Journal Entry 042910: Marathon diary

Sunday, April 25, 2010, 5:30 AM ...In the Bricktown Residence Inn for the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon; we were suited up, had applied preemptive band-aids, and were psyched to run. Cyndi was doing the half-marathon out of deference to a newly sore knee; i was running the marathon because it had been so long since my last one.

6:30 AM … At the race start with thousands of runners. I wasn’t nervous aboutgoing the distance even though this was my first marathon attempt since 2003, but I was nervous about taking so long to finish that Cyndi would get tired of waiting for me. My longest training run was a 19-miler, 4 weeks prior. However, I woke up that morning with a fever called Comeback Trail. I was ready to get started. Like it says in Psalms 19:5, “a champion rejoicing to run his course.”

8:00 AM … It was nothing but head wind and uphill from mile 9 all the way to the turnaround at Lake Hefner, about mile 14. It was a huge relief to finally turn my back to the wind and start back toward town. Unfortunately, downhills and tailwinds never give back as much as uphills and headwinds take.

11:00 AM … I phoned Cyndi at mile 20 to tell her where I was and that I wouldn’t finish before the hotel check-out time. She knew that, already.

I was surprised that the marathon offered pretzels at every aid station. It was apparently important since they used 5 or 6 volunteers to do this at every opportunity. I passed on the pretzels. They didn’t look that appetizing to me. I also passed on the GU packets. I had been chewing on Gel Blocks, and GU would’ve been too much shock to my belly.

I drank one PowerAid mixed with one water at every aid station, and it turned out to be just right. I never felt dehydrated and never had to make a pit stop.

12:00 AM … I hit the wall at mile 24, but managed to keep my run/walk pattern for another mile. Then, at mile 25, I was done. It was all I could do to walk in from there.

I took a personal inventory. My knees didn’t hurt worse that they did at mile 5, my feet had blisters but they weren’t getting worse, my hips didn’t hurt at all and that is usually one of my biggest concerns. So my only reason to quit was mental fatigue, which was indefensible, and my general lack of energy. But I knew that the human brain lies to itself claiming to be exhausted when it actually has a lot left (an evolutionary thing, so there will be a reserve of energy available when a lion comes over the horizon), so I assumed the tiredness I felt was not an accurate picture. I just kept going.

About mile 26 I saw Cyndi patiently waiting for me (she had finished her race hours before). I also saw the finish line. There aren’t many things that look better than a finish line; unless it is my smiling wife standing alongside. I wanted to finish the day running instead of walking so I tried to start back up, only to stumble and almost fall to the pavement from deep cramps in both calves. That was weird and unpredictable. But after a few baby steps I managed to get both feet off the ground into a peg-legged run across the line.

12:38 AM … I finished in a painfully slow 6:08, definitely my slowest marathon, ever, by at least 40 minutes. But still, it was a great race. The volunteers and enthusiasm and aid stations and music were great. Many of the neighborhoods we ran through hosted yard parties and they hollered and cheered as we ran past. And downtown OKC was beautiful and fun.

1:00 PM … We left for home soon after I exited the finish chute. Since Cyndi had checked out of the hotel before I finished, I changed clothes in a gas station men's room on the way to the airport. I left my running socks on, though. I knew my feet had been massacred and I was afraid they would hurt worse if I looked at them. So I didn’t. I left my socks on until bedtime.

I had worked too hard not to strut a little, I so I decided to wear something marathony. The official race packet T-shirt was plain white cotton (I'll save it for our marathon quilt), but the finisher shirt was dark green and made of technical fabrics. Very nice. I wore it home, and it was fun to see other green finisher shirts scattered around the airport. Marathoners would nod their heads in approval and wave from 100' away, an instant camaraderie between us. It’s funny how you can have more in common with someone you've never met than someone you might work with for years, simply because they have a finisher shirt on,

Monday morning: next-day ... I felt surprisingly good.  While walking Lady around the park I realized that I was no more sore than if I'd hiked Guadalupe Peak over the weekend, and that was an acceptable level of discomfort. Of course, it could’ve been the four Advil I’d taken that morning. My toes were a mess, but a few Band-Aids and a few days off would take care of that.

I’d experienced no structural problems, by which I mean my knees still worked, my ankles and feet were fine (I got several significant blisters on my toes, but I think that was due mostly to the weird effects of aging, and I was certain I could prevent that in the future). My only limitations were mental toughness (always a risky thing to count on) and conditioning (something I can work on). Conclusions? I can and will, do this again.

I really enjoyed this marathon. It was a risky choice to run so late in the year. I think this is probably the last race of the season without going to Minnesota, but they scheduled this race to coincide with the bombing of April 1995. I was amazed how the citizens of OKC have turned that great tragedy into energy. I lost count how many times a race volunteer or course marshal said to me as I was passing by, “Thanks for coming; thanks for helping us remember.” It made me proud to be part of their memorial observance.

This was my 8^th marathon finish, and while that’s a lot compared to the general population, it’s not so many among marathon runners. However, it wasn’t so long ago that I thought my marathon days were behind me due to a nagging left knee injury that left me limping most of the time. I was sad about that. Not sad that I was injured, but sad that I hadn’t run more when I had the chance. Now I hope to take advantage of this second opportunity.

To be honest, I don’t believe everyone has to run marathons, or run at all, for that matter. If you do, it will add value to your life … physical value, fitness value, health value, mental value, and spiritual value. Finishing a marathon is transformational. It changes you.

However, if not running marathons, all of us should do something that adds energy to our lives, something that makes our heart come alive. Peter Drucker once said, “Nothing good happens by chance; left on its own, most things unravel.” If we aren’t intentional about feeding our spirit and watching over our heart, we will unravel. This marathon was another intentional effort on my part to feed my heart. I wish I had run faster, but comeback trails are long and slow. But they are satisfying and full of hope.

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

Stories of life

I just read a quick book titled: “It all Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs.” I first heard the editors taking about the book on NPR a few weeks ago, and then I saw it at the small bookstore in Alpine, so I bought it. The premise behind the book began with an apocryphal story about Ernest Hemingway who supposedly responded to a bar bet to write a novel in only six words with this: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” No one knows if the story is true, but those six words certainly tell a story.

So the editors of Smith Magazine asked people to tell the true story of their own lives in six words and over 250,000 six-word memoirs have been submitted. The book I read is the third collection they’ve published.

I read all the six-word memoirs in the book and I was surprised how revealing they were. Some caught my breath at the implications. For example, Peter Loux submitted, “Army or jail? I chose wrong.” Not only do we know he got into some sort of trouble that left him with an unfortunate choice, but we don’t know which (wrong) choice he made. There is clearly much more to this story.

Abbe Shapiro wrote, “Expected forever. Have restraining order instead.” In two phrases his story went from hope to despair. His life is not what he expected.

Jill Steinmetz wrote, “Will finish novel after grading papers.” I know too many stories that are just like that: I will own my own studio after grading papers, or I will record my CD after grading papers, or I will publish my book after oil and gas, or I will pay attention to my family after I am successful.

I was intrigued by Melissa Maxwell’s submission: “Tattoos made my skin more ‘me.’” Having no desire to customize my own skin I have never understood the need or desire of other people to make permanent alterations to themselves. I am more likely to remove labels and paint over logos or make name-brand stuff look incognito and generic than I am to mark it up to get attention. It never occurred to me that an alteration could seem more authentic to someone.

A woman named Clare Hobba submitted this memoir: “Unraveled career, re-knitted as baby blankets.” I thought that was a good description of a journey from a hopeless situation – broken career – to one full of hope.

And Tammy Ray Wilson wrote, “Dancing naked in my empty nest.” I asked Cyndi if she was using Tammy Ray Wilson as a pseudonym and she denied it, but I’m not so sure.

Some of the submissions were very clever. The Amazing Kreskin (a presumptive first name, if you ask me) wrote, “Now, I know what you’re thinking.” And this by Caitlin O’Conner, “I have finally learned cliffhangers are …”

I will admit, a couple of the submissions made me stop and reevaluate my own story. Aaron Renier wrote, “Off in my own little world.” That, to be honest, is my fear of fears. It’s what wakes me up at night and what often shuts me down before I begin. I don’t really believe it logically, but in my heart the enemy’s attack comes in the form of the fear that I am off teaching and writing in my own little trivial world and that people are just putting up with me because I am occasionally funny. But then someone like Mark reminds me to “turn around and look at how full this bus is; people want to go wherever you go.” Thanks, Mark, I need that.

Another six-word memoir that I hope to avoid was by Kirstin Pesula-McEarchern: “Author of so many unwritten books.” I wrote in the margin, “Please, not me.” I want to write and publish them all, whether or not anyone reads them. I hope my last submission is in process the day I die.

So, Sunday night I sat across a table from Cyndi, at Rosa’s, of course, and read my favorite entries from the book. I also showed her my own attempts at telling my true story in six words.

I showed her this one: “Wanderer, student, introspective, lover, dreamer, loyal.” Cyndi said, “That’s just a string of descriptive words; it isn’t a story.” She was correct, of course, which caused me to scratch off three of my other attempts which seemed to be word strings as well.

I said, how about this: “Love a dancer, now I dance.” She knew I was talking about her influence on my life and she liked that part, but said, “Thanks, but your story is bigger than that.”

OK, how about this one: “Always leaning forward into the future.” She thought that one was better, but still more of a goal than a story. She wanted to hear my favorite. She’s been through this sort of thing with me before and she knew I was holding back my best idea. I read: “Miles to go before I sleep.” That was her favorite, as well. “Your story is, that your story isn’t over, and you have many miles to go yet.” Good girl; no wonder I love her so much. I have a lot of miles to go, and books, and essays, and talks, and friends, and adventures to go, before bedtime.

And so I’ll ask, why don’t you give it a try? Can you tell the true story of your life in six words? It doesn’t have to be perfect. You can stamp “draft’ across it so you can change it later. But try it. And send it to me, or post in the comments of my blog. I need to know you better. I want to read your story.

“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/

What matters

Sunday night Cyndi and I played with the First Baptist Church orchestra, along with the praise singers and big-church choir in the musical production by Travis Cottrell: Jesus Saves. It was great. The entire evening was full of energy and worship, and it was fun to be playing my trombone again after a long hiatus. I took last year off from orchestra because of my added deacon responsibilities, and then in the fall I stopped playing with the praise band when I started teaching adult Bible class again. I felt I had to make those adjustments in my schedule, but I sure missed playing. And even more than missing the music, I was concerned that if I put my trombone down for too long I’d never pick it up again; playing ads too much value to my life to let it slip away.

So we were rehearsing before the actual performance (always a risky thing for me since I don’t have the chops for two hours of rehearsing and another 1-1/2 hour of performing) when my friend Paul sat on the pew beside me for a few minutes to talk and to watch what we were doing. On one piece I played a tied whole note, eight beats. It was soft, and I was the only brass instrument playing at that moment, except for the army of keyboards and guitars and drums. My part was barely audible, even to me as I played it. Paul said, “When you just have one note to play you have to trust that it matters.”

He got it exactly right.

When playing in a large ensemble like that, there is so much going all the time, you have to trust that your own small parts matter and really make a difference. Of course, there were moments Sunday night when the trombones were featured and we were sufficiently bombastic and everyone heard us and it clearly mattered. But most of the time, very few would notice the difference if we had stopped playing entirely.

So how can I know if what I do matters? After all, I am not interested in doing things that don’t matter. If my contributions aren’t obvious, why make them at all? I guess you could argue that if each of us put down our instruments and played only the exposed solo parts, it would not sound good at all. The music only works when everyone plays their part, no matter how subdued or quiet. And eventually people will notice the gaps and know the sound isn’t right, even if they don’t know the reason.

Like Paul said, “You have to trust that it matters.” And isn’t that true with all those things we do as teachers and leaders and parents and spouses. We have to trust that the small un-noticed things matter. Jesus spoke directly to the importance of doing the small things right when he said, “He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also in much” (Luke 16:10, NAS).

One of my favorite observations is how young children want to put their own fingers on a wall switch and turn the lights on and off, all by themselves. As adults, we never make a big deal of turning the lights on, never point out, “See, switch goes up and the light goes on, switch goes down and the light goes off.” We just turn the lights on and off without fanfare and without even thinking about it. Yet, young kids still pick up on what we do and they want to imitate the actions. The small things matter. Our consistencies matter. How we live out our lives, matters.

In his book, The Gospel According to Starbucks, Leonard Sweet admonished the reader to “grow a soul that is a beautiful work of art, a soul with such sensitivities that it can pick up signals of transcendence in the most unlikely of places, a soul with such strength that it can experience the subtleties of life that separate the good from the bad, and the good from the great.” The notion of growing a soul makes sense to me, and I realize it has been my goal for a long time now even if I didn’t know how to express it so well. I often talk about my goal of aging gracefully. What I mean when I say that is that I want to grow my soul into a work of art. I think the biggest part of that is doing the small things right and trusting that they matter.

My friend Paul would never have noticed me playing that F for eight counts if he hadn’t been sitting beside me. It was a small thing; so small that I had to trust that it mattered. Maybe it is that act of trusting that turns horn players into musicians, teachers in mentors, parents into mommies and daddies, spouses into lovers. Maybe that act of trusting is what makes ordinary people become inspiring and contagious, and turns whole notes into works of art.

“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/

One day barefoot

I’m not sure which are my best features, but I’m fairly certain they aren’t my feet. I have flat arches, my toes crisscross, I have little strength or flexibility for downward dog, I can’t sit with my feet tucked under me, and I can only point my toes in my imagination. At any time I have at least one toenail turning black from running or hiking. I have bunions and calluses and, well, you get the picture. More that you wanted.

So it may come as a surprise that I signed up to join the “One Day Without Shoes” event, at the request of my friend Jordan Witte.

The official website says: ‘One Day Without Shoes is the day we spread awareness about the impact a simple pair of shoes can have on a child’s life. On April 8th, we ask people to go the day, part of the day or even just a few minutes, barefoot, to experience a life without shoes first-hand, and inspire others at the same time.”

I’ve been around people who spend their entire lives barefoot, and while their feet may be tougher and stronger than mine, very little of the rest of their life looks better. I am glad that I’ve lived my life in shoes.

However, after spending last summer reading the book, “Born to Run,” I decided to give barefoot running a try. Since, in addition to all my other foot issues, my feet are soft and tender, I knew I couldn’t really go barefoot. I had to wear something on my feet.

So I started off by running one mile in my socks, on the grass in a local park, one day each week. It felt better than I expected. In fact, it felt so good that on my third attempt I went two miles in my socks. That turned out to be a big mistake. I limped for days. Apparently a 100% increase in distance was bad. I was embarrassed because I should have known better; I’m an incremental sort of guy and I made a goofy beginner mistake.

But I stayed at it. I ran for a couple of months (still, one day per week) in some cheap water shoes. When I wore those out, I bought a pair of Vibram Five Fingers. Once I learned how to put them on, they were great. I’ve been running in them three miles at a time, once a week.

But what is the point, you might ask? Not simply to toughen up the soles of my feet (who needs tough soles), but to make my feet stronger, to improve my stride and balance and to minimize injury. It was an intentional attempt on my part to become a better runner. I’ve learned I can’t change very much in my life, or change the world around me, by drifting through life. Drifting worked for Forrest Gump, but it doesn’t work for real people in real life. You have to be intentional.

When Jordan first invited me to join her “One Day Without Shoes” event, I asked if my Vibrams counted. She said, no.

So I psyched myself to run today completely barefoot, skin on the ground, for three miles. And I did it. I ran on sidewalks and asphalt and on grass. The sidewalk was the easiest.

I’ll be honest; it was less than pleasant. I had to stop often and pick pebbles out of my feet and remove stickers. I had to keep a close eye out for acorns. When I got back to the gym I had to put two Band-Aids on each foot to cover the broken blisters.

Being fifty-three years old might be too late to start a barefoot lifestyle. My feet have been protected in shoes for a long time. I doubt I will try true barefoot running again; at least, not for another year.

But here’s the deal. For me, going barefoot is a training technique. It’s an indulgence. It’s a choice. And I’ve lived my entire life in a world with lots of choices. The point of the One Day Without Shoes campaign is not to draw attention to people like me who make (what you may consider to be) goofy choices. It is to focus attention on people who really don’t have choices. For three miles, today, I felt their pain.

“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/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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/