only to 5th grade boys - the sort she taught for 20+ years and still thinks are mostly gross; or (2) she’s still haunted by an essay I included in my first book, Running With God, entitled Collection of Courage, about the toenails I lost while running marathons. “They represent personal sacrifices … tiny white badges of courage.”

      Well, my spa experience ended quicker than Cyndi’s because she had to sit and wait for the pink polish to dry. I asked, “What do we do now?”

      “We sit and wait to let it settle.”

      I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the polish or my own erratic breathing. I finally pried my fingers from the armrests and relaxed my shoulders, and thought, this isn’t my last time to do this. I’ll be back.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

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

Birthday Ride: Level 69

      One thing I’ve put a lot of thought into but haven’t decided on yet is my favorite metaphor for aging. Should I approach it as a laboratory experiment (What can I still do and what adjustments do I have to make to keep doing it?), or as a spiritual pilgrimage (Who will I become; what sort of man will I be?) Aging is a privilege, and I don’t want to waste it.

      Several years ago, without considering I was making my future harder, I decided to ride my age on my birthday. I’ve continued the practice almost every year since. It’s been pointed out to me more than once that I set a goal to do something progressively harder each year of my life, which may be unsustainable. Will I ride 90 miles in 2046?

      Maybe.

      A phrase I learned last week, used by Neel, my new friend from Dripping Springs, to explain why he always took the hotel stairs: Do it “While you can, until you can’t.” In the past two months I’ve learned I can still cover big miles, whether hiking on a mountain trail or riding city streets, as long as I pace myself and take more breaks. I don’t know how many years I’ll be able to ride my age, but I’ll ride while I can until I can’t.

*  *  *  *  *

      Last Monday, June 23rd, I rode another birthday ride and I gathered this collection of random thoughts from the day. At least, the thoughts I remember and feel at liberty to write down. Other thoughts still stranded in the back of my mind may never break into the open and should be forgotten and never repeated.

      I doubt I’d’ve tried this ride had I known the wind would be blowing 18 to 19 mph all day. Sometimes it’s better not to know all the data.

      Sixty-nine miles shouldn’t have been such an ordeal for me, and wouldn’t’ve been had I been training, but as it turned out, it was further than I’ve ridden by 3xs since last November. I’ll be walking stiff-legged for the next couple of days.

      To my non-cycling friends, 69 miles sounds like a death wish and why would I take on the added risk in this season of my life? But to my cycling friends, 69 miles sounds merely like a solid day’s ride and why am I going on and on about it. Well, (1) going on and on about things is what I do, and (2) the ride actually had less to do with mileage more to do with choosing the harder yet more fulfilling option.

      From my house, I can’t ride more than 40 miles without crossing busy major highways or making mind-numbing back-and-forths through residential neighborhoods. To get 69 miles I had to ride multiple laps around Green Tree, Fasken, and Greathouse. And I took 3 breaks at different Kent Kwik convenient stores where I bought soft drink, salty snacks, and energy snacks.

      Mile 20 was a major decision point where I almost talked myself into turning back toward home. My butt and shoulders were aching, and the wind was pushing me around, and besides this was a stupid goal anyway.

      But I told myself this might be more important than one bike ride. Going on without turning back will set the pattern for the rest of the summer and predict how hard I’ll work to accomplish my goals. Will I push through the hard parts, or turn around and give up? I knew I had to decide at that moment. And then, before I knew it, I was at mile 30. Decision made.

      Anytime I ride more than 60 miles I earn a milkshake. So there’s that. A Vanilla shake at Texas Burger is a worthy goal and sweet reward.

      For me, my birthday always accompanies personal analysis, and I’ve realized there are some things I do better nowadays than I did when I was younger. For example: playing trombone, teaching, and writing.

      There are plenty more things I can still do but they take longer, such as: hiking, walking, cycling, recovering from injury, sitting down on the floor, or getting up off the floor.

*  *  *  *  *

      Thank you, God, for giving me the physical ability, health, and resources to do something long and stressful like a birthday ride. Thank you for giving me the desire to keep doing hard things. And thank you, especially, for giving me one more turn.

*  *  *  *  *

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

They're All Younger Than Me!

      I don’t remember the day I crossed over the line where most of my advisors were younger than me.

      The line-crossing happened organically in the normal course of life – there wasn’t an announcement. Still, why didn’t I notice?

      I surprised myself this morning while listening to a financial analyst on Morning Edition discuss the possible fallouts from higher tariffs, and the chance the tariffs might not lead to inflation as many of colleagues have suggested, when I noticed how young he sounded. That’s when I started going over my personal list of advisors and mentors.

      Many years ago when I was part of the city government, I remember being in a meeting in Washington DC when we were quizzing our congressman’s staff about government grants and programs we might’ve missed. It occurred to me that while all the young staffers were bright and insightful and friendly and well-informed, I doubted any of them had ever owned a mortgage or paid property taxes. My friend, Kieth, who was sitting beside me, and I decided the US government was being run by fresh college graduates wearing their first suits.

      Maybe that was the day I crossed the line.

      Now, there is no going back. My financial advisor is younger than me (maybe younger than my adult son and daughter), my lawyer is younger than me, both my pastor and my worship leader are younger than me, the podcast hosts I listen to are younger than me, everyone I know in city government, including the mayor and my neighborhood councilman, are younger than me, and most of my favorite authors are younger than me.

      The only reason I can’t say my Adult Bible Study teacher is younger that me is because I’m the teacher and I’m younger than two-thirds of the class. I’ll leave it for them to say they’ve crossed the line.

      I once overheard Cyndi ask someone who was trying to give business advice with a cold call, "What’s your favorite Doobie Brother’s song?” She was trying to get a handle on the caller’s life experience before she spent time listening to his pitch.

      Don’t misunderstand my point. I believe I’m in good hands. I trust the advice I get from all of these youngsters even when I might disagree with it. But the awareness of aging comes in bits and pieces, and this bit hit me this morning just after my morning walk and before my shower. At my age, that’s when the best ideas usually arrive.

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

First Day On The Trail

      I started hiking as soon as Nathan dropped me off at the Sam’s Gap trailhead and was immediately surprised at the long continuous steep climb, no switchbacks, no warm-up, no easing into it, just straight up the mountain trail stairs, and then straight down the mountain on the other side. I expected more level ground when I set a goal for ten miles per day.

      In retrospect, ten miles per day was overly optimistic for me even for level ground, but I was captured by this epic journey. I intended to hike on the North Carolina / Tennessee border portion of the Appalachian Trail for eight days, and I’d been planning the route and sorting gear for weeks.

      It was exhausting and, as always on the first days of a backpacking trip, my hips began to ache. Everything is hard when you just get started. So to make it up the mountain I started counting steps, one-to-hundred, then stopped to lean over both trekking poles and counted recovery breaths, one-to-fifty. Repeat, over and over, until I cleared the top.

      I finally reached Hogback Ridge Shelter about an hour before sundown and decided to camp there. It was getting darker and cooler, and I knew I didn’t have enough daylight left to make Flat Gap, my original goal for the first night. I hiked down to a small creek and filled all three water containers, then back to the shelter to set up among the tent village of thru-hikers.

      During those afternoon hours on the trail I traveled through all the thoughts: Is this the end of my backpacking career, or the beginning of my next phase? I’m certainly feeling my age, but maybe I’m supposed to. Is counting my steps and stopping to breathe a picture of my future? Is setting goals based on time (8 days) rather than distance (70 miles) what I have to look forward to? Even so, settling for what I can do rather than being disappointed for what I can’t do doesn’t mean settling for less, but embracing the new life God has for me going forward.

      Those weren’t my only thoughts. I also appreciated how fortunate I was to do this hike, how beautiful it was walking in countryside that’s green in every direction, and how blessed I am to have the desire and health to stay on the trail for eight days. On the outside I was wheezing; but on the inside I was smiling in gratitude. Many of the most gratifying experiences in my life have also been the most demanding. They seem to go hand-in-hand.

*  *  *  *  *

      One night I texted Cyndi: “Only a 6.7 mile day, but probably the longest and steepest trail of the entire trip. It rained with cold wind today. It’s cold now, at 6:50 pm. Colder than I expected or packed for. I’m now in my tent curled up in my sleeping bag.”

      My text should have been clearer because to Cyndi it sounded like I was miserable, and she worried about me. But I meant to say I was safe in my tent and had figured out how to relax and stay warm. Overcoming discomfort is the fun part. I was never miserable or sad to be there, even in the cold wet wind, or going up and down those trail steps.

*  *  *  *  *

      My basic assumption going into almost everything is: I can figure a way to make this work. I may not be the best or fastest but I will make it work.

      Too often that assumption turns out not to be true, but that’s always where I start. I trust my ability to discover solutions and workarounds. I believe I can work it out, solve the problems, or develop a hack that works for me.

      But even as I was hiking up the mountain God reminded me that His promise was not, “Berry can do all things by himself alone,” but, “Berry can do all things through Christ who strengthens.” I need these difficult uphill trails through life to remind me where real strength lies.

*  *  *  *  *

      Cyndi said if I do something like this again, she wanted me to have someone with me. I pointed out, “It would still be hard, cold, and windy,” and she said, “But you’d have a friend. Besides, I don’t want you to take someone else for your own benefit, but for mine, so I can worry less.” Fair enough. She’s a very smart woman.

      And so, I’ve already started dreaming of a weeklong backpacking trip on the Colorado Trail next summer (June 2026) with a group of men. Write to me at berry@stonefoot.org if you’d like to be part of the discussion.

*  *  *  *  *

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

Lunchtime Ritual

      Friday afternoon I sat on the waiting-for-your-date bench at Blue Sky Texas restaurant in Midland TX on one of the worst dirty dusty windy days I’d ever seen. And I’ve lived all but eight years of my life (only 12%) in West Texas; that’s a lot of dirty dusty windy days. This time it was so bad the National Weather Service gave severe weather warnings all week so smart people would plan to stay home. The dusty skies covered the Texas panhandle as far south as I-40, and all of Oklahoma. I’d already seen photos of a massive 50-car pileup on I-27 south of Amarillo and read that this was the windiest day in Oklahoma in 30 years. The wind even derailed a freight train near Logan NM.

      And yet, we didn’t stay home. We weren’t going to let a little dirt in the air boss us around. I spent the morning running errands and writing and working on a Bible lesson for Sunday while Cyndi taught multiple yoga classes at her studio.

      But stubborn resistance to the weather wasn’t the reason we were having lunch together and why I was waiting on the bench. The truth is, we meet at Blue Sky every Friday at 1:00 pm unless we’re out of town. It has become a treasured ritual in our marriage.

      This day Blue Sky had about half as many customers as most Fridays, but twice as many as I expected. It was truly awful outside. This time the weather forecast was dead-on accurate. People were staggering across the restaurant parking lot, leaning into the wind, trying to keep their West Texas credibility and continue with their busy day as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

      I looked at my weather app and it said the wind was blowing 38 mph with gusts up to 50 mph. It didn’t mention the dust that came with it.

    Cyndi and I aren’t big eaters, by which I mean we are big into eating but not into eating big meals. We usually split entrees wherever we go. At Blue Sky we split a hamburger with tater tots. We each get our own drink. It isn’t the food we’re after, even though we love their hamburgers, but the scheduled time together. It has become a ritual for us. Friday mornings one of us will ask, “1:00?” and the other will nod, and we know we are on for that day.

      We believe rituals, like meeting at Blue Sky at 1:00 every Friday, or Taco Tuesday at 7:00 pm, or Thursday jazz band rehearsal, or Sunday morning Bible class, enrich our marriage. For us, the repetition and anticipation of doing something simple week in and week out trumps fancy meals or elegant settings. Scheduled, intentional, repetition is relationship glue, and even after 45 years of marriage, we can’t get enough.

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

No Guarantees

      What would I be willing to sacrifice if I knew the results were guaranteed?

      Would I live on 2,000 calories and work out every day and cycle hard if I knew in one year, I would be lean and fit and fast? I think I would if I was certain about the results - but of course, there is no guarantee. Why sacrifice day after day, workout week after week, if the outcome is uncertain? What if I put myself through that hard work yet all I got out of it was a 10% improvement? Would that be enough?

      Would I get out of bed every morning at 5:00 AM and write for two hours if I knew for a fact that after a year I would be selling a lot of books and changing lives? Would it be worth the discipline and sacrifice? I think it would.

      I ask those questions because I doubt I’ve ever given a supreme effort in my entire life. It’s my nature to pick around the edges, to make incremental efforts, to hold back the best part of myself, until I’m sure of the end result. I’ve always been more afraid of embarrassment and pain than motivated by success. I’d rather finish second with energy left over and my head held high than push for first place knowing failure would be embarrassing and painful. I won’t risk too much; I keep most of myself in reserves. I’m more George B. McClellan than Robert E. Lee.

      When I was in high school, I learned I could keep a B+ average with only minimal effort, so I seldom worked hard enough for an A average. B+ was still better than most of everyone else I knew, and it took no risk to get it. In high school I didn’t yet know about Erwin McManus, but I would’ve agreed with his comments: “We love permission to do the minimum.”

      Yet some things need more than minimal effort if they are to succeed.

      What if I want to run another marathon? (Or, I should say, since I don’t run nowadays, walk a marathon,) Am I willing to put in 20-mile training runs – risking failure and injury – in hopes of finishing 26.2 miles. Without sufficient investment up front and along the way, it’s senseless to attempt the big race.

      How about music? Would I practice my trombone ten hours a week if I knew for sure I’d be a jazz phenom someday? I think so. I hope so. But I haven’t so far.

*  *  *  *  *

      There is a well-known Bible story about a rich young ruler who came to Jesus, looking for eternal life (Matthew 19). He felt justified in his obedience that satisfied all of God’s criteria, but he wanted more. Maybe he was bored with his religious life.

      Jesus told him to: “Sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasures in heaven. Then come, follow me.” It was too much; the man walked away.

      When Jesus offered him adventure, he turned it down. He rejected an opportunity to study with the smartest man and holiest teacher he would ever know. I wonder why?

      I think he turned down Jesus’ request because there was no guarantee attached. Jesus did NOT say, “Follow me and all your dreams will come true.” He just said, “Give your stuff to the poor and follow me,” and left out the part about reward or results. The man walked away because he wanted to follow Jesus without risk. He wanted to change the world without adventure.

      The older I get, the less I want to be like that rich young man. As a believer, shouldn’t I be more willing to take big risks?

      I shouldn’t have to fear failure – it isn’t where my worth comes from. I should be the guy most willing to risk it all on a worthy venture.

*  *  *  *  *

      Monday night, I dreamed over and over all night long about this very essay – one that I originally wrote in 2009. It seemed a bit random. But sixteen years later, the questions I asked myself haven’t changed; maybe my urgency has. As I get older, I’m firmly aware my remaining years are slipping away. Even if I live to one hundred years old (that’s my plan and intention), that means I only have 32% of my life left.

      Tuesday morning I was trying to understand why I dreamed about an old essay and taking changes, until I saw an email offering a sign-up sheet for private trombone lessons with one the world’s premier jazz musicians. I knew what I had to do. It took me twenty seconds of insane courage and embarrassing bravery to sign up, but I did it.

      It isn’t the instructor I’m worried about. It’s me. How will I do? Will I embarrass myself and my friends? That's the risk. I put my name on the list and closed my laptop before I had a chance to breathe or change my mind.

      Mark Batterson wrote: “I’m at a place in my life where I don’t care about outcomes. I’m focused on inputs.” I want to be more like that nowadays. I don’t want to live out my life, always wondering what might have happened if I’d given it my best. I want to invest in what I sense God calling me to do, and perhaps God will bless it. No guarantees. Take the risk. Just say yes.

*  *  *  *  *

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

IRS Liveness Detection

      It’s one adventure after another around here.

       While trying to create an account on the IRS website that would allow me to upload 1099s for Cyndi’s yoga instructors, I learned some new phrases that I’ll try to work into conversation: liveness detection, digital onboarding, passive liveness, and active liveness (those last two sound like Cyndi describing the differences between the two of us).

       It turns out, liveness detection is supposed to determine if I‘m really alive. In the old days, had you asked me what liveness detection meant, I would’ve said it meant to hold a mirror in front of someone’s nose and mouth to see if it fogged up. But nowadays, that would be wrong. To satisfy the IRS gatekeepers, I first had to digitally onboard myself.

       Following instructions, I took a video selfie using my smartphone, which in this case meant holding my phone so my face was centered in the oval-shaped frame and waiting until I received a “Processing video selfie” message.

       The screen kept telling me to hold my phone closer, closer, closer, way closer than I was comfortable with. However, once it was satisfied, it made a line-drawing sketch of my face which made me appear even worse and older and scratchier than I felt.

       Afterward, because I was captured by the phrase liveness detection, I did an online search and quickly fell down the rabbit hole. I learned that “liveness detection is a security method that verifies a person's identity by comparing a biometric sample to a real-time video or image.” In this case, it compared my new video selfie to my Texas Driver’s License photo, which to me looks faded and washed-out even though I got it new last summer.

      Apparently, liveness detection is a key component of biometric authentication systems and is used to prevent fraud. So a rogue gang of Chinese hackers won’t sneak into my account, hold up a still photo of me they found on Facebook, and submit a stack of fake 1099s. Whew!

      Here are some cartoons furnished by the website to explain the process. I tried to use my own photos, but I couldn’t grab a screen capture without moving out of the oval.

      More than once over the years I’ve learned that when I’m exposed to new technology, it’s usually new only to me. Everyone else has been using it for decades. In fact, liveness detection was first used in 1950 by Alan Turing, the father of modern computer science. The experiment was called the Turing test, where he tested the intelligent behavior of a machine and its ability to generate responses similar to a human. The test consisted of an evaluator, aware that one of the conversation subjects was not a human. They communicated by typing on a keyboard. If the evaluator was not able to recognize a human from a machine, the machine passed the test.

      I don’t yet know if I passed the liveness test and now approved to upload 1099s. I’ve checked the IRS website daily for quite some time and all it’s given me is a twenty-digit tracking number and the message, “Submitted Pending Review.”

       The next morning, still reverberating from my online adventure, before sunrise, I reached across the bed and put my arm around Cyndi and told her I was doing my own liveness detection. I was confirming that the woman in bed with me was really her, and she was really alive. However, I’m not sure Cyndi was awake enough yet to pay attention to me. Or she could have been flirting with me in that special way she has by pretending not to notice anything I’ve said or done.

       So why does liveness detection matter? Of course it matters to the cyber-security world we live in, and I suppose it keeps us safe and all that. But the phrase itself piqued my curiosity. Feeling alive is important to me.

       One of my favorite movies, Secondhand Lions, is about two aging adventurers and war heroes who are doing their best as they get older to feel useful and alive. (Me, and most of my peers, have the same concerns about our lives.) At the movie’s end, they died in a plane crash, in a biplane they assembled themselves from a truckload of parts, after learning how to fly from a small instruction booklet. They never held back from trying something new. They kept pushing all the way to the end.

       The final lines from the movie go like this: “So, those two men from you grandfather’s stories, they really lived?” “Yeah … they really lived.”

      That’s the scene I’ll always think of from now on whenever I see the phrase liveness detection. When I’m gone, I hope someone will ask, “Did Berry really live?” and the answer will be, “Yes … he really lived.”

* *  *  *  *

2 Corinthians 6:1-10 … We beg you, please don’t squander one bit of this marvelous life God has given us.

Twenty Years With Valiant Men!

      I was hesitant back in December 2003 when Paul asked if I’d be part of a new men’s ministry. I never considered myself a man’s man. I was not, nor never had been, an athlete, didn’t play golf, only followed sports sporadically, would rather be by myself reading or writing than hanging out with other people, didn’t hunt or own a gun, rarely went fishing, and was totally indifferent about NASCAR. And I have more pens and notepads than tools in my pickup. I said I would gladly be part of the new men’s ministry, but I didn’t think I should teach or lead it, since everything I did at the time I ended up the teacher. I worried I was teaching too much and listening too little.

      When Paul told me they were going to start by going through the Wild at Heart materials I knew I was full in. I would be leading and teaching. Paul knew it, too.

      What happened next is summed up by this quote from Mark Batterson’s book, Wild Goose Chase: “Nothing is more unnerving or disorienting than passionately pursuing God. He will take you places you never could have imagined going by paths you never knew existed.”

*  *  *  *  *

      This past Saturday evening we celebrated twenty years of that same men’s ministry, which became known as Iron Men. It’s grown into a band of like-minded men dedicated to helping each other live solid, godly lives as leaders, husbands, fathers, and grandfathers. As John, one of our current members, recently said, “We are each other’s coaches.”

      The name of our group, Iron Men, comes from Proverbs 27:17 that says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” But sharpening each other isn’t all we do. We also smooth each other. We’re like old wooden-handled tools that show the wear of constant use, the smoothed portions worn smooth by the hands that used them. Our constant contact with each other wears away the rough spots leaving us with the pattern of our fellow valiant men. The older I get the more I look forward to being worn smooth by these men.

*  *  *  *  *

      Why a 20th-anniversary party? I believe churches should celebrate successes more often, to remember of the work of God among us. We should find joy in longevity, and gratitude in long obedience in the same direction. We should have more parties.

      We scattered copies of all the books we’ve gone through in Iron Men during those twenty years as table decorations, and each book drew memories from the men. We told stories and laughed the entire evening. It was great!

      I was reminded of a Bible story about a young man named Saul who lived a small life tending the family flocks until God called him out to be the first king of Israel. I Samuel 10:26 says, “Saul went to his house in Gibeah, accompanied by valiant men whose hearts God had touched.” Before he became the king, Saul was all alone. But afterward, he was surrounded by valiant men. I realized I was like Saul, surrounded by valiant men whose hearts God had touched.

      Twenty years ago God gave me a gift I didn’t request or expect or even understand. He gave me the Iron Men, and they are the finest men I have ever known.

*  *  *  *  *

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

Notes From a Family Ski Trip

      It snowed all night Friday night and we had to sweep at least six inches from our rented Jeep SUV before driving to the ski area. Fortunately, while there was a lot of snow, none of it froze to the windows, windshield, or road.

      We got everyone loaded – all seven – and made the equipment roll call: “Boots? (check), Gloves (check), Goggles (check)” and like that. It’s not as easy to do as it is to write. Our first day we had to double back to get everything we’d left behind.

      It only took about ten minutes to drive down to our favorite free parking lot only to discover it was already completely full – apparently people arrived earlier than usual to enjoy the fresh new snow and they arrived before we did. So we drove another five minutes to an overflow parking lot, where we parked, loaded up gear, and rode the city shuttle bus to the ski village.

      We grabbed our skis from the rental shop and hobbled in our boots into the deep fresh snow. Again, it wasn’t easy. Putting on skis is a challenge when the entire family is involved, and putting on skis in deep powdery snow is even more difficult. Especially for the youngest granddaughter. There was significant complaining before everyone was ready to scoot downhill to the gondola.

      That is, everyone scooted but me. My skis wouldn’t move. When I tried to shuffle them forward it was like trying to move through peanut butter. I made it to the gentle slope down toward the gondola, but I still couldn’t move. I stomped my skis up and down and all that, but even though I was pointed downslope I couldn’t move forward.

      I lifted my left leg to see if something might be broken on my ski or my binding and noticed two inches of snow frozen to the bottom of my ski the entire length front to back. I then checked my right ski and it was the same. I clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

      So I angrily kicked out of both skis and started walking down toward the gondola. Cyndi had been patiently waiting for me to ski down to the bottom and get in line with her, but also wondering why I wasn’t moving and why was I taking so long since the lifts and the gondola were already moving. The rest of the family was already in the line but there I was standing with my snow-caked skis.

      Cyndi, concerned about me, asked, “Why are you taking so long? The line keeps growing.”

      I showed her the bottom of my skis. She didn’t understand the problem, just like I didn’t understand at first. This was a first time for this for both of us.

      “Well let’s go. I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”

      “Just go get in line by yourself, then. I don’t know why this is happening to my skis and I don’t know what to do about it,” I snapped, instantly regretting it.

      We rode the gondola all the way to the summit and retrieved our skis. I’d hoped the movement of the gondola would knock some of the snow off, but no joy. My skis were still caked with snow. Cyndi grabbed one and started scraping snow. I took the other and used the nearby railing to scrape snow. Then we switched to our ski poles, and eventually had both skis clean and ready to go.

      “I’m sorry I barked at you back there. I wasn’t upset with you, and you were very patient. But I was upset with my skis and the whole universe of winter sports and ready to quit it all. I didn’t know what was wrong and I didn’t know how to fix it.”

      “I know.”

      But now, with clean skis, I could move. It was great. I glided effortlessly and joyfully. I love skiing. I love winter sports. I’ll keep skiing until my last days!

      Cyndi reminded me, “People over seventy ski free at Santa Fe. You have to keep this up a couple more years to get the free lift tickets you’ve earned.”

*  *  *  *  *

      We used to ski with a large group of friends every year at SnoMass, Colorado, and one of the apocriphal stories repeated year after year was about a woman named Gretchen and her friend who stood in one place talking for so long their skis froze to the snow. At the time, I never knew whether to believe the story, but if I did, I couldn’t imagine it happening to any other two people.

      Until now. It happened to me. A two-inch layer of snow frozen to the bottom of both skis and I couldn’t move at all. Bummer.

*  *  *  *  *

      I used to take more ski photos - especially action photos - when I carried an actual camera with film. Now, with my ever-handy phone, I take fewer. Why is that? We used to pay twice for film pictures, but now digital pictures are free. I should be taking way more, not less. Maybe because it’s so easy to take hundreds of photos, I overreact by taking very few. Or it could be those old action photos were never very good and never flattered the skiers.

*  *  *  *  *

      One of our primary games to play as a family nowadays is Rummikub. Well, we also play 42 (dominos), but that tends to be adults only. Rummikub is friendlier for all ages. Cyndi and I started playing Rummikub with the Pyeatts during the Covid shutdown. And once we even convinced some church friends, the Ervins, to play, right square in the middle of the dining room at Blue Sky Restaurant, after we finished our burgers. We also used to play regularly with our friends Roy and Karen.

      Rummikub is a game that requires concentration (at least, when it’s your turn) and complex problem solving, but also leaves room for wide-ranging conversation and fun.

      And – it’s easy to travel with. Cyndi usually packs it in her backpack when we are flying somewhere with family, and she pulls it out during long layovers.

      One of the most ardent players now is our eleven-year-old granddaughter, Landry. She has followed the path of her mother and grandmother and aunt – a long line of strong, opinionated women who are ruthlessly competitive game players.

      I learned during this most recent ski trip that I may be the only family member who doesn’t also play Rummikub online. I think all the others have been sharpening their game by competing against computers, and thus, they regularly trounce me.

      I don’t mind. The fact is, I play to be part of the family and join in the conversations, and to keep from appearing to be an antisocial hermit. As far as the game itself goes, I’m just as happy reading a book. But reading a book doesn’t allow for much grandfatherly interaction, so I play games with the girls. Even though they’re becoming more ruthless game by game.

*  *  *  *  *

      It snowed all day, our last day of skiing, so the powder was continually replenished. It was a bit difficult for us as once-a-year skiers, but it was also fun. And it was quiet. There is something about the sound dampening effect from the falling snow that adds a personal quality to the skiing.

      We made several big runs in the morning, after Cyndi and I cleaned all the snow off my skis, and it was fun and fast and full of ego-building turns. But by 11:00 we were ready for a break and a chance to warm up a bit, so we stopped at the Thunderhead Lodge, located in the middle of the middle mountain.

      It took a while to locate three empty chairs, but I eventually saw a group preparing to leave and used the time-honored technique of hovering over them so I could nab the chairs when they left.

      As it turned out we ended up beside a young couple who recently moved from Mississippi to Denver. She told us she used to attend summer camp in Texas with, as it turned out, the daughter of one of Cyndi’s fellow teachers. The couple couldn’t help but notice our ages – we were at least as old as their own parents – and congratulated us for still skiing. And they thought we were exceptional grandparents to give a ski trip for Christmas instead of buying more stuff. They sort of went on and on, building us up and up, and I felt like hero of the day by the time we left the lodge.

      I can’t wait until we do this again!

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

20 Good Books I Read in 2024

      I’ll admit right up front: I’m a reader. I love to read books. Some of my earliest memories are reading late into the night from my summer reading list. In fact, I recently rediscovered my summer reading record from 1963, before I entered the second grade. It was saved by my mother in a notebook of memories.

      Some read books partly because they want to learn new things, but it’s seldom the actual data that I’m interested in. Most of the time I read because I want to know how the author thinks, to engage the author in a conversation. I seldom read a book without using a highlighter to mark my favorite parts and a pen to write comments in the margins, either agreeing with the author, disagreeing with the author, or linking something the author said with my own thoughts and observations.

      Sometimes I want to import the writer’s thoughts into my own heart and mind, to absorb his sense of time and pace and dialogue, to be a better storyteller. There is value in immersing in a particular author, especially if the goal is to absorb his technique and his voice and his imagination. You need a broad swath to catch someone’s heart - reading only one or two books is not enough.

      I often read in order to have something new to share. For me, it isn’t enough to simply journey through life; I need to talk about it. I’m not the solitary man I claim to be, even though I certainly enjoy solitude. I have a need to talk about what I’ve been through. I have to tell my story, and reading brings new stories.

      Some readers get frustrated, even embarrassed, because they can’t remember something from a particular book ... even books filled with personal notes and highlighting, and ask: what’s the point in reading if I don’t remember? But something from one of my favorite writers, Kathleen Norris, rescues me. She wrote, books are “a way of reading the world and one’s place in it … working the earth of my heart.” I wrote in the margin of her book: I read so many books and listen to songs and sermons on my iPod, hoping the bits and pieces will compost in my subconscious, and come out as intelligent thought when I write and teach.

      I don’t expect everyone to love reading as much as I do, or like the same books I like, but all of us would be better people if we read more. And so, here are some suggestions. These are listed in the order I read them; I didn’t try to rank them by importance or enjoyment … that’s a paralyzing and pointless exercise. However, if you’re interested, give me your email address and I’ll send you my entire reading list for 2024. And send me your own list. I’m always searching for ideas.

      These twenty books turned out to be the most meaningful for me over the past twelve months. Should you choose to read one of these, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Also, if you have any recommendations, I’d love to see those, too.

1.     The Climb: The Autobiography, by Chris Froome … tells the extraordinary story of Chris Froome's journey from a young boy in Kenya, riding through townships and past wild animals, to his unforgettable yellow jersey victory in the 2013 Tour de France.

2.     Hidden Potential: The Science of Achieving Greater Things, by Adam Grant … shows that progress depends less on how hard you work than how well you learn. Growth is not about the genius you possess—it’s about the character you develop.

3.     The Longest Winter: The Battle of the Bulge and the Epic Story of WWII’s Most Decorated Platoon, by Alex Kershaw … about a small American platoon who faced the main thrust of the entire German attack. Vastly outnumbered, they repulsed three German assaults in a fierce day-long battle before being forced to surrender.

4.     Empire of the Sum: The Rise and Reign of the Pocket Calculator, by Keith Houston … This book felt personal. Pocket calculators changed my world, yanking me away from my slide ruler and pushing me toward personal computers.

5.     An Immense World: How Animal Senses Reveal the Hidden Realms Around Us, by Ed Yong … I assumed, without much thought, that animals sensed the world the same way I did. But this book describes the sights and textures, sounds and vibrations, smells and tastes, electric and magnetic fields sensed by animals, fish, and insects.

6.     The Pioneers: The Heroic Story of the Settlers Who Brought the American Ideal West, by David McCullough … describes the experience of a brave and broad-minded band of people who crossed raging rivers, chopped down forests, plowed miles of land, suffered incalculable hardships, and braved a lonely frontier to forge a new American ideal.

7.     Life on the Mississippi: An Epic American Adventure, by Rinker Buck … This was my second book by Rinker Buck, and it won’t be my last. He chronicles his incredible adventure: building a wooden flatboat from the bygone era of the early 1800s and journeying down the Mississippi River to New Orleans.

8.     The Way, My Way, by Bill Bennett … Bennett hiked 800 kilometers on the Camino de Santiago. He was not a hiker, not a Catholic, not an adventure traveler, but an Australian film director who was never sure why he was doing it.

9.     Soul Keeping: Caring For the Most Important Part of You, by John Ortberg … One of my favorite writers tells how to discover, feed, and care for our souls. This was our Iron Men book for fall 2024.

10.  90 Lessons for Living Large in 90 Square Feet (… or more), by Felice Cohen … The lessons the author learned from living in a 90 square foot apartment in the middle of Manhattan are practical and valuable for all of us no matter how much space we live in.

11.  Joy Ride: A Bike Odyssey from Alaska to Argentina, by Kristen Jokinen … I love reading about epic adventures, especially about extended multi-continent cycling trips, and about who the participants became as human beings because of it.

12.  God Gave Rock and Roll To You: A History of Contemporary Christian Music, by Leah Payne … the author traces the history and trajectory of CCM in America from the Jesus Movement to today. Our family was heavily engaged with CCM during most of these years, and this was a walk through the most formative of our adult years.

13.  The Dusty Ones: Why Wandering Deepens Your Faith, by A.J. Swoboda … wandering, whether on foot, or by intellectual and spiritual pursuit, is not an absence of faith but a central component of faith.

14.  When the Sea Came Alive: An Oral History of D-Day, by Garrett Graff … Hundreds of stories and viewpoints of D-Day are told in real time, and in the words of the soldiers themselves.

15.  The Storied Life: Christian Writing as Art and Worship, by Jared Wilson … this book explores the ins and outs of writers and writing, how the practice is more about transformation than simply communication.

16.  Gun Lap: Staying in the Race with Purpose, by Robert Wolgemuth … a challenge for us to live our l lives with energy and intention. This will be our Iron Men book for spring 2025.

17.  Alone: The Classic Polar Adventure, by Richard Bird … his plan was to spend six months of 1938 alone in Antarctica, gathering scientific data and experiencing peace and quiet. However, the adventure almost killed him. It was a reminder that extended time alone may be more than we want.

18.  The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality, Belden C. Lane … This book explores the question: What has drawn spiritual seekers into the wilderness for centuries?”

19.  The Five Marks of a Man, by Brian Tome … This book discusses what it means, and what it takes, to live life as a Godly man, based on 1 Corinthians 16:13-14, “Be on your guard; stand firm in the faith; be courageous; be strong. Do everything in love.”

20.  How We Got To Now: Six Innovations That Made the Modern Word, by Steven Johnson … the author explores the history of innovation over centuries, tracing facets of modern life (refrigeration, clocks, and eyeglass lenses, to name a few) from their creation by hobbyists, amateurs, and entrepreneurs to their unintended historical consequences.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *

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