Journal entry 032912: About my feet

My feet are flat on the bottom. They’ve been that way for as long as I can remember paying attention to feet. This condition is often referred to as fallen arches, but my arches never fell. To quote Lady Gaga, I was born this way. I inherited my non-arched feet from the Simpson side of my family.

As a kid, my feet never gave me any trouble, but I wasn’t an athlete so maybe I didn’t put them to the test. Like all boys growing up in a small town, I spent a lot of time walking and biking and I don’t remember my flat feet ever being an issue. I seldom went barefoot and I don’t remember wearing sandals. In fact, I doubt I even noticed my feet until high school when someone, probably a girl, said my feet were weird.

There was a time when flat feet would have kept me out of the military, which would’ve been handy had I been six years older in 1968. Army doctors assumed flat feet would break down from all that marching, yet I have logged 36,900 miles on my feet since I started running in June 1978. Apparently, flat feet weren’t as fragile as the army thought. My feet have never hindered my running as long as I didn’t buy shoes with high arch supports.

My first official running shoes were a pair of Brooks Vantages that I bought while I was in college. They had a solid rubber wedge on the outside of the heel designed to prevent over-pronation, a common condition with flat feet, but they made my feet roll inward. I used to put padding under the inner sole to level it out. After that, I started wearing “neutral” shoes, and they were almost always New Balances.

The only trouble I had with my feet happened during my first attempt at the White Rock Marathon in 1985, when I had to drop out of the race past the halfway mark due to plantar fasciitis pain. I was wearing Etonic Stabilizer shoes. I changed back to New Balance when we got home and quickly recovered. I haven’t had that problem again.

I don’t remember the first time I lost a toenail from running, but through the years, I’ve lost at least one toenail from every toe on both feet. There have been times when I’ve been missing more than one or two at a time. (I used to keep them in a small plastic bottle, as trophies, until Cyndi’s pestering convinced me to throw them out.)

For a while I got blisters between my toes whenever I ran long distances, but I defeated that with toe socks. Now, I wear toe socks whenever I run or hike. They are more comfortable than I would’ve guessed and they’ve stopped almost all my blisters.

I have bunions on both feet, but especially on my right foot. I jammed my right big toe on a rogue tree root while running up Esplanade Boulevard in New Orleans in 1990 and I suspect it eventually produced the bunion. It has occasionally hurt through the years but I just put up with it.

The most pronounced problem I have today is on my right foot. The tendons to my toes have shrunk with age and were possibly damaged from some long-forgotten injury, and that has pulled my toes over to the left. The first toe turns almost at right angles, especially after a long run, and the bunion pushes my big toe under the crooked first toe. It is a mess, and I’ll admit here in writing that it looks creepy. I seldom go barefoot because of it.

For the longest time those weird toes didn’t bother me when I ran or hiked or walked, but lately they have started to ache. I tried to treat the condition myself using any alternative medicine techniques I could find, including stretching, shoe inserts, and toe spreaders. But once I saw the x-ray images of my foot and how the bones were displaced I realized the futility of my home treatments.

So tomorrow (Friday) I am going under the knife. Pain management is no longer satisfying. I’m tired of “making do” with my feet and I want to fix the problem. Dr. Brad Glass will perform the surgery, and his diagnosis uses phrases like “Overlapping HT Deformity,” and “Hallux Limitus.”

My perfect plan for my own life is to be better than ever after the surgery, which means faster, smoother, and pain free (at least, from the knees down). I can’t wait.

QUESTION: What pains are you putting up with? Is it time for action?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

At home again

The last words I heard when leaving my house at 2:30 AM Wednesday morning were from Cyndi, who said, “Berry, you come home to me.” It made me happy; I am a lucky guy.

Why was I leaving so early? To join Paul, David, Cory, and Clark on a three-day backpacking trip into the Little Creek area of the Gila Wilderness in western New Mexico. The trailhead was a ten-hour drive from Midland and we wanted to be four miles down the trail and in our tents by sundown that same day.

Our first destination was Woody’s Corral, a parking lot and staging area near the trailhead, elevation 5,500’. We arrived at 12:30, spent thirty minutes sorting gear, weighing in, loading up, and were cruising down the trail by 1:00 PM. There was no time wasted by this group.

I was happy that my full pack weighed only 42 pounds. When I go up into the Guadalupe Mountains and I have to carry three gallons of water, my pack weighs at least 25 pounds more.  I also had my new Hennessy hammock tent. This would be my first experience sleeping off the ground on a trip like this.

We hiked southwest up Miller Springs Trail about thre e miles to the junction where we turned back west on Little Creek Trail for another mile. I think we were all surprised how many blackened tree trunks we passed. We were moving through the remains of the Miller Fire from June 2011, and each turn in the trail confronted us with more burned wood. Nature doesn’t always tell the story we imagined, but tells the truth.

We found a great camping spot among tall pine trees and soft, pine needle-covered ground about 100’ from Little Creek. We were now about 6,500’ elevation. The creek flowed mostly below ground in that area, but there was just enough flow to fill water bottles. My meal partner was David, and that first evening we ate red beans and rice, and some of Paul’s apple cobbler. Hot food tastes so good in a camp after hauling gear all afternoon.

Thursday morning was slow, peaceful, and relaxing as we waited for the sun to warm us up. It was 22* F when we first began moving around. We ate a leisurely breakfast, including Paul’s open-fire biscuits, finally leaving camp about noon. This day consisted of a long eleven-mile loop up the cutover to Ring Canyon Trail along Thousand Mile Ridge, west about five miles, and then back east following Little Creek. The creek was mostly dry, or underground, but we did find a spring with plenty of fresh mountain water to refill our water bottles. It was just in time, I might add. We were all nursing the final half-inch of water in our bottles.

That evening David and I splurged by cooking two meals: Santa Fe chicken with rice and Chili Mac. Once the sun went down it was too cold for extended meaningful campfire philosophy, but Paul found the energy to recite another of his wild west cowboy poems – something about a guy being cremated and finally getting warm.

I must say that these guys took great care of me all day long. The Rabbit of the group, tall skinny Clark, found places for rest breaks where there were big rocks or logs so I could sit. Being the slowest hiker on the team, and hobbled by bad knees, I valued every opportunity to take weight off my legs and relax. David even kicked rocks and branches off the trail ahead of me, making clear a path in the wilderness. I think he enjoyed the noble aspect of trail maintenance.

Friday morning our trail boss, Handlebar Paul, determined to get us out of camp and back to the trailhead (and finally, back to Midland) at a decent time, got us all out of our tents before 6:00 AM local time. It was still dark, and about 26* F. It was very cold untying knots and loading gear and my fingertips were stiff and sore for the next two days.

We left our camp about 8:00 AM local time, hiked north again up the cutover draw and then followed a long gradual descent down EE Canyon about four miles until we encountered the West Fork of the Gila River. It was a pleasant hike, even under our packs, a fine and peaceful closure on a great trip. As we neared the end of the trail we had to cross the river three times. It was only ankle deep, but the water was very cold and swift and the bottom was slick with slime and moss, so we were careful to use our trekking poles as we crossed. No one wanted to finish the day falling into the cold river and ending up on You Tube.

For the first crossing, everyone diligently pulled off their hiking boots and waded across in Crocs or flip-flops. However, for the next two crossings I stayed in my Keen hiking boots. We were almost done for the day, my boots were mostly waterproof, and I was too tired to sit down all the way to the ground and change shoes two more times. It might have been a mistake, though; I filled both boots with mountain water before the day was done.

The end of the trail was also the spot where tourists gather for instructions before hiking up to The Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument. We felt proud to be, not just tourists, but seasoned backpackers, with miles on our bodies, dirt on our boots, campfire grime on our hands, and broad smiles on our faces.

Paul hitchhiked down to Woody’s Corral with a truck full of missionaries (imagine that), and then drove his Expedition with trailer back to the group. It was nice to have the privacy of our own trailer for changing clothes. I stayed behind, parked on a big log bench, while the three youngsters (David, Cory, and Clark) toured the cliff dwellings. My knees and legs were used up; I’d had enough for this trip.

I realize, in the grand scheme, my knees would feel better if I simply sat down permanently, but I’m not yet willing to live a sit-down life. I need to move. The current research into osteoarthritis says we won’t make the problem worse with action, but rather, it’s a matter of “use our knees or lose our knees.” I’m planning to use mine as long as possible. It’s true that life would be easier if I stopped doing things that hurt - like running, or cycling, or hiking, or backpacking, but that life would be too thin.

I thought it was a fine coincidence when I got home and read someone’s Facebook post that asked this question: “If I stop running how am I going to get home?”

I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking about home: Where is home? What makes a place feel like home? In fact, my next book dives deeply into that very question. For me, home isn’t a location, a house, or even a city. Relationships are home. The journey itself is home. If I stop moving how am I going to get home?

Well, Friday night, after we drove all the way back home to Midland, I finally crawled into bed about 12:30 AM. Cyndi was up and waiting for me. She knew I had lots of stories to tell her about the trip, but she planned on hearing all those on Saturday over Rosa’s. She asked, “How did your knees hold up on the hike?”

I said, “They were sore but manageable. I was definitely the slowest hiker in the group. They waited on me for three days.”

She said, “They didn’t mind. They like you.”

Thanks, Paul, David, Cory, and Clark. Being with you feeds my heart. I’m a lucky man. It’s good to be home.

QUESTION: Where does your heart find home?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 030812: Knowing what’s important

Cyndi and I were in Mansfield, Texas, for Madden’s two-year birthday party, (Madden is our granddaughter who, unfortunately, lives with her mom and dad instead of living with us) and somehow, when we left their house Sunday morning to drive back home to Midland, I left my backpack in their kitchen. I didn’t notice it was missing until we got home and unloaded the car. Then I looked at my phone and saw Katie had already texted: “Your backpack is in my kitchen. I’ll send it tomorrow.”

When I first read Katie’s text I thought about how much it would cost to ship the pack and about calling and telling her to keep it until we came back to town. But we didn’t have any trips planned soon, so it could be months. Besides, Katie knew me well enough to know it was worth the money to ship it to me.

In fact, there is nothing fancy about the pack. It is a black JanSport book bag from Big 5 Sporting Goods that I’ve carried for at least five years. It shows the wear and tear of being overloaded and tossed repeatedly into the floorboard or the back seat of my pickup. I call it a backpack, which is accurate, but book bag would be a better descriptor.

So Thursday I went to the Airpark Post Office to pick up a big box containing my pack. It made me happy. Before leaving the post office I tweeted: “I left my backpack (journal, Daily Bible, Kindle), and Katie mailed it to me. What a great daughter. #knowsmewell.”

Once I had it back I decided to open it up and do a quick inventory. From the large back compartment: one Moleskine graph-paper journal for daily writing and occasional note taking; one zippered sleeve mesh bag holding a ½”-inch stack of partial essays and fragments of ideas waiting for an essay to join; one red ledger book that I also call a journal, but this one is for capturing wisdom in the form of quotes and lyrics and magazine excerpts; one book I’ve already finished reading, ‘Quitter,” by Jon Acuff, that I’m reviewing for writing prompts and ideas; and one Kindle Fire loaded with the recent Steve Jobs biography by Walter Isaacson.

In the middle compartment: one Daily Bible in Chronological Order, published by Harvest House, containing margin notes dating back to 1993 (While the Kindle was the only thing in the bag worth real money, this Bible would’ve been the hardest thing to replace). The middle section also held a giveaway copy of my latest book, Retreating With God.

In the larger of the small compartments: One bag containing sticky notes and 3x5 note cards and a plastic bottle of Elmer’s Glue (that I use occasionally to repair my Daily Bible); one black mesh zippered pencil bag stuffed full of blue and red and black Energel liquid gel pens, yellow highlighters, and a very cool fountain pen.

In the front compartment: One metal case containing a pair of reading glasses, 2.0 power, from Walgreen’s.

So, I know, who cares, right? It’s just a bag full of stuff, hardly worth writing about. Well, the only reason I cared was my personal investments in each item. I expect I could recall a story or two around each thing in the bag. And besides, how much of the stuff in our life, the stuff that adds value, is like the contents of my backpack – mostly worthless to anyone else but priceless to the owner?

Knowing what’s really important in life takes a lifetime to figure out. The closing lines from one of my favorite movies, Stranger Than Fiction, speaks to this: “Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives.”

Another example? When some really smart people asked Jesus what was most important, Jesus replied, "Love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and intelligence. And love others as well as you love yourself. "

The list of what’s important may be short, but learning what’s on the list is the most important lesson of life.

QUESTION: What important things do you carry and use daily?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 030112: Hearing from God

There is a Bible story in the first chapter of Luke about Zechariah, a priest of good standing, who was performing his once-in-a-lifetime duty in the temple when he received a startling and seemingly impossible word from an angel. Zechariah was “gripped with fear” at the sight of an angel. Who wouldn’t be? The angel told Zechariah that he and his wife Elizabeth would have a baby, even though they both were “well along in years.” They had no children, and the implication was they were long past the child-bearing age.

Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this?” which seems to me to be a reasonable question asked by an old man, but because he asked it, the angel rendered Zechariah speechless - unable to talk - until the baby was born. Many scholars believe Zechariah was asking for more than a simple explanation, that he was asking for a tangible sign, like Gideon. I suppose he got his sign, but not what he expected.

Nine months after his temple encounter, eight days after the baby was born, at the official dedication ceremony when the baby would be named, Zechariah asked for a writing tablet so he could announce his son’s name. Everyone expected he would name this little boy after himself, but Zechariah surprised them all when he wrote “His name is John.” It was an unexpected name with no family background. The Bible tells us that immediately after naming the baby, Zechariah could speak again. His forced silence didn’t turn into resentment or rebellion, but Zechariah began praising God as soon as his voice returned.

My first question to Zechariah would be: Why didn’t you write out the entire story during your nine months of silence - about the angel, and why you lost your voice, and the name of the baby, and all that – so people would know what was happening? Apparently Zechariah “told” his wife the story, since she was also determined to name the baby John.

When the angel said, “You will be silent and unable to speak,” perhaps this was more than frozen vocal chords, but a complete inability to tell the story. The story could have been locked in his heart and still he was physically or emotionally unable to tell it. Or write it.

Me? I probably would’ve spent the next nine months writing about it, cranking out weekly journals, and maybe even a book, until everyone was sick of it.

However, I can also understand having a spiritual encounter so powerful I can’t tell it to my friends, only to Cyndi.

I remember a few times when I heard a word from God and it was so new, so raw, so close to the bone, I couldn’t talk about it. It might be weeks or months, or years, before I could tell the story to anyone. In one case, it took thirty years before I learned the words.

Maybe I was hesitant to speak because I didn’t really understand the message and I needed time to digest the words - after all, I’m not one to share half-formed thoughts. Maybe I felt presumptuous saying it was from God. Or maybe I wanted to see how it all worked out before repeating the story.

Maybe I hesitated or delayed because I was too overwhelmed by the experience to articulate it. Maybe the word from God included someone close to me and I felt it wasn’t my story to tell without hurting the other person.

I’m sorry about all those “maybes,” but I can think of a lot of reasons why I wouldn’t tell people something I heard from God, and it’s possible Zechariah felt them as well.

So in that context, I can imagine Zechariah hesitating to tell everyone that he had seen an actual angel in the temple. It sounds like a crazy story. And if he told people there was a baby coming, who would believe him, until Elizabeth’s bump started to show.

However, and this may be my favorite part of the story, he did find a way to tell his story to Elizabeth. We don’t know if he wrote it out or used sign language, but he told his wife. That makes me happy. I hope you have someone safe to tell your holy stories to.

Question: Have you had a spiritual encounter that you couldn’t talk about? Can you talk about it now? What was the message?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 022312: Running again

So I’m writing this while sitting in Whataburger on Greenville in Dallas, rehydrating with Diet Coke, and getting a bit of work done before retrieving Cyndi from her workshop. I just got back from running around White Rock Lake. I can barely walk; probably because it has been six months since I’ve run nine miles nonstop.

My knees sang to me all the way around the lake, but I’ve heard that tune before and knew I could push it to the back of my mental playlist. The song was loudest during the first fifteen minutes, and surprisingly in the last fifteen minutes, which corresponded coincidently with the point when I could finally see my red pickup in the parking lot waiting for my return.

Too tired to change back into street clothes when I finished running, I put a towel on the driver’s seat to absorb the sweat while I drove back to the North Central Expressway. I found a semi-secluded parking space in the lot outside of Dick’s Sporting Goods on Park Lane. I didn’t actually care to be around civilized people yet, but this visit was the next item on my daily checklist so I had to go.

I was nervous the shopping center security guards would give me the big shakedown before I finished changing clothes. They were trolling back and forth through the parking lot in their white Ford Explorer with flashing yellow light, watching me fool around suspiciously in the front passenger seat of my pickup. Fortunately, they left me alone long enough that I got my jeans back on and finished dressing into dry clothes. (Changing clothes in the car after a run is a long-established family tradition.)

I’m afraid I looked even more suspicious as I peg-legged my way stiffly toward Dick’s, swaying side-to-side and grimacing. I scared myself a little. If I’d had a Frankenstein mask, it would have been perfect.

The trail around White Rock Lake had been uncharacteristically deserted, but of course it was Friday afternoon. This time out I saw more cyclists than runners. The lake looked good, healthy, and full of water, and it satisfied my heart and soul to make the big circle. It was worth any throbbing discomfort I felt while walking through Dick’s Sporting Goods.

While running I listened to two Phedippidations podcasts but didn’t finish either because the speaker wore me out with his rambling. I was caught up with Mosaic and Mars Hill podcast sermons, so I listened to three NPR technology podcasts and two NPR book podcasts. It was nine miles of introvert perfection.

I’ll admit, it bothers me that I don’t write about running as much as I used to. It’s partly because I don’t run as often or as far. I think I have to go at least four or five miles to earn any original thoughts, and lately most of my runs have been shorter than that.

I’m willing to write about new things, such as backpacking or cycling, but so far I enjoy writing about running more. I don’t go backpacking often enough to set a pattern, and cycling doesn’t yet speak to my heart the way running does. That could be because I have to pay more attention to what I’m doing while cycling, so I don’t get into traffic or run off the road. But it’s more likely I need more time on my bike to increase my comfort level. It took many months of running, maybe years, before my brain learned to wander.

I suppose there are no specific activities that God chooses for communication, but he speaks to each of us through the unique activities of our lives. And I suppose we all have to reach a comfort level with any activity so we are not worried exclusively about pain and suffering, but our mind can go free. Even traditional spiritual disciplines like daily Bible reading, prayer, or journaling may demand time before they speak to your heart. We have to get over the discipline hump, first.

But even as my knees have slowed my pace and reduced my frequency, there are few things I love more than running down a trail. So I can’t believe this phase is behind me, or that God has shifted his methods with me. I believe he would’ve removed the desire in my heart by now if it was time to move on.

PS: I have foot surgery scheduled for the end of March, to correct an ugly bunion and a crooked hammer toe on my right foot. This won’t fix my biggest problem, solvable only by knee replacement, but it will keep me on my feet and moving down the road a bit longer. It will also make it simpler to find shoes that fit.

QUESTION: When does God speak to you? Is there a certain activity when it happens more often?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 021612: Giving refuge

Imagine this possible scenario from Old Testament times, maybe about 1200 B.C.

A man had been running full-speed for almost 24 hours to reach the nearest City of Refuge. The evening before he had caused an industrial accident that killed another man, and now the victim’s brothers were chasing him to exact their revenge, something they were bound to do to protect their family honor. Our man was the husband to a young wife and father to two tiny babies and his only hope was to make it to one of the Cities of Refuge and then send for his own family to join him.

He could not believe he was still running. How could anyone have the energy to run all night and all day? The accident happened toward the end of the workday, yesterday, when it was getting too dark to work and they should have stopped but they didn’t. He was still on the job sight grieving over his lost friend when the other workers shouted that the brothers were on their way. One carried an ax, and they were determined to get revenge. “You have to go now,” the coworkers warned. “You have to run now or you’ll die too.”

“What about my wife and babies? Who’ll take care of them if I run away?”

“Who’ll take care of them if they catch you and kill you?”

All through the night and next day, the brothers chased him. Now they were closing the gap as they approached the city gates, knowing this was their last chance to fulfill their duty.

It was nearly sundown. Our man was depleted, dehydrated, and delirious when he finally reached the city. He saw the gates closing in front of him and thought how unfair to close them in his face after he’d run so far. He lunged forward through the opening and heard the gates thud closed behind him as he rolled across the dirt. He was so exhausted he couldn’t see. His eyes had shut down. Or maybe it was his brain.

He felt hands grabbing his shirt and dragging him to his feet. “No, please, don’t kill me,” he yelled as he swung his arms trying to escape. “I have my own babies. They need me. Please don’t kill me.”

Then he gave up. He couldn’t fight any more. His eyesight blurred and he couldn’t breathe. He’d run all night and most of the day without water and he was so dehydrated he couldn’t think. His tongue too swollen to speak, he thought he was saying words but they came out in gasps and grunts. Now that he’d stopped running, the lactic acid turned his legs into wood. He couldn’t have run another step even if he’d wanted to. There was no use trying. If they were going to kill him, do it now.

“Relax, son,” he heard a gentle voice say. It sounded like someone older, someone used to being in charge, someone used to taking over in hectic situations. “You’re safe now. You made it. You are inside the walls. You can stop running.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”

“Be still. Just breathe. It doesn’t matter what happened. This city is your refuge. You are safe here.”

In the Bible books of Numbers, Deuteronomy, and Joshua, God laid out His plan for the Cities of Refuge. He designated six towns to which “a person who had killed someone could flee,” a safe haven offered freely even before the “crime” was committed.  God also told them to build smooth, wide, and well-marked roads to these Cities. He didn’t want them hidden or surrounded by country too rough for travel. No moats, no cliffs, and no checkpoints.

In addition, there were no screening processes or thresholds of innocence to pass before entering a City of Refuge. Instead, they were open and available to all. There would be an assessment of guilt eventually, but not right away, not until the refugee was safe. The overall purpose was to make it easy for someone to find refuge. They were not to make this onerous or difficult, but err on the side of grace. It was true prevenient grace; forgiveness offered in advance.

As I read about these Cities, I wondered: Was it good or bad to have your own town picked as a City of Refuge? Didn’t living there mean you would be surrounded by fugitives from the law? Would it, over time, become a town full of killers?

However, I always assume myself the person who doesn’t need refuge while everyone else does. In my own hypothetical scenarios, I’m never the one who needs to be saved. I always picture myself as the dispenser of grace rather than the receiver of grace. I’m a little ashamed that I see myself like that. Who do I think that I am?

The good news? Living in a City of Refuge meant you would be surrounded by grateful people who truly understood how lucky they were. Since gratefulness is so rare, a City of Refuge might have been the ideal place to live.

Grace is always risky, especially prevenient grace, offered before you need it.

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 020912: Praying the list

I left Midland on Southwest Airlines at 6:40 AM one Thursday in December. Surprised that I wasn’t sleepy, I tried to solve the day’s Sudoku puzzle from the Midland Reporter Telegram, but it was too hard for me. (Note: I hesitated way too long writing the words, “too hard,” in my journal.)

I turned off my overhead light – mine was the only one on in the entire cabin – and leaned back in my chair hoping to sleep. It didn’t work. I still wasn’t sleepy. However, the drone of the engines was hypnotic and soothing, and I found myself in that semi-conscious state mimicking meditation. I decided to do a combination prayer and project checklist.

How am I doing with Cyndi? Am I looking out for her? Am I paying attention to her busy details? She will be retiring in a few months – am I helping her through that transition? I’m blessed to live with someone I cannot live without. How do I not take that for granted?

Compass class – are they with me? Am I teaching the right stuff? We continue to bring in new couples, a good thing, but I’m afraid I don’t keep up with all the names. How can I do that better? Keeping up with names and people is not my natural inclination – I need help.

How about Iron Men? Are we still relevant? Should this ministry morph into the next phase, whatever that may be, or continue as it has? I’m not looking for a change; learning with these men feeds my heart. Thank You for bringing this into my life.

Are Journey Partner Groups still worth the time and emotional commitment? Am I using the best exercises? Who should be in the next round? Can I start praying for them now?

How am I doing with family ministry? Cyndi and Tanya and Kevin and Drew and Katie and Madden and Byron and Mom and Dad and Carroll and Jenifer and Even? What should I be doing better? What else can I do to make Mom feel safe? How can I help Dad in the tough transition? How do I work through the giant pile in my garage in such a way to honor and love my parents?

How am I doing with fitness? Running has been poor, but I enjoy it. Am I engaged enough? I need the time on my feet that running gives, to feed creativity and imagination, and I can’t see anything else filling that same niche.

How about diet and nutrition? Dropping another twenty pounds would work wonders for my knees, but I am so bad at staying consistent. Are there underlying reasons or old agreements that work against me?

What about cycling. Thanks for bringing this back into my life after so many years, and thanks for bringing friends alongside. Am I thinking about safety as much as I think about mileage and speed? Can I learn to love cycling as much as I love running? Will this become a conduit for your voice into my heart?

Am I working my sad knees hard enough to keep them strong? I hope to stay active so that someday I’ll have no choice but to replace them. Today, I’m actually looking forward to that. Maybe I could run faster with new knees.

Pump class? Am I still getting stronger or have I plateaued? Thanks for the new strength You’ve given me already.

How about my high Blood Pressure, the one problem that could kill me with little warning? Am I taking care of this? Thank You for the unforeseen benefit from this ailment – a deepening relationship with my pharmacist.

How am I doing as a writer? My writing schedule changed when I went back to work – and I worry about getting enough writing done to keep momentum. I want to write more books, but I don’t enjoy the tedium of marketing and webpage maintenance required to sell books. Is there a way to do this better? Should I look for professional help?

Reading Jon Acuff’s book, Quitter, opened my eyes to my original dream for writing – not to be a big-time author, but to bring readers closer to Jesus. It also reminded me the benefit of having a small friendly audience of readers while learning and practicing my craft. Thank You for the irresistible urge You’ve given me, to keep writing and teaching and sharing. It’s one of the best blessings You’ve given me.

Well, I sat in the dark airline cabin going over my list, praying and analyzing and thinking, and it was soothing and peaceful. There was not the normal, squeezed feeling of having too much to do, but the calm assurance of the blessings of God. I felt a fortunate man.

I have never considered myself a strong prayer. What I mean is, even though I pray often, I forget about prayer when listing the significant disciplines that have brought me closer to God. I’m probably wrong to think like that. My most peaceful moments in life have come while in personal conversation with God. Maybe I should schedule more daybreak airline flights and hard Sudoku puzzles.

QUESTION: Have you prayed you list lately? What did you learn?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 020212: A letter to myself

What advice would I give myself if I could send a letter back in time?

The Noble Heart Ministry is putting together an eBook made up of the responses to this challenge, and I couldn’t let the opportunity pass without sending a response. It isn’t an easy question. Most of what I’ve learned had to be learned along the journey, when I was ready, when I was listening. I doubt I would learn the same lessons if confronted at a younger age. I told Clark, “I think what I really did was reiterate what I've said so many times while teaching young couples.”

Keep moving

From: Berry Simpson, January 2012, 55 years old, married 32 years, father and grandfather and uncle

To: Berry Simpson, September 1990, 34 years old, married 11 years, father of a 10-year-old son and 7-year-old daughter.

Mr. Simpson, you are just beginning your phase of life as a Bible teacher to adults, transitioning you into a new season of influence. Here is my advice to help you make the most of your impact. Take your time working through this list. You are a marathoner not a sprinter, so pace yourself. Start with the points that make the most sense to you, but don’t wait forever before embracing all the others. Remember, it matters how you live.  Casual living breeds casualties, so be intentional with your life.

Be a wanderer for Christ. Be satisfied you will never arrive at some exalted position where you know all you need to know to live as you should. That doesn’t mean failure; in fact, your life would be too boring if you achieved a place of no challenges with nothing left to learn. This is who you are: Peregrinatio pro Christi; a lifelong wanderer for Christ. Don’t give up your search.

Be a man of hope. There are too few voices of hope in the world, so make yours one of them. Everyone you meet has a story beyond belief, an unspoken struggle beyond description, and they all need your hope.

Live an authentic life. I say that with reservation knowing that authenticity is no virtue on its own. Some people are authentic jerks, and being true to their own nature only hurts themselves and people around them. But know that your authentic self longs to be like Jesus, so be real and true and honest about your journey.

Share what you learn. It is in the sharing itself that you will speak into the hearts of those around you. Right now, you think it is the information you teach that is important, but know that in the end, it is the act of sharing that matters most.

Stay culturally relevant. That doesn’t mean butterflying trend to trend, and it doesn’t mean sacrificing core beliefs for cultural acceptance. It means you shouldn’t long for the good old days when things were better and simpler. They weren’t. God is in the future, not the past. Don’t marginalize your message by becoming a “get off my lawn” curmudgeon, but be a forward-leaning voice calling your peers into the future.

Be a lifelong student of significant things. Don’t stop learning about history and theology, math and science, relationships and romance, adventure and courage, or art and love. Go after them. Keep a record. Take notes.

Search for God every day. You can grow closer and deeper into your relationship with God every day by following spiritual disciplines like reading your Bible, writing in your journal, sharing what you’ve learned, and memorizing scripture.

Pursue your love. In the movie, The Constant Gardener, Tessa says to Justin “You can learn me.” Spend the rest of your life learning your love: learn Cyndi; learn writing; learn teaching; learn your family; learn Cyndi.

Grow strong in community. You think you are strongest as an individual, with face set like flint to the wind, but you aren’t. You are stronger when surrounded by friends and family. Especially make friends with the men around you. God put them close to your life on purpose.

Let people get close. You cannot touch someone’s heart while standing behind a teaching podium in the same way you can while hiking on mountain trails together or sitting alongside at a baseball game. Let people see your life up close. Don’t be afraid to show them your failures. The closer they look, the more they’ll see past your own failures and find Jesus in your heart.

Keep your legs moving. To be honest, you have strong dependable legs, but arthritis and wear-and-tear will limit their range as you get older. Sorry, but It’s the truth. Even so, keep them moving. God will speak to you while your legs are moving more than while you are sitting. Who knows why this is true, but I can promise it is. Keep your legs moving and your ears open.

Don’t stay the way you’ve been. Reboot yourself and your habits and your hobbies regularly. It is in the transition between your safe older-self and your unknown future-self that your heart is most open to God.

Don’t wait to get started. You are afraid to look like a novice, and that stops you from trying. You are afraid to start new things without the right gear or knowledge. Thinks like writing, or backpacking, or cycling, or owning your own business. I am telling you to start anyway. Learn what you need, and what you need to know, on the fly. Besides, the best learning happens after you start.

The teacher always learns the most. Volunteer to be the teacher as often as possible. That is where real transformation takes place.

Men make friends outside. You are intimidated by other men because you don’t hunt or fish, you don’t play golf, and you didn’t play team sports. Stop worrying about that. Find some way to get outside with other men and let them get close to you.

It is OK to lean back in your chair. Furniture that moves is more satisfying to your heart and soul than inanimate, stationary, fixed furniture. Movement, in all its forms, keeps your heart alive. However, understand that you’ll get in trouble for doing it, so be discreet.

Run long races now. You know in your heart that you want to run more marathons and even ultra-marathons. Stop waiting for your fitness to improve, or for the situation to get better. Do it now, before arthritis takes away your knees. Stop being so nervous about how long it will take you to finish. Just go.

Talk to Cyndi about parenting styles and why you do things differently than she does. She feels alone and abandoned sometimes, like she is the only one who cares about disciplining your kids. Share your heart with her so she’ll know you are on her side.

Know this: All those people who love you today will still love you when you are 55 years old. You are fortunate. It is a rare life, so don’t take it for granted. Depend on it. It has given you a glimpse of God’s grace that few get to experience.

Give your life away. Share it with those people God has entrusted to you. Loot your life to the walls in search of better ways to share God’s story. This is your call: “For what I received I passed on to you …” (I Cor. 15:3a)

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 012712: When is timing perfect?

There is a Bible story about God’s perfect timing found in the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy, about the Hebrew people’s journey from Egypt to their new home. Deuteronomy 1:2 says, “It is only eleven days journey from Hobeb by the way of Mount Seir to Kadesh-Barnea on Canaan’s border, yet Israel took forty years to get beyond it.”

Don’t let the strange names distract you. Pay attention to the numbers. Instead of 11 days, it took 14,600 days. It took 1327 times longer than it could have. That is a frightening extension.

You might say the 40 years was due to the people’s stubbornness and not God’s timing,  but the people weren’t ready the first time they came to the border. They needed all 40 years of transformation before making the big commitment.

The reason for 40 years was their own fault, because they chose to listen to ten fearful spies rather than listen to God, but that isn’t much comfort. I make way too many decisions of my own based on fear to be immune from the same fate. I’ve always hoped God will compensate for my lack of courage by taking up the slack instead of adding to the journey; but then, here is this story from Deuteronomy.

Granted, I don’t expect God’s journey to be quick and easy. As Jon Acuff wrote, “Journeys where the outcome is already known are not adventures, they’re errands. And we were created to do more than run errands.” But a 1327-fold increase? That is so far over the top it is incomprehensible.

The question I have to ask myself is this: Am I willing for my journey to take twice as long as I expect, or ten times longer, or 1327 times longer, if that is what God requires to transform me and transform my message? Am I willing to write another 40 years before 10,000 people will read one of books? Will I patiently teach 40 more years before knowing how much of it sticks? Am I willing to write weekly journals for another 40 years before I know if anyone reads them?

But the Bible story goes on further. God said, “You have stayed long enough at this mountain. Break camp and advance …”

They spent 40 years reshaping their national character, waiting for their turn, yet after all that, they were still a bit uncertain about when and where to go next. They had prepared long enough, they had fretted enough, it was time to advance.

One of the hardest things to know is when to advance. There is always something more to learn, a new skill to master, or resources to accumulate. In fact, I doubt I have ever felt “ready” for the next step of my life.

I certainly wasn’t ready for fatherhood. I thought I was ready for marriage but little did I know what it was really about. I wasn’t ready for my first job, or my first management position. I certainly wasn’t ready for my first day in city government. I have never been ready to run a marathon (which means I haven’t been ready nine times). I wasn’t ready the first time I got laid off, wasn’t ready to be self-employed. I wasn’t ready to build a new house, wasn’t ready to raise teenagers, wasn’t ready to be full-time Uncle Berry, wasn’t ready to lead Iron Men … and yet, here we are. Just like those Hebrews, 40 years of training didn’t seem like enough once I got the border of decision. It took a push from God every time.

God said in Deuteronomy 1:8, “See, I have given you this land, Go in and take possession.” Just because the moment of perfect timing has finally arrived doesn’t mean the job will get easier. Just because God tells us to advance and promises the future is ours doesn’t mean we won’t suffer casualties. We have to “take possession,” a short phrase that may represent a lifetime struggle. Maybe 40 more years.

What about you? How long are you willing to do the hard work to “take possession?” Another 40 years? Are you ready today? What is God telling you?

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org

Journal entry 011912: Isolated

Monday morning I got a phone call from the doctor’s office to reschedule my appointment. Again. Bummer.

The appointment was with an Otolaryngologist (an ear, nose, and throat specialist, which is a more descriptive title but much less fun to write); my ears had been plugged up for the past month, or two. Maybe three. At first, it was an intermittent problem and I assumed it would go away, which is my first response to all ailments.

However, as the plugging in my ears became constant and persistent, I got desperate. So desperate, in fact, I called the Otolaryngologist for an appointment. It turns out they are very busy, and my appointment was rescheduled twice.

It was fortunate that my ears didn’t ache, but it was certainly irritating. I could hear, but muffled, as if wearing industrial ear protection. If you spoke softly around me, I’d never know. Even worse, I couldn’t tell how loud I was talking, so I tended to speak softly to compensate. Even worse than that, I couldn’t hear myself when playing trombone in church orchestra except for the sound moving through my own head. I think I was playing in tune since none of my fellow musicians flinched, but I couldn’t tell if I was too loud. At least no one scooted their chairs away.

The real effect from this hearing loss was the feeling of isolation. Since everything I heard blended into a composite roar, it was hard for me to focus on the specifics of the outside world. The isolation festered until I didn’t want to take on new projects and I hesitated to interact with people.

The surprising thing was that the isolation could have been an asset rather than a disappointing discomfort. For example: I’ve been going through an exercise with my guys (we call it Journey Partner Groups) where we discuss our life stories, analyze our personality types, list our hopes and dreams, all with the goal of understanding our place in God’s plan, our calling. My own personality printout repeated this theme over and over: “focused internally,” “inside his own mind,” “within his own head,” “lives primarily inside his own mind,” and like that. Knowing this about me, one might’ve assumed a little auditory pain-free isolation would play to my advantage, giving me another oft-sought-after buffer, but in fact, I hated living in a muffled world. I needed more input. More color.

I’ve learned something. The fact I don’t like being isolated even while living most of my life “inside my own head” reminds me how much I don’t want to live in a small world. I need a big circle. Some might say I need a big stage, but I think it more accurate to say I need a big impact. I need people.

That simple phrase, I need people, has been my favorite lesson to learn in the past two decades. It came as a surprise that I wasn’t adequate in and of myself to accomplish all I desired. I need people around me, especially other men. The men around me make me stronger, speak wisdom into my heart, and fill in the gaps I never knew I had.

It isn’t just that I need people around me; I also need to tell my story. I have to give away what I learn and experience. If I don’t have a way to engage and give away, I will lose interest and go to seed.

Well, I finally made it into the doctor’s office Tuesday morning, and they were great. The doctor poked me, gagged me with flat wooden sticks, lit an alcohol burner to heat a tiny mirror which he slid carefully into my open mouth, rang tuning forks against my head and in my ears, peered unpleasantly up my nostrils, felt for swelling in my neck, and finally pronounced: “Your left ear is full of wax. It’s totally plugged.”

He took me down the hall to the Pit of Despair where he hooked me up to his machine and vacuumed the wax out of my ear. Then, finally, just like that, I could hear.

I was happy the problem was simple and cheap to repair, but still, earwax build-up sounds so old-mannish. I asked, “Is this something I can prevent, or treat myself, in the future?”

“No, not really.”

“Should I schedule my next vacuuming appointment ahead of time, a bit of preventative maintenance?”

“No. Just come in when you can’t hear.”

Well, I’m happy to’ve rejoined the hearing world, and I don’t feel as isolated. I suppose I’ll crawl back inside my own mind and think up more stories to tell.

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

To learn about Berry’s books, “Running With God,” go to www.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to www.retreatingwithgod.com ,… Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson or on Facebook … Contact Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org … To post a comment or subscribe to this free journal: www.journalentries.org