Navigating a Deeper Life

Are you a good navigator? Or are you the sort who gets lost often? My wife, Cyndi, has a much better intuitive sense of direction than I do. I need more than intuition, I need maps. I am a map guy.

Which brings me to an article I read in Backpacker Magazine titled “Navigate Like a Pro.” The article contains tips to keep from getting lost in the wilderness, but their advice is more fundamental than mere backpacking. They tapped into deeper ideas that help us navigate closer to God.

The article, from the May 2015 issue, features advice from Liz Thomas, a long-distance backpacker who holds the women’s unsupported speed record on the Appalachian Trail (80 days). Here’s what she says we need to do to keep from getting lost.

(1) “Keep your mind and body sharp. It’s really hard to navigate if you’re hungry, thirsty, or cold. An unfueled brain is more likely to make poor decisions.”

We all make bad decisions when we’re exhausted. We speak when we shouldn’t, pick fights we should’ve left alone, and repeat the same mistakes over and over. Unfortunately, we live in a time when exhaustion is a point of pride. Too often we plan our days all the way to the edges, leaving no margin for change or adaptation, feeling like lazy slackers when we aren’t constantly busy and rushed.

But according to Dr. Christine Carter, author of “The Sweet Spot,” there is plenty of research to show that people who are able to sustain high performance don’t let themselves get busy. Moreover, their not-busyness makes them much more productive than average. Living full speed, 24/7, reduces our ability to make good decisions and increases the likelihood we’ll get lost.

(2) “Confirm your location on your map often. This sounds obvious, but this is the single best way to prevent wandering off course. I always hike with a map in my hand or in my pocket.”

The biggest and worst mistakes I’ve made in my life have happened when I moved on my own initiative without asking advice. I put too much confidence on my own intelligence and cleverness, took off on tangents, and ended up solving the wrong problem or missing the heart of the business deal. To be effective, to stay on the correct trail, to avoid getting lost, we have to check in often, tag up, ask opinions, show unfinished work to people we respect, listen to feedback, be willing to stop, reevaluate, and adapt.

(3) “Learn to read contour lines. GPS units are great, but you still need to be able to read a map. That means understanding how contour lines represent real-world terrain.”

The problem with using a GPS is you never see the big picture. They are great for taking you to a specific location, but not so great for learning the overall lay of the land, or what you can expect just past the edges of the screen.

Too often we live out our spiritual lives as if using a GPS. We read only books by Christian authors, listen only to Christian music, tune in only to sermons. We get excellent advice and directions for specific problems, but miss the opportunity to know and understand the bigger world that lies just beyond the edges.

In 1 Chronicles 12, the historian makes a list of all the tribes who were lining up behind King David. Verse 32 tells about the tribe of Issachar, who “understood the times and knew what Israel should do.” We want to be people like that. Learning to read the contour lines of our world gives us better knowledge of what to do and where to go.

(4) “Learn the difference between true north and magnetic north. The difference is called declination; it changes over time, and it varies according to your location.”

The best way to stay tuned to true north in life is to read your Bible on a consistent basis. Read it cover-to-cover, over and over. Reading other books is important, but opinions change over time and vary according to location. Keep returning to true north. Keep reading the source code. Stay in your Bible.

(5) “Think like a railroad engineer. When traveling cross country, observe the landscape and choose the path of least resistance.”

Sometimes we make following God too hard. We fret over signs and open doors when God wants us to follow our heart. Often, the path that feels right, is the right path.

(6) “Avoid shortcuts. Not only does cutting switchbacks or taking short cuts cause erosion, but it’s also an easy way to get lost.”

In the Guadalupe Mountains where I do most of my hiking, cutting switchbacks is a good way to lose your footing and slide 3,000’ down to the desert floor. Don’t do it.

When we start to get indications about our calling, we often want to jump before we’re ready. Take your time; let God train you; allow him to build the skillsets in your life; don’t rush ahead taking short cuts. You’ll most likely get lost, and might get hurt.

How about you? Are you a good navigator? Or are you the sort who gets lost often?

“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.

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.

Who Are Your Influences?

“I’m jealous,” said John. “I want your library.” “It’s my favorite room in our house. I spend more time in there than anywhere else.”

I had cleaned it up for the party, but in truth, I like the fact that our library is always full of projects and mail and stacks of books and movies and computers. It may look like clutter, but if you squint your eyes it looks like a vibrant life.

I have been in the process of arranging and rearranging my books for the past year, one of my 2014 goals, but all I’ve done so far is make a mess. Since I keep adding to my collection, organizing is a dynamic target. I can’t decide which shelves should hold which topics, so I end up restacking my piles over and over. Maybe I should break down and use the Dewey Decimal System, or the Library of Congress system? Seems too structured, even for me.

And to be honest, this round of organizing is for my downstairs books only. Our house is full of books. The upstairs books have to fend for themselves. They should be happy they are still in the house and not given to Friends of the Library. At least two bookcases of children’s books in our hallway belong to Cyndi, not me. She has her own organizing project to look forward to.

My conversation with John took place last Friday at our annual Deacon’s Soup Night. I was standing in the front yard greeting guests and reminding them that we’d moved the party from the neighborhood clubhouse to our house across the street. John and his wife arrived before most of the other guests, meaning they had time to explore our house, although I’m not sure he made it past the library.

I could tell right away he was a fellow reader since he didn’t ask, “Have you read all those books?” but rather started immediately into common authors and topics, zooming in to Shaara, McCullough, and Ambrose.

We didn’t get to finish our conversation before Cyndi called me inside to get the party started – apparently the Deacons were getting restless – but I’m sure John and I will pick up where we left off now that we know we have books in common.

I used to worry that I’d read so many books but couldn’t remember specific details from very many. As British author Penelope Lively wrote, “I have emptied each of these into that insatiable vessel, the mind, and they are now lost somewhere within.” I thought I should have a better working memory of what I’d read. What happened to all that information?

But then I decided not to worry about that any more. I realized I don’t read as much for new information as to be influenced by other voices. I would guess the reading for information vs. reading for influence ratio is about 20/80. Again, from Ms. Lively, “A fair amount (of what we read), the significant amount, becomes that essential part of us – what we know and understand and think about above and beyond our own immediate concerns.”

So I pick authors and read all they’ve written, hoping their insights and skills will seep into my subconscious, and maybe someday when I am teaching or writing they will trickle back out.

I read Erwin McManus, Donald Miller, Leonard Sweet, Phillip Yancey, Charles Swindoll, John Ortberg, and C. S. Lewis, to influence how I think about God and shape the way I talk about spiritual things.

I read Sara Miles and Anne Lamott to understand what Christianity looks like through the eyes of someone who lived most of their lives on the opposite side from me.

I read Steven Pressfield, Austin Kleon, Seth Godin, and Jon Acuff to open my eyes and my thoughts, to dream big about writing, and to finish what I start.

I read Calvin Trillin, Roy Blount, David Rakoff, and Mary Roach to remind myself a writer can be funny and entertaining no matter the topic as long as he tells the story well.

I read history and biography to put life in context. I read adventure books to enlarge my vision of what’s possible. I read cycling books to confirm my growing love for the sport and to learn how to write about it better. I read books about running and ultramarathons because I’m not yet ready to give up on those dream.

I’d love to hear who you read. I am always searching for my next influences, and I like reading new voices and young writers. Send me your list.

And feel free to come over and visit my library any time. Maybe you can influence how I go about arranging all these books.

“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.

Finding Community on the Trail

Here it is: I’ve wasted a trip to Austin if I don’t find time to run around Lady Bird Johnson Lake at least once. It’s one of the best urban trails in the world and I love to run there. Moving down that trail makes my heart thump with joy. It isn’t just the dirt trail or the beautiful trees and water that make this particular place so much fun. It’s the hundreds of other people circling the same route: some going clockwise and others counterclockwise, some very fast and others very slow, some with dogs and some with baby strollers, some wearing ancient ragged race T-shirts and some wearing the latest neon-colored outfit, some running in large groups a-buzz with friendly banter and some alone like me, some teenagers and some in their 70s.

Being on the trail with all those like-minded people is energizing. I can run better and further and faster because of them. There are things we can understand about each other, even as total strangers, which would never make sense to our longtime personal friends who don’t run. We are a community even though we’ve never met.

The funny thing is, if I lived in Austin and ran this trail every day, I’d never actually meet most of these people. I’d still run mostly by myself. Yet being around them adds energy to my life because it reminds me I’m not alone in this world. I like knowing there are similar people who have unexplainable goals and weird habits and funny smelly clothes and big stopwatches and GPS mapping aps. Knowing I’m not alone is powerful, comforting, and energizing.

So as I ran, my thoughts were on my next book, the one I’m wrangling with right now. I’m still in the process where I keep rearranging big ideas looking for a pattern. I’ve been intrigued with the phases of or lives – not necessarily phases that philosophers or anthropologists assign to all of us, but the personal phases that show up when we tell our life story. Me, I see three major spiritual phases in my own life.

Phase one, from birth to university, when my faith was actually my parent’s faith. I saw the Gospel through the lens of family.

Phase two lasted from university to about 2004, and it’s centered on spiritual disciplines and structured learning. I understood and interpreted the Gospel through the lens of spiritual practices.

I’m just beginning to understand my third phase, and since it’s ongoing even today, I may learn more in the future and change my interpretation completely. But I call this my community phase, and it begins when I started leading the Iron Men group and I realized how much I needed community in my life.

I thought my most significant contributions would come from what I said or wrote, not from who I was, how I lived, or who I knew. I provided data, not relationships. And I totally underestimated the power of community.

(I have a lot more to write about this phase of life, but I need more time on the trail to work it all out.)

And so, back in Austin, as I finished up my run on the LBJ Trail and hobbled back to my car which I’d parked under the Mopac Bridge, I considered two major dilemmas.

While I love solitude (It’s where I draw energy and where I’m most creative) I also love being with my people (That’s where I grow strong, tell stories, and see God). How do I aim my life at both?

And the second dilemma; while running makes my knees sore and stiff for hours afterward, it also makes my heart happy and feeds my brain. I have to put up with one, to have the other.

To tell the truth, I like dilemmas like those. I hope there are a lot more; that’s where the energy of life is born.

And I hope I have three or four more major phases of life. I can’t wait to see what comes next.

“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.

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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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

Practicing

For the past evenings I’ve been reading Natalie Goldberg, and she always starts me thinking about how I spend my days. I’m especially drawn to her use of the word “practice;” how her life centers on writing practice and spiritual practice. Her daily practices influence everything she does and writes. I’m talking about practice in the sense of daily regular activities done for the purpose of doing them. Not out of rote or mechanical repetition, but knowing there is benefit. For example, maybe you start off practicing piano every day to become a better player, but eventually it becomes part of your identity. You keep practicing because it is who you are.

This makes me ask, “What are my own practices?”

My longest running practice (sorry about the pun) is running.

Friends often ask why I’m determined to keep running on sore knees when there are other exercise choices. I don’t usually have a good answer. It feels pretentious to say running has become a spiritual practice for me, so I keep that answer to myself. Still, it’s true.

I don’t expect other people to get the same benefit from running that I get, and I don’t think badly about them if they don’t become life-long runners. We’re each drawn to different activities, and I don’t expect anyone to be drawn to mine.

Still, I’ve had people tell me they were inspired to run after reading something I wrote. But then they tried it for a while and gave up because it was too hard. I can’t blame them. It is hard.

I started running in June 1978 in order to win the heart of a girl, to lose weight, and get fitter. It was hard work all summer long. In fact, I ran miles and miles, maybe a year to two, before I found any benefit. Certainly before it became fun. I had to push through discomfort and stress in order to find mental release on the other side. It wasn’t quick, it wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

My second-longest practice is reading from my Daily Bible.

I have read through the same copy of The Daily Bible in Chronological Order year after year, almost every day, since 1993. I started because, as a Bible teacher, I wanted to learn more things about God. However, after I few passes through the book my motives evolved - I wanted to change who I was and how I lived so I could love God more.

It became a daily practice for me, a spiritual thin place. It grounds me, brings me back home to my base relationship with God, settles my wandering mind, and keeps me from rambling too far from truth. Just the physical act of doing it is peaceful. In fact, a day feels strange and empty until I have my reading.

The thing about spiritual practices is they’re not easy or fun every single time you do them. Some days are hard and cranky and I have to remind myself there is real value in continuing.

Last week I posted, “Is a hard cranky run when I’m struggling with every step better than no run at all?”

Yes, it is, but it isn’t obvious. Even a bad run slows down my day and anchors me to the present. Nothing settles my brain floaters better.

Practice means going out anyway, whether hot or rainy or cold or snowy or early or late. The regular repetition is as important as each actual mile.

Practice means digging my Daily Bible out of my backpack and squeezing today’s reading into a busy day even when the passage is nothing but a long genealogical list of unpronounceable names. Putting my attention to God’s Word centers me.

So why bother? Surely we have enough on or schedule already without adding more things to do.

Because our heart, soul, and mind are influenced by what we hear, read, and do. If we don’t have daily practices that intentionally bring us toward God, the Enemy will pull us away from God. Over the course of our lifetime, it is our practices that make us who we are.

What are your practices? Sharing them may help someone else who needs grounding in their own spiritual life.

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

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