What Stories Do You Choose?

Last week I rode my bike on the White Rock Creek Trail located northeast of downtown Dallas, Texas. It was my first time to ride this entire trail, and my first time to circle the lake on a bike rather than on foot. After lunch on Friday I parked in the parking lot of Anderson Bonner Park, just south of 635, the northern trailhead, and changed into my cycling kit in the backseat of my Toyota Tacoma. Changing clothes in the car is something of a family identifier for us. Cyndi and I have changed into running gear in the parking lots of some very classy places. However, I must add, changing into cycling bibs and jersey was much harder than running shorts and T-shirt. There were several moments when I could have been arrested had anyone cared to look inside the tinted window.

My usual purpose for squeezing a run (or a ride) into a busy day is to reinforce an old memory. Memory is so fragile, and it changes over time in ways we aren’t aware, so I like to retrace old routes to reestablish the details.

It’s like rebuilding rock cairns on a mountain trail. They deteriorate over time, victims of weather, gravity, and animals, and they must be maintained to remain effective and mark the trail. It is the same with deep personal spiritual experiences. We have to reinforce them, remind ourselves they were real and not our imagination. If we don’t, they will deteriorate just like the rock cairns, victims of time, memory, and spiritual attack.

There are certain trails that I visit again and again, simply to rebuild the memories of a significant insight I had years ago. There are crossroads where I always stop and breathe the air and take in the view simply because God once spoke to me in that exact spot. There is even one trail in Prospect Park in Wheat Ridge Colorado where I once ran to reinforce my understanding of a friend; in this case, it was his spiritual encounter on the trial I was working on, not my own.

Penelope Lively wrote, “The memory that we live with is the moth-eaten version of our own past that each of us carries around, depends on. It is our ID; this is how we know who we are and where we have been.”

As a writer and as a teacher I often worry that I fall back on the same old stores time and time again. Surely I must be boring people in my repetition. Even worse, I find myself telling the same old stores to Cyndi, most often stores of our early days when we first fell in love with each other. And when I read back through old journals I am surprised how often I write about running at White Rock Lake or Lady Bird Trail, or about trips up the same old trails in the Guadalupe Mountains, or even the same stores from my Daily Bible. And, well, here I am, writing about those same things, again.

In his book, What Matters Most, Leonard Sweet wrote, “Just as the kinds of friends we choose decide the kind of person we become and the direction life takes, the stores we relate to most closely structure our identities. Some of the most important choices we make are our companion stories – the stories we choose to live with. It takes only a few basic stories, or what scholars call “deep structures,’ to organize human experiences.”

I suppose that’s why I love to write family stories. The more time I spend in them the more I see God at work in our lives. Each time I forage around in my old stories I reinforce the memory that God has been rescuing us all along.

What about you? What stories have you chosen to live with?

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

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

How Do You Play?

Do you do anything that you consider play? As adults, it’s difficult to find time for playing, but it is critical for long term happiness. I think playing is spiritual, also. So does one of my favorite writers, Leonard Sweet. In his book, The Well-Played Life, he wrote, “Some people fulfill themselves. Some people are full of themselves. Some people are just full of it. Disciples of Jesus are full of Christ. But we are mostly fully Christ when we are at play.”

Of course, it’s possible to play too much so that we ignore all our responsibilities, but that isn’t usually a problem … at least, not for the adults I know. For most of us it’s more likely we don’t play enough.

Today, Thursday, I played at noon. You may have heard reports of a crazy man cycling in the cold and wind on Mockingbird Street. Yes, that was me. I know, it was too cold for cycling, but being the stubborn guy that I am, I went anyway.

Here are the stats: 17.5 miles, 32*F, 23 mph wind from NNE (which means a head wind all the way home). It wasn’t my coldest ride of record. That was the Bike Club time trials in February 2012, when it was 28*F. But 32* is colder than I plan to ride again for a while. At least, until my fingers warm up.

And, I will admit, it wasn’t all about play. The only reason I rode today was so I could write about it. It follows in a long string of things I’ve done just so I could understand them better and write about them.

But that’s not all. Last Saturday I rode 51 miles, the furthest I’ve ridden in five months, and I felt great afterwards. I felt so strong and manly all I’ve wanted to do is get back on my bike and be even manlier.

I didn’t feel very manly riding east into the cold wind today at noon. And it didn’t feel like I was playing. It felt more like I didn’t have a choice but to keep spinning so I could get home and warm up.

However, for me cycling outside is play, no matter how harsh the conditions; cycling indoors on a trainer in a controlled environment is merely working out. One is play, the other is exercise. One feeds my heart and soul, the other strengthens my body.

A few years ago, when Cyndi was still teaching 5-th grade, she was working on a “Meet-the-Faculty” bulletin board in the front hallway of her school. She asked each teacher to list three dreams – as in, three places they dreamed of going someday, or three things they wanted to do, or people they wanted to meet, if time and money were no object.

Cyndi and I love these sorts of exercises. Not only do we get to dream and play together, we learn about each other all over again. But it was surprising to us that some of the teachers wouldn’t play along. They weren’t interested in having three dreams. They gave up dreaming years ago. It’s too bad they’ve forgotten how to play.

In his book This Running Life, Dr. George Sheehan wrote: “I discovered that play is an attitude as well as an action. That action is, of course, essential. Play must be a total activity, a purifying discipline that uses the body with passion and intensity and absorption. Without a playful attitude, work is labor, sex is lust, and religion is rules. But with play, work become craft, sex become love, and religion becomes the freedom to be a child in the kingdom.”

I believe finding time in our busy lives for play is crucial for our spiritual health. It doesn’t have to by cycling or running. It doesn’t have to be sports or games or adventures. It might be reading, or watching movies. It might be wrestling with your kids.

Having play time is one of the ways we leave room in our schedule for God to show up. It’s one of the few times our brains are relaxed enough to enjoy new ideas and hear new insights.

How about you? What do you do for play? How long has it been?

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

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

Having Fun in the Cold

I will admit I’m not always tough enough to ride in the cold wind. In February there are more days when I choose not to ride than when I choose to ride, especially when the temperature is in the 30’s. But around here the cold doesn’t last long; in fact, really cold days are rare, so taking on the weather is not a daily chore but an occasional fun adventure.

Which brings me to last Monday, a holiday, popularly known as President’s Day. It was the perfect day to organize a group bike ride since most of my cycling buddies had the day off and since most of us had already finished our obligatory weekend chores.

The Saturday and Sunday before had been sunny and in the 70’s and suitable for shorts and T-shirts, but when I woke up at 7:30 AM Monday morning I discovered it was 34*. I texted to my fellow cyclists, Cory and Brian: “34* Is morning still good?”

We bounced texts back and forth, none of us wanting to pull the plug on riding in the cold. Finally, I knew it was my duty to make the call since I was the oldest of the group. I texted: “OK. Let’s wait until noon.”

We met at my house at noon in all our cold weather gear. However, by delaying the start 3-1/2 hours we only gained 5* in warmth and now the wind was picking up so it was hard to know if we’d improved our situation. But we didn’t get all dressed up for nothing. We had to ride. And there is the rule of guys: Choose discomfort, even death, over looking bad.

Once we started riding, the cold wasn’t such a big problem. It was the wind. But the wind is always the main problem when cycling in West Texas, since we have no hills to climb. At Monday noon it was blowing from the north and west at 14 mph and increasing. We knew it wouldn’t let up until September.

Just before we left on our ride I saw a post from friend (and half-cousin-in-law) Michael, who said he was going golfing in shorts and a polo shirt, in Seattle. I posted back, “I am going cycling in all my cold-weather gear, in Texas.”

It was a great ride, and a prime reminder of why we do things together like this. We discussed Sunday’s Bible study lesson on prayer, learned of common career backgrounds as youth pastors, shared kid stories, shared a few cycling war stories, and made fun of our cycling friends who missed the ride.

Our northern friends might not consider what we did to be true cold-weather riding, but it was as cold as I plan to ride unless I buy lots more winter gear. Our southern friends might ask why we didn’t exercise inside instead, but, well, for me, riding on a stationary bike or running on a treadmill inside, no matter how bad the weather, is simply exercise ... a workout … it is just work.

But riding or running outside, even in the cold and wind, especially with friends who’ll share the discomfort, is play … an adventure … it’s fun.

And we don’t have to dig out our winter gear very often. If cold weather in Texas lasted for weeks, or for months, riding would lose all semblance of fun. But it doesn’t, so it is.

Later, that Monday night, I read from Christine Carter’s book, The Sweet Spot. “In today’s hyper-busy world, most people don’t rest or rejuvenate much. We don’t allow ourselves the “non-instrumental” activities in life.” Ms. Carter believes that because we don’t schedule fun into our lives we become less effective, less efficient, and grumpier over time.

I wrote in the margin of my book, “Today’s ride was fun, rejuvenating, and it made me happy. I’m feeling more effective and efficient already. I can’t wait to ride together in 100* this summer.

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

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

Telling Stories

The stories my mom told me when I visited her in the Alzheimer’s Unit, they were usually from decades earlier, even back to her days leading girl’s camps in the 1960s. They were the stories her brain ran home to when it was no longer constrained by reason and a rational timeline. It was difficult to keep up in conversation when she moved forward and backward in time, but I was happy that her default stories were about ministry and family. Our stories, like our memories, are the ballast that keeps us from being tossed aside by illness, or toppled over by the resistance, or blown away by winds of fear.

Our stories define us. They communicate our heart. To say let me tell you my stories is to say let me tell you who I am and what I believe and what I think is important and who I love and where I’m headed, and all that. To know my stories is to know me. To know your stories is to know you.

Whenever we try to describe someone, the best way to do it is usually by telling a story. And just this week, while digging through past journals preparing for my next book, I rediscovered a great identity story.

One Monday evening in 2007, Cyndi I attended a jazz performance in Odessa. It was excellent. All four musicians were friends with my brother, Carroll, a phenomenal drummer himself, who lived in Austin at the time. After we got home I emailed him my observations about the music and the musicians. I should have picked up the phone as soon as I sent the email because I knew he would call right away. The first thing he said was, “No way I could read an email like that without phoning.”

We talked a long time about music and Carroll’s respect for the musicians we’d heard, and he told personal stories about knowing and playing with each of them.

I mentioned how Neal, the night’s drummer, played more melody than rhythm. Carroll knew exactly what I meant. He talked about how a drummer will take a long time setting up his kit just right. He’ll adjust and re-adjust drums and cymbals and stool until everything is millimeter perfect. “It’s part ritual, and part striving for excellence; nothing to get in the way of the music.” But he said Neal seemed to have his kit set differently every time he played. “If he backed his pickup against the curb so all his drums flew out on to the stage, he could sit down and play them where they landed and still be the best drummer you ever heard.” Carroll said, “Neal is so far above the rest of us he doesn’t even need drums.”

Now that was a great story. Not only did it tell me a lot about Neal, it also told me something about Carroll … and how Carroll thought of me, that he would tell such a drummer-specific story and expect me to get it.

Well, just this past Sunday night we watched a cool Jeep commercial during the Super Bowl; it featuring wild and beautiful places around the world with “This Land Is Your Land” playing in the background.

I posted: “This commercial moves my heart. With each passing year, I have more and more trouble distinguishing spirituality from geography, sense of place, and home. It all gets mixed up.”

What I meant to add but forgot, what I should have included, was this: But it isn’t enough to go places and see wonders. I want to come back home to my people and tell the story of where I’ve been, and share the lessons God showed me.

Telling the story is something I’ve been compelled to do my whole life. As the Psalmist wrote, “Come and hear, all of you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me.” (Psalm 66:16)

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

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

Letting Go

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

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

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

May I be happy

May I be peaceful

May I be free

May I have the ease of well-being

May I be safe

May I be healthy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May I be accepting; let go of judging

May I be generous; let go of cynicism

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

May I linger; let go of quick success

May I be kind; let go of condemnation

May I give slack; let go of expectation

May I be loyal; let go of grudges

May I be gentle; let go of being right

May I be intentional; let go of careless living

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

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

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

At the Edge of Peace

I don’t consider myself to be an edgy guy. I am not fashion-forward, not an early adopter of technology, I don’t have a quick temper or often do impulsive things, I don’t hang glide or climb frozen waterfalls (not that I wouldn’t take you up on it if you offered), I don’t climb big rock faces or go slack-lining, I don’t have to be the leader in any situation (although I will step in if needed), I don’t dive into political arguments or theological debates on social media. I’m happy to leave all of those edges to someone else. I did have a former pastor who once referred to me as “the edgiest deacon in our church.” I took it as a compliment, but I’ve never been sure what being an edgy Baptist deacon means.

However, there are some edges I am drawn to, over and over. The western escarpment of the Guadalupe Mountains is one. Another is the cliff face known as Wilderness Ridge that overlooks McKittrick Canyon, also in the Guadalupes.

One of my most profound spiritual encounters happened at sunset with my feet dangling over the Wilderness Ridge cliff. I was completely alone, but the solitude felt warm and comfortable, as if God was reminding me to trust Him a little while longer. It was settling, and contented, and peaceful, and full. It was my “still point of the turning world,” moment. (T. S. Elliot)

Henri Nouwen described it well: "In the center of breathless actives, we hear a restful breathing, Surrounded by hours of moving, we find a moment of quiet stillness. In the midst of action there is contemplation. ... Somehow we know that without a quiet place our lives are in danger. "

Peering over the cliff edge also reminded me of Bilbo, from The Hobbit, who hardly thought of himself as an edgy guy until “something Tookish woke up inside of him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.” (J. R. R. Tolkien)

I remember back a few years ago when we were all reading the small book, “The Prayer of Jabez,” by Dr. Bruce Wilkinson, which encouraged us to pray, “Oh that you would bless me indeed and enlarge my territory,” Cyndi told me, “You can’t know how big your territory is until you walk all the way to the edges. You can’t know the extent of God’s blessing until you push out to the fence lines.”

She said, “I wonder how often we settle for a small portion of what God has for us, thinking we have it all, because we stopped exploring too soon. We don’t know where the boundary is until we walk up to the fence. Don’t stop too soon.”

Pushing to the edge of our territory is seldom about peace. It’s usually risky and frightening. As Gandalf told Bilbo, “There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.”

So in 2015, I hope to explore the rare junction of sitting on the edge of peace, living in the moment, and pushing to the edge of adventure, not being afraid. There is mystery in that point, and I want to know more about it.

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

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

I'm Coming With You

Do you ever find it hard to say “Follow me” without feeling arrogant? I’m not perfect; who am I to be the example? As leaders – and all of us are leaders in one capacity or another – we have to get over that fear. Asking people to follow us is an integral aspect of leadership. We can’t change the world unless we understand our own value. Unless we consistently give ourselves away, we are wasting what God has entrusted to us.

I’ve been working on my next book, exploring how to give away what many people invested in me all through my life. I’m hoping the book will help me know the best way to do that in the 21^st Century.

Back in my university days, in the late 1970s, I heard Chuck Madden, one of my spiritual leaders, describe how he was mentored by Leroy Eims (who served with The Navigators for over 50 years). We asked Chuck about the process of being discipled and he said it wasn’t as rigid or structured as we imagined. They lifted weights together every morning, went running, worked on writing books, and like that. There was no structure or step-by-step plan, just the rubbing off of spiritual depth from constant exposure.

Maybe that’s how it really works for all of us; the qualities and depth of people we admire rub off on us. And we rub off on other people.

My writing took me back to a familiar Bible story about Elijah and Elisha. To be honest, I’ve always thought God played a joke on us by sending two powerful prophets back-to-back who almost had the same name. I got these two men confused for years until I realized they served God in alphabetical order – Elijah was first, then Elisha was second.

In 2 Kings 2 we can read about the aging Elijah who knew his ministry was winding down. He made a farewell tour around the country checking in on other prophets and giving his last words. Elisha went with him.

At every stop on the journey, Elijah tried to talk Elisha into staying behind. I can’t tell if Elijah wanted to walk those last steps alone and having Elisha around was bugging him, or if he was graciously giving Elisha a face-saving way to drift away. Or maybe Elijah was checking Elisha’s resolve, as in, how bad do you want to come?

Elijah said, “Stay here; the Lord has sent me to Bethel.”

Elisha replied, “As surely as the Lord lives and as you live, I will not leave you.” This same conversation occurred several times.

It reminded me of what Sam Gamgee said to Frodo Baggins, “I made a promise, Mr. Frodo. A promise. “Don’t you leave him Samwise Gamgee.” And I don’t mean to. I don’t mean to.”

Later, Frodo said, “Go back, Sam. I’m going to Mordor alone.”

Sam said, “Of course you are. And I’m coming with you.” Sam Gamgee was just like Elisha.

I think Elijah knew he had a loyal follower in Elisha, but maybe it was hard to believe someone would stay with him for so long. Elijah spent most of his prophetic career alone, and it probably didn’t seem real that anyone would want to follow him all the way out to the edge of his life.

But Elisha was having none of the “why don’t you stay here” talk. He wanted to stay with Elijah to the very end. In fact, he said to Elijah, “Let me inherit a double portion of your spirit.”

Elijah replied that whether or not that happened was up to God, not him. He couldn’t pick his own successor, only God could do that. It wasn’t his gift to give.

It seems a bit presumptuous for Elisha to say “I want twice what you have,” but I doubt he meant it that way. He was paying honor to Elijah, saying he understood the most important and valuable part of Elijah’s life, and he wanted some of that. A double portion.

As leaders, mentors, teacher, disciplers, or trail guides, we are obligated to give away what has been invested in us, but it often comes as a surprise that people are willing to follow us all the way to the end.

However, investing in people is our call, and we have to stay with it. In his book, The Lost Art of Disciple Making, Leroy Eims referred to Jesus’ prayer in John 17: “I have brought your glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do.” In that same prayer Jesus referred forty times to the men God had entrusted to him. Those men were the work Jesus was so proud of. Eims wrote, “His ministry touched thousands, but He trained twelve men. He gave His life on the cross for millions, but during the three and a half years of His ministry He gave His life uniquely to twelve men.”

I’ve told myself when I’m teaching a large room full of men and women the real audience for that particular lesson is probably only one or two people, not the entire crowd. I do that partly to tamper my own expectations, but more because of what Leroy Eims said, that the real work we have before is the few. It is our opportunity, our obligation, to pour our lives into those few who’ve been entrusted to us by God.

So follow me. Let’s go together.

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

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

Living a Life of Faith

Faith is fundamental to our relationship with God. Hebrews 11:6 says, “Without faith it is impossible to please Him.” Yet, faith is almost impossible to define. There are too many facets to grab all at once. We often pray for more faith, but it isn’t the sort of thing we can measure.

Sara Miles wrote that faith was hardly the miracle she first imagined. It was more like living in a different key, being tuned, as the hymn said, to grace.

Part of living a life of faith means making deliberate choices. We choose to believe in God’s rescue rather than coincidence; we choose to believe in God’s providence rather than accidents; we choose to believe in God.

A life of faith is a life of expectation. Hebrews 11 calls us to emulate the lives of the men and women who leaned into their future in hope and faith.

Faith is not wishful thinking. It is the confident assurance of the reality of God’s promises, and that assurance gives us the ability to carry on with confidence regardless of our present circumstances. (Erwin McManus)

Faith isn’t about having a bigger idea than other people; faith is the conviction of things unseen.

Faith isn’t about speaking something into reality; Faith is joining God in a life bigger than we can even dream.

Faith isn’t the magic ingredient that impresses God; Faith is confidence in God’s character, that He is good, true, and beautiful.

Living a life of faith often means giving up security and certainty, and moving into the unknown life God has for us.

Living a life of faith means not simply letting our life happen, which is the same as giving God our leftovers. Living a life of faith means actively running toward Christ. (Francis Chan)

Living a life of faith means seeing what God sees, seeing the invisible.

Faith grounds us in the certainty of God’s faithfulness; hope pulls us into the mystery of God’s future. (Erwin McManus)

Faith means leaving our search for security in exchange for significance.

God is glorified when you simply live a life of faith, living your life for the right things, whether you succeed or fail.

A life of faith isn’t as much what you expect out of life but what you put into it, not about being entitled, but being engaged.

Faith is confidence in God before you see God emerging, therefore the nature of faith is that it must be tried. (Oswald Chambers)

Living a life of faith means having confidence in God even beyond the horizon.

Faith means interpreting what we see in the light of what we believe.

A life of faith requires maintenance, tinkering, rebirth, and surrender.

Faith is the confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. (Hebrews 11:1)

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

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

Can We Change The World?

On my bookshelf in a small clear plastic box I keep a piece of concrete that my daughter, Katie, brought back from her visit to Germany. She spent 2011-2012 as a Rotary Exchange Student in Odense, Denmark, and at the end of her tour she joined other exchange students from around the world for a quick tour across Europe. Her special gift to me was a piece of the Berlin Wall. I think one of her friends grabbed it from a pile and snuck it in his pocket. Or something like that. A piece of the Berlin Wall is a big deal for someone who grew up during the Cold War. The Wall was the symbol of tyranny and political slavery and injustice. Through the seventies I remember hearing news stories about the possible reunification of Germany, but it never sounded like a good deal for anyone. The assumption was that the combined country would look and feel more like the communist East than the democratic West. Democracy as a system took a beating during those years and it was inconceivable that communist governments would decrease in number.

From today’s perspective the collapse of Communism and the Soviet Union seems inevitable and unavoidable, but no one thought that during the seventies except Ronald Reagan. He forecasted that Communism would someday collapse under its own weight, but few publically agreed with him. At every turn the USA and Jimmy Carter were outfoxed by the USSR and Leonid Brezhnev. Democracies seemed to have outlived their usefulness and were on a worldwide decline.

So the peaceful revolution that changed so many governments in the late 1980s was a huge surprise. Even more shocking was that so many began in church prayer meetings that spilled out into the streets.

This past Sunday morning I read a newspaper story about a man who served in the East German army, Lieutenant Colonel Harold Jaeger. He was in charge of the Berlin Wall border crossing at Bornholmer Street, which on the night of November 9, 1989, was being crowded by about 10,000 people in the streets. They were responding to a vague and premature promise made by an East German government official that the gates would be opened. Colonel Jaeger asked his commanding officers what he should do about all the people who were becoming unruly and shouting, “Open the gate.” His chain of command ignored his questions and told him to solve his own problems.

He said, “At 11:30 PM I ordered my guards to set aside all the controls, raise the barriers and allow all East Berliners to travel through.”

Before the night was over, more than 20,000 people had crossed over. Many of them hugged and kissed the border guards and handed them flowers.

I remember watching the images on television and it was unbelievable. Once the gates opened, they stayed open. The world changed for Berliners that night. It took a while to realize it, but the world changed for all of us, too.

In my writing and teaching I use the phrase “Change the world” often, maybe too much. But I believe individuals acting in courage can literally change the world. Lieutenant Colonel Jaeger didn’t mean to make a permanent political statement that we could read about 25 years later, he was simply trying to prevent thousands of people from getting hurt. He solved the immediate problem in front of him by choosing peace and kindness instead of force and anger, and your life and my life are better today because of him.

As so, is it possible for you and me to do the same thing? I believe it is. But I don’t believe world-changing actions happen when that is the goal. Rather, I believe our greatest opportunities to create permanent change comes when we live our lives in the mercy and grace of God, choosing peace and kindness, making daily decisions that pull us further up and further in to our relationship with God.

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

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Charting the Path Ahead

What made me angry Monday evening was that after I pressed the “start button” on the Strava app on my phone, put the phone in my pocket, and began my run, the app apparently started asking more questions about whether I would like to add some features. As a result, it never started timing. I didn’t know that until I got back from running and there were the silly questions. Which means, I had to get my reading glasses from inside the house to see what the app was asking so I could say “No” again.

So I asked my Facebook friends for recommendations for a different app. What I want is something simple that plots the route on a map (with elevation), records my time, calculates average pace, and then stops. That’s all I want. I would buy the premium version of an app like that if it promised never ask me to upgrade or chose more add-ons. There should be a “Pay $10 to leave me alone” option.

I’ll confess I like to know how far I run. In the old days I measured all my routes with my car odometer, which meant I had to do some creative driving to measure routes down alleys and through parks and drainage ditches.

Through the years I’ve run with two early iterations of GPS watches. The first had a small satellite receiver that I wore on my arm, which was more of a fashion commitment than I cared for. The second looked like an over-sized running wrist watch and worked well except the rechargeable battery often quit before I finished my long slow lumbering runs. And uploading the data to my computer was confusing and unreliable.

I know there are better GPS watches nowadays and they’re easier to use and I would probably be happy with any of them (and I am open to suggestions, by the way), but it’s so easy to carry my phone in my pocket (now that all my running shorts have pockets) and I have the added benefit of having my phone with me in case I need to call Cyndi so she can rescue me from a pack of wolves or an angry hail storm.

One of my longtime friends, Jeff Blackwell, responded to my Facebook question with this: “Go old school..... run to enjoy it...use your muscle memory to set your pace. Electronics (especially cellphones) have ruined the reasons we ran to begin with....to relax and get more in tune with our thoughts and nature. Maybe that is just me.”

Jeff makes great sense, and I can’t argue with his passionate plea. A lot of runners don’t have to record the time and distance of every run (I’m married to a runner who doesn’t), but for me, keeping that log is one of my favorite things about running.

More to the point, charting and graphing is one of my favorite things about life. It’s how I recognize trends and patterns, how I understand numbers, and more importantly, how I interpret the world. I have a notebook in my library full of run logs listing every mile I’ve run since 1978. They include more than numbers. They tell stories of vacations and business trips, races and marathons, and adventure runs in exotic locations. They describe training programs full of optimism and hope.

One of the things I like about myself is that I know I’ve run 36,874 miles as of Wednesday, October 29, 2014. I’m not the only one who knows, either. Psalm 139:3 says God charts the path ahead of me and tells me where to stop and rest. Every moment God knows where I am.

This is great comfort to me because of what it says about the nature and character of God. He cares enough about the details of our lives to chart our paths, and He knows enough about our individual energy levels and recharge demands to know where we should stop and rest. A God who uses charts and maps can be relied upon, it seems to me.

Well, I’m sorry to go on and on about my GPS problems, and some readers are already typing “That’s a first-world problem” into the comment section. But for those who appreciate the granularity of life, details like time and route hint to the bigger story, and log books indicate the future direction of life. Keeping track, charting and graphing, is how I pay attention and I’m not yet ready to give it up.

How about you? What details of life do you track?

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

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