Rescued again

Last Saturday I lead a group of twenty people to hike Guadalupe Peak. This was a regular spring field trip for our Iron Men Group at First Baptist in Midland. We were joined this trip by the Singles Ministry, also from FBC. It was a good day. Of course, being spring in West Texas, it was windy.

But what happened was that we forgot to fuel up during our routine stop at the Flying J in Pecos. We remembered to buy drinks and breakfast, and go to the bathroom, but didn’t remember to put gas in the tank. The gas gauge actually said full, but we should have suspected it was lying and filled up anyway. We will from now on.

Because what happened next was that once the needle started moving toward empty, it moved quickly. When we arrived at the trailhead in Pine Springs, the gas gauge was in the red.. That was very bad news. We were now a two-hour drive from Pecos, the nearest place to buy gasoline on our way home. We would not make it back.

So Mark and I sent the other eighteen hikers up the trail while we went to find gas. We drove north, slowly, coasting the downhills, and almost made it all the way to White’s City, NM, the “gateway to Carlsbad Caverns National Park.” The bus engine began to cut out within sight of a gas station, and we coasted to the side of the highway, about a quarter of a mile from gasoline. Or so we thought.

As Mark and I walked toward the station we debated whether it was active or abandoned. It looked clean, no weeds, no missing hoses; but there were no vehicles anywhere around it. When we got to the station it was locked and the lights were out. We hoped that maybe it was a credit-card-only unmanned station.

We walked down the street to the grocery store hoping to buy a gas can, but the nice lady behind the counter said, “Not only do we not have any gas cans, we don’t have any gas. We had a huge wind storm on Friday and it knocked out the computers at the gas station. The only guy who can get them started again is in Roswell for training.” Bummer.

So we walked back down to the hotel to see if maybe there would be someone inside who could help. The hotel was attached to an RV Park, and maybe they would have some gas cans for emergencies. They didn’t. The nice man behind the desk said he had “no gas and no gas can, and the only guy who could fix the gas station was in Roswell, and his 90-year-old assistant didn’t know how to fix it and he was tired of hearing about the gas pumps.” The hotel man promised to drive us into Carlsbad if we were still around when he got off work at 3:30 PM. He would’ve driven us right then, but the hotel was operating on a skeleton staff, it being Saturday and all. (I would’ve thought Saturday was a big day for a tourist place, but apparently not). He said the owner was in Baltimore getting hotel training, so there was no one else that could help.

So we went back outside and found three National Park employees wearing bright yellow vests. I guess they were preparing for the traffic rush (even though it was only Saturday). One of them was a Park Ranger, and we told him our sad story. He seemed to sympathize, but he had no solutions to offer. Mark seemingly talked him into giving us a ride into Carlsbad (26 miles one way) to buy a gas can and gas. We crawled into the back of his official Tahoe, behind the Plexiglas barrier and behind his array of weapons, and settled in for a half-hour ride to town.

Only we quickly realized he was planning to give us a ride back to our bus, not to Carlsbad. Why did he think that would be helpful? What was he thinking? So we got out and stood around the bus talking until Mark talked him into giving us a ride back to White’s City. It was kind of weird. He dropped us off in front of the restaurant, gave us the phone number of the Eddy County Dispatcher, and returned to traffic directing duty.

In the restaurant, we told our story to the young lady behind the counter, and she felt so sorry for us she called her boyfriend in Carlsbad to ask him if he would bring some gas if he wasn’t doing anything. He was apparently doing something so he said no.

I phoned the Eddy County Dispatcher and told her our story. She asked, “How did you run out of gas?”

I paused a long time, not sure of the best way to answer that question. I finally said, “Well, no one runs out of gas on purpose.”

She said, “I guess you’re right.” She took my name and number and said a deputy would come to help us. But five minutes later she called and gave me the phone number of a car dealership in Carlsbad that had reliable tow trucks. I guess the deputy might’ve come himself had the bus been full of kids.

I called Phil Carrell Chevrolet, and they gave me the phone number of their tow truck driver. I phoned him, and he told me he would bring us some gas. He phoned me back about ten minutes later to tell me he was on his way with five gallons.

He arrived in a white pickup and poured his five gallons into the bus. We paid him what little cash we had with us. He said he was at a T-ball tournament when I called. His son was playing, and he came to help us between games. How ironic that the person who had the best reason for not helping us was the one who actually did.

So Mark and I drove the bus to Carlsbad where we put 29 gallons in the tank. We then drove back to Pine Springs, arriving just in time to eat a late lunch with the first couple of hikers down the mountain, the Clevenger boys.

Maybe it seems a little odd to be telling this long story when the real heroes of the day were the ones who hiked the eight miles round trip to the top of Guadalupe Peak, but they’re going to have to write their own accounts. I can only tell my own story.

Like the story of God saving the Israelites from the Egyptian chariots at the Red Sea, he never rescues us in the way we expect. You might say that this particular case shouldn’t count as a rescue since the problem was due to a situation of our own making (not gassing up). But most rescues are from our own self-made situations. Last Saturday we needed God’s help to get us out of our dilemma, and he helped us, but not before giving us a story to tell.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

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Traveling clothes

When nephew Kevin first joined us in January 2008, he was only five years old, and he was a very picky eater. And not only was he a picky eater, he was a slow eater. In fact, he was the slowest eater I’d ever shared a table with. He ate so slow it was all Cyndi and I could to stay upright in our chairs while watching him. Sometimes I think Kevin ate slow because he was hoping we’d give up and fix him something else, like macaroni and cheese with ketchup. We eventually convinced him that we weren’t going to change the menu and he could just go to bed hungry if he didn’t like what we were eating. Other times I think he ate so slowly because he was in some sort of Calvin-and-Hobbes fantasy land and he simply forgot to put food in his mouth.

During those early days together, if you happened to eat a meal with Cyndi and Kevin and me, you heard us urging him to hurry up and eat. “We’re not staying here all day,” we said.

It had been my prior experience that few kids needed to be sped up while eating. Most needed to be slowed down. Kevin was the exception in my world.

However, Kevin is now seven years old and he has a year-and-a-half of elementary school cafeteria lunches behind him and he no longer eats so slow. He doesn’t gobble his food like some kids, but at least he eats quickly enough that Cyndi and I can stay awake while we are waiting.

I thought about Kevin last week while reading from Exodus 12:11, about God’s instructions to the Israelite people for eating their Passover meal. It says, “Eat it in haste.” I imagined the parents telling their kids “stop eating so slow, we can’t stay here all day.”

The Living Bible says it like this: “Eat it with your traveling clothes on, prepared for a long journey, wearing your walking shoes and carrying your walking stick in your hands; eat it hurriedly …”

It is ironic that I used to long for days with slow meals. I looked forward to the time when I would be sufficiently grown up enough that I wouldn’t be off-balanced all the time. I would finally get caught up. I could settle into the right job, settle into the right house with the right dog and the right pick-up truck, using my relaxed energies to do creative work and enjoy life. I looked forward to the day “when all this mess would slow down and I could get caught up.”

Well, it hasn’t happened. And if I use past behavior to predict future performance, it won’t happen any time soon. In fact, I will probably never settle. For one thing, the settled life sounds too boring. People living settled lives have little impact on the world around them, and I don’t want to live a life with no impact.

And for another thing – I don’t believe God wants any of us to live settled lives. I believe he wants us living every day like a Passover meal, with our traveling clothes on, prepared for a long journey. He wants us leaning forward ready to follow his lead.

So I kept reading from Exodus, up to the point in the story after they’d been thrown out of Egypt and the chariots were bearing down on them and they were trapped up against the Red Sea. Moses spoke to their fears when he said, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you’ll see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today.” (Exodus 14:13)

It was great advice, and even greater leadership. Like a father of young kids saying, “Don’t be afraid. Stand here at the curb and watch me get your ball for you.”

So how does standing firm work with a life lived in traveling clothes? Should we be moving all the time, or standing and waiting? Well, in Exodus 14:15, the Lord said to Moses, “Tell the Israelites to move on.” No more waiting, time to move.

I wrote in the margin of my Bible: “Is this conflicting advice? “Be still” and “move on” sound like mixed signals. How can we do both?”

I think the answer is to stand still and trust God for the big outcomes, but to move into what we know to do right now. I must learn to wait on God while being ready to move on. Wait for God while wearing my traveling clothes.

Rich Mullins once wrote: “I feel like God’s leading me out, so I’m kind of sleeping with my shoes on. When God parts the sea, I don’t want to say, “Oh rats, where are my sandals.””

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

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Skilled and willing

I was reading from Exodus (chapters 35-36) about the design and construction of the tabernacle in the wilderness. One story that is buried within the tabernacle narrative is how God had all the skilled labor available that he needed to build his place of worship. The writer of Exodus says that God called up “everyone who is willing” and “all who are skilled” to contribute to the construction process.

I wrote in the margin of my Bible: “There seems to be a powerful connection here between man’s willingness and God-given skill.”

Over and over in this story the Bible uses words like “willing” and “skill” and “ability” and “free will.” There doesn’t seem to be any coercion going on, but generous and skilled craftsmen rose to the occasion to make the items exactly as God intended.

Nowadays, when we talk about worship and skills we usually mean singers and preachers and teachers. But the guitar players and TV camera operators and production experts, as well as heating-and-cooling and maintenance and all those skilled positions, worship when they willingly use their God-given skills for the sake of the rest of us.

While God can accomplish anything he desires, there are some things that won’t happen unless we do our jobs. One Thursday morning I held up my yellow paper with my lesson notes on it and said, “As you know, I really enjoy leading classes like this. God has given me some gifts and skills for teaching, but even more, He has given me a heart to do it and a joy from it. But on this piece of paper, this in NOT God’s handwriting. This is my handwriting. I know that anything I have to say of value was given to me by God, yet God didn’t write it on this paper, I did.”

Even God-given skills have to be nurtured and trained. Its as if God has given us a starter set of skills and a heart and mind to use them, and then waits to see what we are willing to do to develop and improve those skills. Having skills as a teacher shouldn’t make you feel privileged or blessed as much as obligated and responsible. How dare we sit back on a skill God has given us and not be willing to improve it.

Sometimes Christian say," All I am trying to do is get out of God's way." I know they use that phrase because they don't want to be arrogant, but the phrase implies that humans are an impediment to God, that we get in his way, we get underfoot. I don't believe that is true. I believe we have to pursue God and pursue the dreams and projects he has given us and work hard, with all our heart.

Another thing: God-given skills can be used for entirely wrong reasons. Earlier in the Exodus story we read about a time when some of the Israelites got anxious because Moses was away on the mountaintop too long. They gathered up donated gold jewelry and made a calf statue to worship. Once again we see both willingness and skill, but used in a way to break relationship with God rather than to build it.

Sometimes it is hard to know the skills we have from God. If they are a natural part of our personality we may be so used to them and comfortable with them we forget how rare they are. For example, Cyndi and Tanya can watch someone lead a dance step or exercise routine once or twice and they are able to repeat it back flawlessly. They can see a routine once and then repeat the mirror-image of it while in front of a full class. Both women are exercise instructors nowadays and I feel I have to speak up for all mortal normal people to remind them that almost no one else can do what they can do. It is so much a part of who they are they naturally assume everyone can do it.

As I get older, I am becoming more choosy about where to give my time and energy. I want to use the skills God has given me and I have little patience working hard at something I’m not good at.

I think we all have skills given by God, even if we have trouble identifying them. Do you know yours?

One good exercise is to make a list of the things people compliment you on. Make a list of those compliments that have stuck with you for a long time … that certain thing someone said ten years ago and you still remember it fondly. The reason you remember some comments for a long time is because they are the ones that speak to your heart and soul. Try to identify the common skills and gifts that link those stories, and train them and improve them. And give them back to God willingly.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

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Running 15 miles

Last week I ran 15 miles, and it was great. At least, it felt great in my heart and mind, if not in my legs. I am training to run the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon the end of April, and successfully completing a 15 mile run was a big landmark.

The temperature that morning was in the 40s, so I wore shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt and gloves. I also wore the Camelback that Katie gave to me for water, and took some of those gel blocks, also from Katie. I had my GPS watch, given to me by Cyndi, which has opened up the routes I am willing to attempt for long runs. I don’t have to worry so much about planning my routes down the exact mile since I can GPS it.

According to my watch, my average pace stayed around 15 mpm, which was embarrassingly slow, but it did include walk breaks. And it was a pace I could maintain for the entire distance. I ran Galloway 6s for two hours, then 5s, and then 4s, to finish the run.

I got really tired and weary the last two miles, but I always feel that way during the last bit of my long runs. Two weeks ago when I ran 13 miles, I also felt weary during the last two. I expect I’ll feel weary next time when I run 18 or so. I guess that’s the point of training, to push the weary miles further and further away.

I do have seven marathon finishes in my log book, so I know what I’m getting into. That doesn’t make the training any easier, but it helps me remember that running long won’t kill me, and that it will all be worth it.

There are certain thresholds in life that change my perceptions about myself. The first one is running for an hour. The next is running for 10 miles. If I run 10 miles on a regular basis it makes me feel strong and invincible. Running 15 miles is another threshold. I guess the next is 20 miles. There is something magical about a 20-mile training run; it puts you in rarified air, up in the high country.

And now Chad and I have been toying with the idea of running an ultramarathon this fall. We haven’t picked the race yet, but in general an ultramarathon is any race 30 miles or further. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m even committing to this on paper. Why would I consider running an ultramarathon when I couldn’t run more than an hour just last year? And even now I’m so slow I am afraid I’ll someday just topple over. I am thinking ultramarathon thoughts because running 15 miles has given me hope, and hope is a mighty thing. Hope can overcome discomfort and reinforce dreams.

In fact, running an ultra is something I’ve wanted to do ever since I first learned about them, back in 1980. But I was never fit enough, or worse, never brave enough. Now that my friend Chad has called me out, I have to take it more seriously.

Personally, I’ve always thought of running to be more of a survival exercise than a sport. I like the idea of running long races and running in the mountains. Since I’m not a fast runner I might as well enter races that defy death. That’s why I’ve always wanted to run Pike’s Peak, and I hope to someday run ultras.

I recently played a game where you try to describe your life in exactly six words. My attempt to describe my life, looking both backward and forward, was, “Miles To Go Before I Sleep.” I hope I can stay healthy enough to keep running the long miles. I hope I have lots more threshold runs to conquer.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

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All I need

One of my favorite worship songs is “Draw Me Close," as sung by the Katinas on Michael W. Smith’s “Exodus” CD. God has used that song on multiple occasions to ambush me and penetrate my hardened interior and speak directly into my heart. The lyric that speaks to me most often is: “You’re all I want, You’re all I’ve ever needed.” The idea that God can be absolutely all I need, that he and I can work it all out, feels good to me. That theology feeds me.

But one evening recently as I was walking Lady The Labrador around the pond it occurred to me that, while it’s correct to sing, "You're all I need,” it isn't exactly accurate. I need more. I need other people. I need you.

My basic run-back-home personality is that of a loner. I like to take care of myself, and I like to do things for myself. I don't want a lot of special attention and I don't want to be tucked-in when I’m sick. I actually look forward to opportunities to be by myself, and if I know I’ll have long stretches of solitude coming up I’ll plan ahead the best way to use my time.

It is not unusual for me to spend an entire day speaking to no one between the time I say goodbye to Cyndi in the morning and the time I say hello to Cyndi in the evening except the person who takes my money for lunch. I’m not complaining about that, I’m bragging.

l guess my aloneness goes way back. I was an only child for the first twelve years of my life, and I played by myself more than with friends. I had no cousins that were my own age, and even my cousins who were nearly my age were all girls, and who knew how to play with girls. Not me. My small family and lack of siblings fed that part of my personality that wanted to be alone.

So it was natural, I believe, for me to develop a theology centered on personal discipleship and contemplation and meditation and reading and writing. Me and God, we were all I needed. Unfortunately, just me and God was too small. On my own I never got a clear picture of who God really was.

For example, if I hadn't found Cyndi I would never have known the spontaneous and creative nature of God. All I would’ve known would be the analytical predictable linear nature of God. I would’ve missed the adventure of change. I might’ve missed the joy of living through my heart. Left on my own, I would have too small a lens through which to know and understand all of God.

If I’d never met my friend from the Walk to Emmaus team who spent his pre-Jesus years in and out of jail and who once gave this testimony, "I’ve lived a crappy life," cleaning up his language because we were in a church, if I’d never met him I wouldn’t understand the biggest part of grace. For me, grace meant growing up knowing I was loved every day of my life. I was confident that I was saved by God's grace in spite of my shortcomings, but my shortcomings were not about jail and did not constitute a crappy life. What a shallow picture of grace I would’ve had, and what a small picture of God, if all I knew was my own story.

And what about my friend, Paul, who spends his days looking for ways to serve other people? I need him in my life to understand the servant nature of God. I am a pretty good servant if you’re careful what you ask me to do. I’m generous with my time and talents and energy and money, but I have a narrow range of interest. You will find it hard to get my attention, much less any service, outside that range. But because I have friends who consistently serve in far-reaching capacities, I understand the breadth and depth of God so much better. What a small picture of servanthood, or of God, I'd have on my own.

So on my walk around the pond I knew the song was correct, maybe God was all that I needed. But being a narrow-viewed human who has trouble seeing beyond his own tiny world, I also understood my need people for like you to help me know who God really is. Maybe the rest of that lyric - “You’re all I want, help me know You are near,” – is the key. God helps me to know him by providing examples around me.

Ephesians 3:18 says, “And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.” Thanks for helping me with that.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/

Holding babies

The first memory I have of holding a newborn baby was in the nursery at First Baptist Church in Brownfield, Texas. I don’t recall holding any babies before that. I guess I might’ve held my brother when he was born but I don’t remember it if I did, and there are no photos to document the occasion. I was twelve years old when he was born and probably not especially drawn to baby care. I suppose I wasn’t that trustworthy, either. But in 1980 the church nursery workers in Brownfield invited us to visit the baby room for a handful of Sundays before Byron was born, and it was a great gift. By the time we had our own baby I wasn’t so nervous or scared of breaking him, and I knew a couple of tips for calming a screamer. I even had some time logged into the rocking chair. That program was a big help.

Nowadays Cyndi and I teach in an adult Bible study class at our church that’s made up of young couples recently married. And they are having babies right and left. I’ve had the opportunity to hold a couple of those babies, but not as many as I want. I usually have to wait in line for my turn.

So, of course, the reason I’m writing about this is because I just had a brief turn holding the newest newborn in our family, Madeleine Atchley Noss (to be known as Madden), born to our daughter Katie and her husband Drew, Wednesday morning about 9:15 AM. Holding her was pretty easy. Madden only weighs six pounds or so, and she slept the entire time, so I didn’t have to use any secret skills to keep her happy.

Knowing she was coming has set me to thinking about my new role in life as a grandfather. To help me understand this role I dug out a copy of my Grandmother’s book (she and I wrote it together), and I reread the forward I wrote for it:

“I am a follower of Christ today, in part, because my grandparents walked with God 60 years ago. When God blessed them and gave them direction, he was blessing me and directing my life as well. When God sent generous people into their paths to provide a college education or meals for a young minister’s family, he was providing for me and my family so that we could know the Lord when our turn came. Like the Israelites in the Old Testament, my family can be defined as the family that God has rescued and blessed.

My friend, Charlie Dodd, once said that his heroes in life are teenagers and adults who go about their life quietly living for God, doing the right things, day by day. That describes my grandparents. They were people trying to do the right thing and follow God day by day. And because they did, I can enjoy a walk with God today. Maybe I would’ve found Jesus on my own had I not been raised by this powerful family, but I’m glad I didn’t have to do it that way. I had a long and wide line of people showing me the way. I count myself fortunate to have had four grandparents (Roy & Pauline Haynes, and Cy & Dulcie Simpson), to parents (Deane & Lenelle Simpson), and many aunts and uncles and cousins who follow God every day. Not only that, but when Cyndi and I got married, I gained another entire family who do the same.

I cannot take inventory of my own spiritual life today without realizing the debt I owe my parents and grandparents. My family tree consists of row after row of people walking with God and preparing my path, and it gives me confidence when raising our own children. Cyndi and I are not in this alone, we have a long history behind us.”

I thought about all of that this week knowing my turn to move up a branch on the family tree was imminent. I’ve been looking forward to it, looking forward to the obligation and responsibility. It’s time to step up.

Whenever any of us has a role as leader or teacher we have an obligation to those in our circle of influence to walk with God and publically live out the life he’s given us. But since those relationships are voluntary, those in our circle can walk away at any time. The pressure to live up to our obligations is less.

But family is different. Babies are stuck with the family they fall in to. It is up to us to rise to the occasion, just like my parents and grandparents did, and live lives of honor and grace and gratitude. Holding Madden this afternoon was another call to action for me. I am looking forward to my turn.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/

Blue Creek Trail

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

I checked in at the Persimmon Gap entrance to Big Bend National Park and paid my $20 vehicle fee, then drove to the main ranger station at Panther Junction to get my back-country permit. They completed a solo hiker form, which included all my details, my vehicle, my gear and pack and boots, and food and water. A cute young curly-haired ranger took photos of me: one of me from the front, one of my boot print, and one of me wearing my backpack. She got down on her knees to take the photo of the sole of my boot, and the other rangers joked that she was the only one young enough to get down that close to the floor. I told them “my wife will be very happy to know that you are taking such great care of me.”

Following all that paperwork and stuff, I drove to the Homer Wilson Ranch House, on the road to Castolon, where I parked my pickup at the trailhead and loaded up my gear. I hiked about a mile up the Blue Creek Trail until I found a good camping spot, up above any potential water flow. It made me nervous that my spot straddled a game trail. I just hoped all the scary animals were hibernating since it would be too hard to find another clear spot without rocks or ocotillo or catclaw.

Once I stopped moving and the sun dropped I got cold, so by 6:30 I was already into my sleeping bag. I slept with a stocking cap pulled down over my ears and gloves on my hands. I was cozy.

My new gear for this trip: Black Diamond trekking poles, Big Agnes 2”-thick air mattress, Keen Voyageur hiking boots, smart-wool socks, RailRiders Versa-Tac pants, and waterproof stuff bag for my sleeping bag (I lost the original bag on the Pecos Wilderness trip).

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I was surprisingly comfortable all night; sleeping much warmer than I expected. My new air mattress was cushy and warm. It started raining about 6:45 AM, and it continued raining on-and-off all morning. But I finally had to go outside to take care of personal business. I couldn’t wait any longer.

Outside, there was no evidence of rain save the cloudy sky. No dampness on the ground or on the plants. The desert drank it up immediately, as if sucking it directly out of the air before it had a chance to make contact. The only evidence of rain were the water drops on the roof of my tent.

During the next lull in the rain I got dressed and ready to move. I hiked at a leisurely pace northwest up the Blue Creek Trail toward the Chisos Basin. My goal was the Laguna Meadow Trail and I was hoping to get a big sweeping view from up on top. However, after an hour the clouds started sprinkling again, which soon turned into rain, which eventually turned into sleet.

Soon I was as wet on the inside of my rain jacket as on the outside, and feeling very cold. I sat down under a big oak tree to eat a Cliff Bar and hope for a break in the weather, but it just got worse. I thought to myself, I need better rain gear. I finally gave up, turned around, and started back toward my camp.

Once I got back to camp I still had plenty of daylight left, so I read Edward Abbey (Desert Solitaire) and wrote in my journal. And I read from my Daily Bible about Balaam. The introduction said something interesting: “Balaam obviously knows God’s will, but he is so intrigued by the possibility of wealth that he hopes God will change his mind.”

I often worry about that sort of thing – am I praying for God’s will, or for God’s endorsement of my own will.

At 6:30 I finally went back outside to eat a sausage-and-cheese sandwich and drink a Jet Boil of coffee. It was still cold outside, but the quiet and stillness was pleasant.

Friday, February 12, 2010

It was bright and clear. I had hoped the sun would hit my tent to warm everything before I started packing, but I didn’t wait for it. It was a good thing I didn’t wait. I didn’t encounter direct sunlight until I’d walked half-way out of the canyon.

Later, over lunch at Ft. Stockton, I read from my Daily Bible, Deuteronomy 4, when Moses said, “If you seek the Lord your God, you will find him if you look for him with all your heart and with all your soul.”

I pause every time I read that phrase because it makes me happy. All over the world, all through history, people have gone to great lengths to find God. They make pilgrimages, get instructions from wise leaders, read books, study ancient wisdom, learn new insights, travel to holy places, to find God. I do all of that, too. Yet God promised that if we seek him we can find him. It isn’t a puzzle or a secret code or a mystical insight available only to the enlightened elite; God is there for all who seek him. I believe the important word is “seek.” While I believe God is everywhere, he isn’t knowable unless we seek him out.

I admit I don’t know what all that entails. I don’t know how to seek with ALL my heart and ALL my soul. I am such a cautious reserved person I don’t know how to commit ALL my forces, ALL my energy, ALL my talent, ALL my heart and soul to anything. But one thing I do know about seeking God is that it demands intentionality on our part. We have to seek him on purpose. I can at least do that much.

Which brings me back to my backpacking trip. I have learned that I seek God best when my feet are moving, whether running down the road or hiking down the trail. So I will keep going back to the road and trail as long as my knees and feet and heart will let me.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/

Scanning memories

Monday night, after a crushing Body Pump class at Gold’s Gym, and after an excellent dinner of tilapia with green beans and Himalayan rice, all cooked by my sister-in-law, Tanya, I set up my camp in what passes as a hallway in our house. That is, at the drop-off counter near the coat rack where we keep our home computer, near our combination printer/scanner. I had a 3” stack of old photos to scan. The oldest were Polaroid snapshots of Cyndi and me with newborn Byron at the hospital in Lubbock in September 1980.

I worked for a couple of hours, eventually scanning 132 pictures. I scanned a photo of 5-year-old Byron with a black eye, his remaining injury only a few days after he was hit by a car while riding his bicycle. I scanned pictures of toddler Byron holding newborn Katie in his small lap. She weighed almost as much as he did that day. I scanned photos of both kids in their LHS band uniforms holding trombones, both kids on family ski trips, and lots of photos of kids on horseback at the Tramperos Ranch in northeast New Mexico. I scanned vacation pictures and holiday pictures and school pictures and running pictures and piano recital pictures. I scanned photos of Katie running cross-country and track.

In fact, I have been scanning photos for months preparing to publish a collection of family albums. In a digital world there is no excuse for not sharing pictures and preserving pictures. My problem is that when I think I am ready to start assembling an album I find another box of old pictures. Then I am back to scanning.

My other problem is that there are too many choices. Back in the old analog photo album days you just put your pictures on a page in chronological order and you were happy about it. Now, with digital photos, it is possible to mix and match and arrange and rearrange pictures in an infinite number of ways, which means, for an analytical thinker like me, it is hard to decide which is best. There are too many choices.

Should I make a separate album with photos of each family member? Should I make albums chronologically? Should I make an album of  vacations, or holidays, or school?

I know a lot of people love scrapbooking and they produce creative and imaginative albums. But I am not going to do that. I just want pictures on a page without a lot of rickrack.

One cool thing about old pictures is that we are smiling and happy in all of them. Well, there are a few crying baby shots, but those are exceptions. Ninety percent of the pictures show happy people.

It reminds me of a runner who only keeps track of his personal records (we call them PRs) and not his worst races. After a lifetime of racing the only numbers that matter are those PRs. Who cares about all the slow times, the hurt times, the sick times. We want to remember only the best times.

And so with the family pictures I’ve been scanning. Back in the days of paying money to buy film and paying money to have it developed, we were choosy about what we captured with our cameras. We didn’t snap off indiscriminate or temporary photos like we do nowadays with digital cameras or phones. So the pictures I am scanning, the ones from the old shoe boxes, are mementos of our best moments. We are smiling and strong and happy to be with each other.

It isn’t that I am ignoring the bad times or the struggles. I am not pretending they didn’t exist. Neither do I pretend I was never injured as a runner, or failed at a goal, or any of that. It’s just that I am choosing to preserve the happiest moments. In fact, I know not all of our family life was smiles and sunshine. We had plenty of battles and hurt feelings and offended hearts and skinned knees. But those fade away into the fog of the past as we remember our family PRs.

Maybe that’s what the Apostle Paul meant when he said he didn’t consider the sufferings of his life to be worthy to be compared to the glory that awaited him after his death. At the end of Paul’s life he didn’t dwell as much on the times he was beaten for preaching the gospel as he did on the people who had changed because of his ministry. Me too. I have been reminded once again of the fun ride we had together, and how all of us have changed.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/

The Path

Last year I read Wild Goose Chase by Mark Batterson, and one of his recommendations was to write out a list of life goals. In the book he shared his own personal list, and I used it to help me write my own. One of his life goals was to publish 25 books. When I read that number, 25, I knew it was my goal, too.

Writing has been one of my goals for a long time. I have been publishing this weekly journal since 1998, writing for newsletters since the 1980s, and dreaming of publishing a book for even longer. But as soon as I embraced the goal to publish 25 books, it changed everything. Even as I typed it into my list I could feel my vision of myself changing. That simple goal put me on an entirely different path of life. I moved away from my previous path of “I hope I can be published someday” to a new path of “I have to make it happen right now.” After all, since I am 53 years old, publishing 25 books means I cannot wait to see how #1 sells before starting #2.

Not only did my new goal put me on a path of urgency, it also removed some of the pressure of success. I don’t expect all 25 books to be successful. In fact, if only one is successful I will be very happy. But I can’t know which book might be my best ahead of time, so I’ll just have to keep writing and hoping.

But now it’s a year later and another bit of wisdom has entered the equation. I am teaching a book by Andy Stanley titled Principle of the Path, and reading it has made me a little nervous. I wonder if I’m on the right path.

What’s the difference between following the call of God on a wild adventure with the Holy Spirit (such as publishing 25 books) and risking sending my family to the poorhouse while chasing a lame dream (such as selling none of those books)? That is the question I asked myself one morning while in the shower. Am I living by faith, or living in fantasy.

A few years back I described my passion to friends Wes and Paul and they invited me to join them in investments that have made it possible for me to spend more time writing. Another friend, Brent, gave me a place to sit, an office, a home space, which helped make it seem more real. But passion alone does not equal success. What makes me think I might have a future as a writer? I don’t know.

I can’t ignore the basic truth of book publishing. In America, 79% of books sell fewer than 100 copies, while only 2% sell more than 5,000 copies. The average book in America sells only about 500 copies. I have to ask myself, is this a good path to be on? I don’t know, and that’s what makes me nervous.

But the desire to write and to be read by others is a burning in my heart that I don’t want to ignore. While I know that pursuing a career in oil and gas is a respectable life and most of my closest friends have chosen that path, it isn’t what makes me come alive. I want to change the world around me. I want to leave a wide wake of changed lives, of people living closer to God, of couples loving each other more, and like that.

Not only is writing in my heart, on more than one occasion I’ve heard specific words from God about my calling to be a leader and teacher and writer; they have been clear and unmistakable. As Captain Bart Mancuso said, “My orders are specific, Mr. Ryan,” my call from God has been specific. Still, I understand fully that the call to write is not a promise of success.

Just after Christmas, Cyndi and I attended a funeral for a friend’s husband who was killed suddenly in a head-on auto collision while driving home from Lubbock. Funerals always cause me to evaluate my life and my motives, especially when the death was as sudden as a car wreck. As I sat beside Cyndi, holding her hand, I scribbled in the margin of my program, using my left hand: “Earning a living is a worthy goal and a noble motivation, but my heart needs more. I want to change the world around me. My circle of influence is bigger as a teacher, and even bigger as a writer, that as an engineer.”

So maybe my first book won’t be the one that sells. Maybe my second book, or third, or fourth won’t sell either. Maybe none of them will ever sell 500 copies. Am I OK with that? Is that enough to satisfy my heart? Am I on the right path with my life?

Don’t get me wrong. I am very excited to be working on books, and I have big dreams for the future. But I still wonder if I am putting my energy into the best thing. At least for now, I will keep moving forward. My moment of opportunity is open now, and I feel I have to walk out this particular path to see where it goes.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/

On the treadmill

OK I will admit it. I ran on a treadmill on Monday.

How many times have I looked with pity at the unimaginative runners trapped on a treadmill and sequestered in a dark gym as I walked past them on my way to run outside in the weather? Too many. And so, now, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that on a day when the skies were blue and the sun was shining and wind non-existent and temperature in mid-60s, I spent the noon hour inside on a treadmill. What gives, you might ask, and well you should.

I wasn’t inside for comfort or safety. I ran inside for accountability and predictability. All the miles of running by myself over the past 30 years have left me a terrible judge of pace. By that I mean they have left me slow.

One reason I like running so much is for the time alone on my feet. But while that’s good for contemplation and meditation, it isn’t good for maintaining a meaningful pace. My friend, Fred, once told me, “Run alone, run slow.” He always trains with other runners. He is also much faster than me.

So I ran on the treadmill last Monday so I couldn’t cheat the pace. The treadmill kept going at whatever pace I told it no matter how I felt. It didn’t matter if my legs and head thought they were running six minute miles; if the treadmill said they were actually ten minute miles, well, the treadmill was correct.

Loners like me are easy to entertain and usually easy to please, but we have to design accountability into our lives. One reason we like to be alone is because when we’re alone we don’t have to please anyone else or measure up to their standards. Maybe we claim we don’t need other people to be complete human beings (which is incorrect, by the way), and we are living up to our own standards which are higher standards than that of the teeming crowd, but in fact being alone all the time makes it too easy to cheat. We need accountability. And we need help seeing the bigger world.

So on the treadmill I listened to my currently favorite podcast, Radiolab, from radio station WNYC. I like listening to voices that are smarter than me, so I might be pulled in their direction, and this is certainly one of those.

Radiolab is a science show that goes into great detail about specific and often obscure topics, but it isn’t like any other science show I’ve ever heard. It also isn’t as nerdy as that description. I like to listen to it even when I’m not that interested in a particular topic because their presentation is always so creative and entertaining.

But the real reason I like to listen to Radiolab is because it opens my eyes. It’s a reminder that life is bigger than I thought, bolder and deeper than I thought, that there is more to life than meets the eye. I love things that open up the world, enlarge my view, and open up the window to a spacious view by pulling back the curtains.

So from now on when I see the other treadmill runners at the gym I will assume they are working on their pace and widening their view. I’ll probably give it another try next week.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/