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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Walk This Way

Tuesday morning I read a tweet from someone I don’t remember who, about people making fun of the way she walked, and I thought, “Well, that’s my life. Every day.” And then I forgot about it. Until later, during the night, when my brain camped out on that thought. Finally, at 3:30 AM, I got out of bed, dug out some 3x5 cards, and wrote it down. I knew the only way I’d get back to sleep that night was to write it all down right then.

What wouldn’t let me sleep was the idea that how we walk says so much about us. You can infer a person’s outlook on life by the way they walk. You can judge their degree of self-discipline, their confidence, even their sense of mindfulness. You may decide not to engage with someone merely because the way they walk marks them as a whiner.

I crawled out of bed early Wednesday morning with this verse on my mind: “Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him,” (Colossians 2:6) In this case, our walk, or better said, our pattern of living, reveal our commitment to Jesus.

People don’t actually make fun of the way I walk, but they always ask about it. As in, “Are you OK? You seem to be limping.”

It’s because I have arthritis in both knees, just like my mom did. In the past three or four years it has begun to degrade my forward motion.

The problem with a condition like arthritis is I don’t have a great story to go along with it like I would if I had a catastrophic injury. As in, I was defending my granddaughters from a wolverine by lunging at his neck with my really cool bone-handled KA-BAR Iron Men pocket knife, and as I fell off the wood pile where we’d taken refuge I injured both knees, leaving me with a permanent limp that I don’t mind since all I have to do is look at photos of Madden and Landry and know it was worth it.

Not only would that be an epic story about my knees, but also about living up to my knife, a KA-BAR (Hardcore Lives, Hardcore Knives).

But I don’t have a story like that.

My story is more like this: I used to be a slow runner and now I am an extremely slow runner, often slower than 16:00 pace. They say, “Didn’t I see you out powerwalking yesterday?”

Most people assume I finally wore my knees out after 36,844 miles of running. It only makes intuitive sense.

But it doesn’t make scientific sense. The research overwhelmingly says running doesn’t encourage the onset of arthritis, but rather continual use tends to prolong the function of joints. With knees, like your heart, it’s “use ‘em or lose ‘em.”

In fact, just last weekend I heard an NPR Science Friday interview with two researchers (Greg Whyte and Tamara Hew-Butler), who said linear exercise (running, walking, cycling) extends the working life of joints and doesn’t wear them out.

Still, I limp, even during linear use. It reminds me of a quote by ultra-marathoner, Dean Karnezes, “Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.”

Thinking about walking all night when I should have been sleeping gave me another verse: “Therefore, my dear friends, … continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,” (Philippians 2:12)

Except that I want the Bible to say “WALK out your salvation,” instead of “WORK out,” since how I walk is evident to everyone, more than how I work. I want my salvation story to be obvious to all observers even on those days I think I am doing a better job of hiding it.

Don’t misunderstand my intent when I write about bum knees. I am grateful for knees that work at all, and for every mile they take me.

George Sheehan once asked, "Have you ever felt worse after a run?" And the answer for me, since 1978, is, no. I am always glad I went.

“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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How Do You Know When You're Ready?

How do you know if you’re ready to do what you’ve been called to do? There is the story about Moses, who fled for his life into the wilderness after killing an Egyptian. We don’t know exactly why Moses killed the man, but he probably thought this would be the beginning of his ministry as leader and deliverer of his people.

Patrick Morley wrote, “Moses wasn’t ready to do what he had been called to do. His character wasn’t deep enough to support his calling – at least not yet.” (How God Makes Men)

How often is that the reason our calling hasn’t kicked in yet? We say we are in training for our calling, like the young future Zorro in the training circle, but assume that training is about skill, not about deepening our character.

I wrote in the margin of my book: “Is it possible to know this about yourself?” Of all the things we can’t accurately judge, our own character must be the greatest. How can we possibly know the depth of our own character? How do we know if we’re ready?

My friend Bob Cain asked, “So, if it's not possible to know that about yourself (the depth of your character), who do you have to do that for you?

That’s a fair question. There aren’t many friends, no matter how close, who’ll say, “You just aren’t grown up enough yet to do that. Wait a few years.”

About twenty years ago, in 1995, I wanted to lead a class at my church on the Great Books of the Christian Faith. I wanted to start with Knowing God by J. I. Packer. I had a study guide, I read and re-read the book during the summer, and made notes in the margin. I was  ready to teach.

When I shared with Cyndi my dream of a Great Books class she smiled sweetly the way she does to let me know she loves me and believes in me and is proud of me, and asked, “But who would come to a book class besides Bear?”

Well, I didn’t know who would come, but surely there would be a few people. I thought it was a great plan to read Augustine and Luther and Eusebius and Calvin, and discuss their approaches to Christianity, and together we’d all grow smarter about God and have a better understanding of how we should live. I thought it was a worthwhile project, and I was the one to lead it.

Well, about two weeks before my class was scheduled to begin, the church asked me to teach something else instead – they had a video series about – I don’t remember, but I think it was relating to one another as church members – and they wanted me to teach that instead of the book. Well, bummer.

I mean, I was flattered they asked me to lead a class normally taught by staff. I appreciated the confidence they had in me, and I knew I had the skills and heart to teach the material. But I also felt the loss of a dream, and I wondered if someone at my church thought I was too much of a light-weight to teach Packer, or thought Knowing God was the wrong book. I mostly took it as a personal hit.

The video study went well but it was like a lot of canned courses I’ve taught where they take one magazine article and stretch it into a twelve week course. Classes like that are difficult to teach after everything has been said two or three ways and you still have eleven weeks to go.

I never mentioned my idea of a Great Books course after that, except to Cyndi and Bear. I was not the guy to do it, if indeed it should be done.

But then one morning not long ago it occurred to me that I had been leading a men’s book study class on Thursday mornings. We call I Iron Men. I was doing what I once dreamed of doing, only twenty years later

However, the difference was way more than twenty years. I had become a different person. Back in 1995 my goal was that we’d all become smarter in the ways of God; now, my goal is that we’ll grow together in our Christian walk, a band of brothers on a common mission. Twenty years ago my focus was on books and intellect; now it’s about relationship and leadership and how we help each other live as men.

It was a surprise to realize I was doing what I wanted to do so long ago. I wasn't ready back then; I was living the wrong message. I had to personally grow into the man God needed. My heart needed more training.

Thinking again about Moses, it was during those hot lonely wilderness years that he went from being a spoiled, privileged, rich kid to a patient, persistent, and wily backcountry survivor. Morley wrote, "What Moses no doubt thought was abandonment was actually equipping."

I once saw Gary Barkalow pull out a claymore, one of those huge Scottish swords, as in William Wallace, and swing it around the stage. He said, “This is a powerful and lethal weapon; but imagine going into battle with a sword this big before you’ve been trained to use it. You would hurt as many of your own men as the enemy. Having a powerful weapon from God can be dangerous if used before God makes you ready.”

That would’ve been Moses had he moved into leadership forty years too soon. That would have been me had I taught the class twenty years too soon.

Back to Bob Cain’s question – How can we know? – I don’t think we can know ourselves. But if we keep learning, and training, and equipping, and being patient, God won’t keep us sidelined forever.

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

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It Should Have Been Miserable But It Wasn't

Saturday of Easter weekend, I lead a group from Midland to hike Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. I say “I lead” in broadest terms since most of the other hikers made it further up the mountain than I did. The hike is eight miles round-trip with 3,000’ vertical climb, and since 2003 I’ve made it to the summit 16 times with groups of varying sizes. My first time up this trail was in October 2003 and the group was Cyndi and me. We’d invited our entire Sunday School class to join us but our loyal friends thought we were crazy and weren’t interested. So it was just the two of us. Why did we do it? We’d heard our friend Meta talk about how cool it was, and she was a Yankee transplanted to west Texas. We felt like we were letting Texas down until we hiked up the trail ourselves.

This year, I almost had a meltdown Wednesday before the hike. I was worried that the group was getting too big (26+?) and would we have enough transportation to haul everyone and did we have enough drivers and did the newcomers know how hard this was or did someone sell them on a walk in the park and what about all these people I didn’t yet know but felt responsible for and how did it come to this and why do I always get myself into these situations … and well, like that. You know how it goes.

About mid-afternoon Wednesday I finally remembered why we make this same hike year after year after year. It’s because men make friends outside; because people form friendships on the trail; because God speaks to us on the mountain in ways we aren’t prepared to hear when sitting at home; because the core group of hikers are some of the best men I’ve ever known and any time I get other people around these guys only good things can happen; and because grace leaks out of our lives when we do difficult things together.

After all that, I settled down to do what I should have done from the very beginning. I remembered this was God’s trip and we were just tagging along. I was lucky to be part of it.

As it turned out, we hiked in the cold rain almost the entire day. It was 60* with drizzle in the parking lot when we started up the trail, and the rain increased and temperature dropped all the way up the mountain. At the summit the temperature was about 40*, the wind was frightening, and the rain clouds had morphed into thunder and lightning. No one spent much time at the summit since Guadalupe Peak is, essentially, a lightning rod for the entire state of Texas.

The sun finally came out during our descent down the trail, and by the time we all got to the parking lot our clothes were drier. We changed into dry gear and spread out wet clothes in the sun to dry out.

Here is the curious part … the day should have been miserable, but it wasn’t. We were all cold and wet, but once we dried off and started sharing our stories, we were friends. Because of shared hardship we were no longer strangers. All because we’d spent the day on the trail together. One of my favorite writers, Jonathan Katz, wrote, “I am coming to see life as a series of paths, some literal, some emotional, some in the nature of life – marriage, divorce, work, family. These paths take all of us to different places. Paths are important, they are the symbols of our lives, they mark the passages of time, they take us out of our lives or, sometimes, into it.”

What a shame it would have been if we’d not made the hike due to a little rain. We’d have collectively missed a passage of our lives.

As for me, I’m embarrassed about my Wednesday crises and sad I ever doubted a process, a spiritual activity disguised as a mountain hike, which was handed to us from God, which has strengthened the hearts of so many. Who did I think I was to assume this was about me and whether I could handle it all?

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

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Ragamuffin Rich Mullins

This week we watched the new movie about Rich Mullins, Ragamuffin. (The name of the movie comes from a term Rich and his band used about themselves, taken from an excellent book by Brennen Manning: The Ragamuffin Gospel) I enjoyed the movie. Partly because Mullins was so influential to my spiritual formation, and also because it helped be understand his songs and lyrics better. But I have to say, the movie was darker than I expected. I know that Rich was hurting for acceptance from his father and from God for most of his life, but that wasn’t the sum total of his life.

Cyndi and I heard Rich Mullins perform live twice, both in small venues, and while everything he said and sang was convicting and challenging and pointed, he was joyful on stage and energized while performing. I think the movie missed that joyful part of his life.

Rich Mullins was a brilliant songwriter, but by all accounts, not a fun person to hang around with. Too often we expect every Christian, especially Christian artists, to be friendly and warm and open all the time. However, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us to guide our personalities, we are still just broken people. As Brennan Manning said, “We are all beggars at the door of God’s mercy.

To be honest, Cyndi had to drag me to my first Rich Mullins concert. It was at Christian Church of Midland on Neely Street, sometime in the early 1990s. I wish I knew the exact date, but I don’t.

Rich was amazing in concert. His "band" used more instruments than anybody I’d ever seen, and it seemed each band member could play them all. They played guitars (many different types), mandolins, bass (electric bass guitar, stand-up acoustic bass, electric stand-up bass), dulcimer, hammered dulcimer, xylophone, drum set (and congas, bongos, Celtic, and a huge assortment of percussion toys), flute, electronic keyboard, cello, etc. (The movie leaves the impression Rich would let anyone in his band without knowing their musical talents, but that isn’t what I saw on stage. I witnessed some of the best musicians I’d ever heard, ever.)

His music was more rhythmic than melodic, a sort of Celtic-Appalachian-Rock, and it was amazing to hear and watch it live. He captured the open feeling of the prairie and linked it with the wideness and wildness of God's grace.

Rich Mullins made me want to get in my car and drive to the horizon. His songs made me feel like I'd underestimated God’s presence my entire life. His songs made me want to run outside and look at the sky and think about the love of God.

Listening to Rich made me feel I was wasting my time doing anything but writing. Instead of thinking, "Wow, what a great song," Rich made me think "I wish I'd written that."

He made me hope I was doing something with my life that inspired people; that helped them see God and experience His grace. I hoped I was not wasting my influence.

And Rich Mullins loved the church. Not just the CHURCH, as in the collection of all believers, but the church down the street that meets every week. A favorite saying of his was, "The reason I love the church so much is because it is the only place grown men sing."

He did not believe we go to church because we are perfect; he believed that we go to church because we need it. He said, "Every time you go to church you're confessing again to yourself, to your family, to the people you pass on the way there, to the people who will greet you there, that you don't have it all together, and that you need their support. You need their direction. You need some accountability, you need some help."

Rich said, “When I go to church … I involve myself in something that identifies me with Augustine, that identifies me with Christ, that identifies me with nearly 2,000 years of people who have come together once a week and said, “Let’s go to the Lord’s table and enjoy the feast that He has prepared for us.””

One Sunday night in June 1997 a bunch of us went to Odessa to hear Rich Mullins in concert in a small Disciples of Christ church. It was last-minute scheduling that we happened to hear about on the radio. We went with the Aycocks and Mills and Talbots and others. There couldn’t have been more than 200 people in the audience, and we sat in church pews.

As usual it was phenomenal. Mullins thrived in the close intimate setting and performed full-out as if for thousands of people instead of our handful. The audience called him and his band out for several encores, and for the last one they came out without instruments, grabbed hymnals from the pews, and led us all in congregational hymn singing, “There’s Not A Friend Like The Lowly Jesus.” It was wonderful.

Only three months after that concert, on September 19, Rich Mullins was killed when his Jeep flipped over. He and his friend Mitch McVicker were traveling on I-39 north of Bloomington, Illinois to a benefit concert in Wichita, Kansas.

And now, sixteen years later, I still haven’t stopped grieving the loss. I feel it every time I hear one of his songs. I have yet to find another songwriter to speaks to my heart like he did. I often return to my journals from that time period to remember and refresh that significant spiritual period of my life.

What I learned from Rich Mullins was this – there is more, and it’s bigger, and it’s deeper. Rich pulled back the curtain to show me a wider view of God’s love and grace than I’d imagined possible. Like Rich Mullins, I want to be a curtain-puller, an inspirer, a heart-giver. I want to be someone who lives the bigger picture of God. I want to be like Rich.

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

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A Destiny Reshaped

I recently finished Bill Rodgers’ book, Marathon Man, and in it he wrote, “Here is the power of running: With every mile you run, with every stride you take, you do more than reshape your body – you reshape your destiny.” That has certainly been true for me. In fact, my running habit has shaped my destiny far more than it shaped my body. For all the miles I’ve run I haven’t changed much in shape or volume, but I’ve changed significantly in heart and mind.

I first took up running in late May 1978, at the beginning of the summer between my two senior years at the University of Oklahoma. I did it to win back the heart of a girl that I wanted to be my girlfriend but who spent the previous five months dating a track and field guy. For some reason I thought becoming an athlete myself might help. Of course, I never turned into an athlete, but I did become a life-long runner. I got hooked on spending time alone on my feet.

So even in the beginning, running reshaped my destiny. I’ve now been married to that same girl for over 34 years.

And the reshaping continued. Another way running changed my destiny was through Bible verses.

When I was in college I took on the practice of memorizing Bible verses. I did it by writing them on small cards, about 2”x3”, and carrying them in my pocket so I could pull them out and review them during the day.

When I started running longer miles I needed a mental distraction to keep my mind from convincing me to turn around and go back home, so I started carrying those verse cards with me. I would review and memorize while I ran. And that very practice became one of the most consistent meditative experiences of my life. I had nothing to do but think about the verses and all the possible meanings and applications, and after a few years of that, my mind was transformed. I became a different guy.

But maybe my biggest destiny reshaping from running happened in November 1983 when I finished my first marathon, the Golden Yucca Marathon in Hobbs, New Mexico.

For some reason I still can’t explain, I started dreaming about marathons from the very beginning. It was completely unexpected. Running was the first athletic thing of significance I ever did outside of PE class. Growing up, I did not participate in sports. I preferred being by myself and wandering around in the mesquite pasture near my house looking for adventure.

The Golden Yucca Marathon was my first, and it changed me completely in one stride.

Before I crossed the marathon finish line I was a smart, clever engineer with little promise as an athlete. After I stepped across the line, a true pound-the-chest howl-at-the-moon moment, in that one shuffling exhausted step, I became a man who could do anything. I was now invincible, brave, strong, focused, and successful.

In the moments before I crossed the marathon finish line, I was nothing but an exhausted, wet (it was raining), beat-up, plodding, back-of-the-pack runner, who was too tired to complete a coherent sentence. But as soon as I stepped across that line I became a certified marathon runner who would tell running stories for the rest of his life. I was forever changed, in that instant, and I knew it immediately. Running reshaped my destiny.

Well, to be honest, I often get embarrassed that I tell so many stories about myself. But those are the stories I know best so those are the ones I tell. If, when reading my stories, you think of your own, then I have succeeded as a writer.

So let me know. Tell me your big moments that shaped you. Bill Rodgers was right about running reshaping destiny, but running certainly isn’t the only activity that can do that. What were yours?

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

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Churches and Saints in Santa Fe

Has architecture ever snuck up on you? Have you ever been inspired by a manmade structure? Or have you ever walked into a space and felt like you’d left one world and entered another reality? That’s what medieval builders of cathedrals had in mind, to move people into God’s Kingdom. Cyndi and I were in Santa Fe a couple of weeks ago, and while she attended her workshop training I decided to give architecture a shot at me. Counting on the formula: ?P_A + ?P_L = ?P_P (or, Change of Pace + Change of Place = Change of Perspective) I spent some time inside the Loretto Chapel and the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis, both in downtown Santa Fe. My plan was to camp out on one of the pews for an hour and read from my Daily Bible, write in my journal, ask God to speak to me, and see what happened. Some of my best spiritual encounters have happened that way, on spec.

My first visit was to the Loretto Chapel. It is now a private museum, but it used to be the chapel for a Catholic girl’s school run by the Sisters of Loretto. It was completed in 1878.

One of the things I like most about Catholic churches is they aren’t afraid to look like a church. They put it right up front, treating visitors like grownups. Even though the Loretto Chapel is no longer a church it looked very churchy. Very Catholic churchy, with dominant altar, depictions of the Stations of the Cross, a prominent crucifix, statues of various saints, and, of course, stained glass.

I like stained glass windows. I think light coming through stained glass settles worshipers, changes their heart rate, and creates expectation for transcendence. That is a quality never achieved in modern black-box worship centers.

We have stained glass windows in my home church, which is Baptist. I’m glad we have those windows, even though one image looks more like Optimus Prime than like a heavenly angel, and another reminds me of the angel of death.

However, it isn’t windows or statues that make a place holy, but rather our own anticipation. That’s why we may feel more comfortable in the type of worship space we grew up in. And when we come to a place expecting to meet God, whether in a cathedral or church or high mountain meadow, our anticipation opens our ears and eyes and heart to the voice and presence of God that we might otherwise miss because we are too busy and distracted.

My second Santa Fe church visit was to the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis. It is a live-action Catholic church, so I had to time my visit between daily celebrations of mass.

What drew me specifically into this church was a  biography I’ve been reading about St. Francis, Reluctant Saint, by Donald Spoto. When I walked past this giant church on Sunday morning during my downtown walkabout, I knew I had to come inside and absorb a little more of St. Francis.

I’ll admit, I grew up with serious misgivings about the Catholic veneration of saints. For one thing, I was taught that all Christians were saints because God made us saints, and not because the church tapped us on the shoulder. At best, the focus on saints seemed to be an unhelpful tangent from worshiping God himself.

And to me, St. Francis of Assisi seemed the most strange because all the statues of him I saw showed birds on his hand or shoulder or head. I didn’t understand or appreciate the connection between following God and birds.

Unfortunately, my attitude toward Catholic saints meant I never paid attention to the actual people behind the statues, people who did extraordinary things, people who lived the way I want to live my own life, people who changed their world. Reading about St. Francis may be my beginning of a new understanding of these godly men and women. It’s possible I overreacted through the years to all those statues and paintings. I should’ve looked deeper.

Not only that, after reading about St. Francis’ life, I’m starting to understand his birds. What I thought was a frivolous distraction actually represented his simple and pure pursuit of the holiness of God. It occurred to me that maybe I spent too many years laughing at the wrong things. I complicated my own spirituality so much I overlooked the power of the simple.

Sitting in one of the pews I read this from my Daily Bible, Isaiah 33, “Your eyes will see Jerusalem, a peaceful abode, a tent who will not be moved; its stakes will never be pulled up, nor any of its ropes broken.”

My takeaway from the two Santa Fe church visits wasn’t so much about the details of architectural design, as I’d expected, but more about the permanence of the structure. Neither of my two churches were very old. There are churches in Europe nearly 1,700 years old that are still being used for worship. Still, when the Loretto Chapel was build, when the Sisters of Loretto raised money to build this, they had in mind something that would last a long time. A building that could survive the high desert climate, and handle the crush of generations of worshipers.

I want my life to be like that. I want the effect of my life to live on; just like the Sisters of Loretto wanted to build a holy structure that would bless people long after the Sisters had died or moved on. I want to be a tent that will not be moved, whose stakes will never be pulled up, nor any of its ropes broken.

One more thing: at the visitor center of the Cathedral Basilica of St. Francis, I bought a small carved wooden statue of St. Francis to remember my visit. He looks very pious, and he has a bird on his shoulder and his hand. Maybe the stunning architecture allowed St. Francis to sneak up on me.

“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

What Do You Hear?

It was early Sunday morning and I was sitting on Sam’s porch reading and writing and listening to the Michigan rain, a welcome sound to my West Texas ears accustomed to the silence of prolonged drought. And as much as I’d enjoyed the weekend, I had a nagging question in the back of my mind. Why should I come to workshops like this when each time my takeaway is to keep doing what I’m already doing? If I have such a clear picture of who I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to be doing, then what is my real motive for coming?

The accusing voice in my head says I’m only trying to build myself up in front of guys I like and enjoy and respect, that I’m trying to bolster my own ego, that I simply want to show off.

The reason that accusation is so easy to believe is because, like most spiritual attacks, it contains an element of truth. I want things to go well in my life, I want to know God’s calling, and I want to live it out in such a way the very visibility of my life encourages others to join me in the same search.

“You’re just showing off in front of your friends so they’ll think you are The Spiritual Guy who has it all together.” I hear that voice almost constantly. Until it gets tired and switches to this: “Sit down and shut up. They’ve all heard your shtick and don’t think your jokes are funny. All the cool guys have moved on to something else.”

How about you? What do you hear? What do your voices say?

I’ve learned enough about Satan’s attack to know it will come directly at us against our strengths. Which means, hearing those mental attacks is, in some ways, reassuring. For me, it reminds me I am doing what I should be doing: delivering my best to bring people closer to God. The attack itself can be the indicator I’m in the right place.

Still, knowing that doesn’t make it any more pleasant.

So attending a weekend workshop about understanding and developing God’s calling becomes an exercise of spiritual reequipping and reaffirming. Being with the other guys reminds me I am not alone in my search for God, or my search for calling and purpose, or my search for meaning.

Not only that, I’m certain I have so much more to learn. I don’t even want to be the guy who has it all decided. I want to be the guy who is continuously asking questions, attending workshops, searching behind closed doors, looking under rocks, and checking around the bend of a mountain trail. As much as it surprises me to say this, I want to be unsettled, uncertain, maybe even a little confused. I want to keep learning.

The main assignment for our weekend was to develop a Calling Manifesto, similar to a Life Theme. (I tend to use the word “Statement” over “Manifesto.” I’m not sure I can live up to a Manifesto.) It was surprisingly hard to do, even for contemplative analytical guys like me. It turns out, you can’t do it alone. You need help from other people who can see your life from a more objective viewpoint.

I also learned the reason why writing something like this had eluded me for so long. I was trying to write with adjectives, describing myself, when I need to write with verbs, describing what I should do. That was a big breakthrough.

Writing a Calling Statement is a worthy exercise. It can be a decision filter to help you know if all the things you’re working on are the best things, and it should help minimize those urgent tangents that steal your energy. And it forms a base of resistance against those scary voices in your head.

I left Ann Arbor with a clearer picture of my mission, and a Calling Statement (Manifesto) I could be proud of. Of course, I can’t leave it alone. I’ve already changed it a bit, and I’ll probably change it some more tomorrow. I expect to keep changing it for the rest of my life, but that’s OK. I don’t want a final answer for something as important as this. Here it is:

For this purpose I am here:

To dig deep and understand Significant Truths;

To synthesize those truths into teachable, usable, and meaningful applications;

To give away those truths by teaching, writing, and sharing with the full weight of my life;

To live those truths openly and transparently, bringing others in close to walk with me;

And to inspire and equip others to join me on this journey.

My heart-desire is:

To see a widening wake behind me of changed people who are changing the world.

To be honest, I wish this was shorter and more succinct but I don’t know what to take out. The reason I am including it here is the same reason I write anything - I hope you will share with me your own thoughts about your calling. Try writing your own statement. Give yourself a fighting chance against the scary voices in your head.

“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

Standing Firm

Have you ever asked yourself, “Who do I want to be like?” I was flying on Southwest Airlines from Dallas to St. Louis, then to Detroit, for a Noble Heart calling workshop, when I read this in my Daily Bible, from 1 Chronicles 5:24 … “These were the heads of their families: Epher, Ishi, Eliel, Azriel, Jeremiah, Hodaviah and Jahdiel. They were brave warriors, famous men, and heads of their families.”

I don’t normally spend much time reading Bible genealogies, I usually race through them, but since my purpose for attending the workshop was to move further into my role as a man for God, this particular list caught my eye. Who doesn’t want to be like these men?

“They were brave warriors.” Well, I want to be a brave warrior, knowing when it’s my moment to stand up to the enemy.

“They were … famous men.” I’ll admit, I’d like to be famous, too. Last year I received a public service award from the International Society of Petroleum Engineers, for my time in city government and community projects. To receive worldwide recognition in front of so many nationalities and languages, and in front of Cyndi, was great. My tiny bit of being famous felt good.

“They were … heads of their families.” Well, I’ve been a husband for almost 34 years, and a dad for almost 33 years, so I can’t avoid this. However, in the context of this passage, it means more than husband and dad, it means patriarch. And to be honest, while I certainly haven’t sought this position out, I can see it happening more and more with each passing year. And not only one of the heads of my own family, but Cyndi likes to remind me, one of the heads of our church and community. I’m OK with that. I don’t necessarily want to be the one in charge, but I definitely want to influence the outcomes.

Here’s the problem with those men from 1 Chronicles 24 – their standing was trumped by what it says in the next verse, 25 ... “But they were unfaithful to the God of their ancestors and prostituted themselves to the gods of the peoples of the land, whom God had destroyed before them.”

It’s too bad. Men who could’ve changed the world for good wasted their turn by being unfaithful to God. And not that they just drifted away from God, but they actively gave themselves over - “prostituted themselves” - to the gods of the world, even gods they knew had been defeated.

It happens too many times. Good men in leadership positions, even influential spiritual leaders, twist off, start believing their own press clippings, and sell out completely to the god of this world. It’s tragic.

So finishing my flight to Michigan I wondered, how do we keep this from happening to us?

And then, curiously enough, the very next morning while drinking coffee on the porch at Sam’s house, I read this from Isaiah 7:3-9 (God was giving instructions to Isaiah to be passed along to King Ahaz before a battle): “Say to him, “Be careful, keep calm and don’t be afraid. Do not lose heart because of these two smoldering stubs of firewood.”” (The two attacking kings).

Here are the words we need to remember, the charge God gave to Ahaz, “I’ve got this, you are in my hands, don’t lose heart just because your enemies appear scary on the outside.”

But God also tells him, “Be careful.”

Those are good words. Just because we know God is with us is not time to be stupid, arrogant, or brash. We have to be careful. Take care. Think about what we do. Think about what we believe and who we listen to.

Later, still in Isaiah 7, God goes on to say, “If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all.”

And there is the main point – if you don’t stand firm in your faith, it matters very little what else you do. In fact, you won’t stand at all.

So “be careful” means more than not making a stupid mistake in combat, or putting on armor and taking up weapons. Be careful means to stand firm in the faith.

Few people leave faith all at once, as an act of independence or defiance. More people simply drift away, a bit at a time, forgetting what matters, until one day it is gone, they are gone too far away to want to come back. In order for that NOT to happen we have to stay engaged. We have to be careful. We have to take care.

McMannus says, “God does not reject the sinful. He rejects the arrogant.” Being arrogant is the opposite of this passage. It is leaning on self and smarts and skill, not God.

So back to my opening question – Who do you want to be like?

Be like the one who is brave, famous, influential, careful, and who stands firm in the faith.

"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