Journal entry 051012: Giving passionately

Sunday morning we discussed a series of brief stories found in Luke 18, and one of those stories was about Jesus and a rich ruler (also in Mark 10).

The story begins with the ruler asking Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” I believe the ruler’s question was sincere, unlike most questions aimed at Jesus. The ruler did not carefully construct this to trap Jesus into saying something controversial. The Mark account says the man "ran up to him (Jesus) and fell on his knees before him.” That sounds honest.

I picture the man holding his open checkbook and pen, the check already signed, ready to fill in the amount. He was willing to support Jesus’s ministry, or sponsor a wing on the children’s hospital, or give to the temple fund, or whatever else Jesus asked.

After quizzing the man about his obedient lifestyle, Jesus surprised him with this: “Sell everything you have and give it to the poor, then follow me.”

Apparently, this was the last thing the man wanted to hear.

How could he possibly give it all away to the poor? Who would he be if he gave it all away? Who would listen to him if he weren’t rich? How could he do great and mighty things for the kingdom if he was broke? Where would his weight and significance come from? (I asked myself similar questions just a few years ago when my 12-year stint in city government ended. Who will listen to me now?)

Hearing Jesus’ expectations made the ruler sad. He had started the conversation with big hopes of doing something grand, but now, all he could do was walk away.

One of the mysteries of this story is why Jesus asked the ruler to give it all away, since it wasn’t something he asked regularly. One classic example when he didn’t ask was talking to Zacchaeus, whose riches came from cheating people. It would have made sense for Jesus to ask Zacchaeus to give all his ill-gotten gains to the poor, but he didn’t. There is no indication the ruler got his money dishonestly, so why did Jesus let Zacchaeus keep his money but wanted the ruler to give his away?

For me, money wouldn’t be the hardest thing to give up. No, the hardest for me would be independence and creativity. I am stingy with my time and attention. Engaging a problem and devoting time to solving it is often more costly to me than money. I’d rather write a check than invest the time - not because I am lazy, but because I don’t want to displace my own projects. I put a lot of mental energy into everything I do, and I resent having to accommodate someone else’s Ill-thought plans.

If I put myself in the story from Luke 18, I can imagine Jesus asking me to drop all my important projects and follow his tight schedule from now on. It would be hard to keep from walking away, like the ruler in the Bible story.

However, is that really how I think of Jesus? Do I believe he wants to take away my favorite stuff to prove my loyalty? That is not an encouraging or attractive picture of God: “Hello, I want all your best and favorite stuff.” Is that the God we follow?

I think what God really wants is our heart. He has enough stuff already. He wants us to give him our heart, and the path to our heart is our passions … those things that make us come alive and fill us with joy.

As for me, I am most passionate about teaching and writing, and I don’t know how to do either of them well without ample room for independence and creativity. Maybe you are passionate about music, sports, or career advancement. The ruler was most passionate about his great wealth. Most of us will fight to defend our greatest passions.

However, we have the most to offer the kingdom of God when we give away the very things we are most passionate about. God doesn’t ask for our passions because they’re bad or because they are distractions; after all, he gave them to us in the first place. When we give away our passions - when we talk about the things we are most passionate about, and share them with other people - the grace of God will leak out of our lives. We can change the world.

The reason Jesus asked the ruler to give away all of his money was to get the man’s heart. The ruler could have written a check and walked away feeling fulfilled, yet never changing his heart at all. Not good enough! God had given him lots of money, and now Jesus wanted him to redirect that toward the kingdom. Jesus wanted him to give away his passions to God.

Living out our passions for God is more than being the best we can be, more than aiming high and shooting for the stars, and more than being authentic and true. It means giving ourselves away, especially to those who cannot repay. For me, it often means embracing interruptions and accepting the inevitable changes that accompany life of loving other people.

DISCUSSION: I’ll be honest. While the idea of giving away our passions is not a new idea for me, applying it to the Luke 18 story is new. I’ve already written more than I understand. What are your thoughts?

“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 050312: Which do you need?

What do you think? Was Jesus more like William Wallace, or Mother Teresa? Consider this story:

On a Sabbath, Jesus was teaching in one of the synagogues, and a woman was there who had been crippled by a spirit for eighteen years. She was bent over and could not straighten up at all. When Jesus saw her, he called her forward and said to her, “Woman, you are set free from your infirmity.” Then he put his hands on her, and immediately she straightened up and praised God.

Indignant because Jesus had healed on the Sabbath, the synagogue leader said to the people, “There are six days for work. So come and be healed on those days, not on the Sabbath.”

The Lord answered him, “You hypocrites! Doesn’t each of you on the Sabbath untie your ox or donkey from the stall and lead it out to give it water? Then should not this woman, a daughter of Abraham, whom Satan has kept bound for eighteen long years, be set free on the Sabbath day from what bound her?”

When he said this, all his opponents were humiliated, but the people were delighted with all the wonderful things he was doing. (Luke 13:10-17, NIV)

The main point of this Bible story is the confrontation over proper Sabbath observance, but I don’t want to write about that. I am more interested in how Jesus ministered to the two main characters.

The synagogue ruler told all the people if they wanted healing, they should come on a different day, as if healing was a regular part of the worship service. Even though he made his speech to everyone, he clearly aimed it at the poor woman who was standing right there. I wrote in the margin of my Bible, “Boo! Boo!” (Think Princes Bride)

The ruler jumped on the easiest target in the room - the woman who couldn’t defend herself - rather than on Jesus, who did the actual healing. Moreover, he said this heartless thing even while she was standing there. This wasn’t a theological debate between two learned teachers; it was an attack against Jesus taken at this woman’s expense.  What kind of man does something like that? A man whose heart is stone cold and cruel, that’s who. A man I don’t care to know.

My guess is that the woman was a member of the synagogue, one of the ruler’s parishioners. She didn’t appear to be in the synagogue in hopes of finding Jesus; rather, she came as part of her regular worship pattern. She didn’t even ask for healing. Apparently, her physical condition caught Jesus’s eye, and he had to help her.

The synagogue ruler must have known the woman well. He was probably aware of her eighteen years of suffering, and still he scolded her? She had been coming to the synagogue all these years with no healing, and when it finally happened for her, the ruler was upset that it happened on the wrong day. Boo! Boo!

Personally, I think the synagogue ruler was a jerk, and the woman should have gone after him with her cane. However, she, being nobler, chose to praise God instead.

I doubt the ruler would have been so indignant if his back was crooked, if he had been healed.

So back to my opening question: Was Jesus more like Mother Teresa, or William Wallace? That depends on whether you are a crippled woman or a self-righteous leader.

Question: In your life, has Jesus been more like William Wallace or Mother Teresa? Which do you need from him today?

“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 042612: Surprise healing

Is it possible to sneak up on Jesus?

The Bible tells the story of a woman who came up behind Jesus and touched the edge of his cloak while he wasn’t looking, and she was healed.

Here is the story from the Gospel of Luke:

As Jesus was on his way, the crowds almost crushed him. And a woman was there who had been subject to bleeding for twelve years but no one could heal her. She came up behind him and touched the edge of his cloak, and immediately her bleeding stopped.

“Who touched me?” Jesus asked.

When they all denied it, Peter said, “Master, the people are crowding and pressing against you.”

But Jesus said, “Someone touched me; I know that power has gone out from me.”

Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet. In the presence of all the people, she told why she had touched him and how she had been instantly healed. Then he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” (Luke 8:42-48, NIV)

Jesus asked, “Who touched me?” and his disciples, thinking this the strangest question, replied, “Everyone touched you!” However, Jesus knew someone touched him in faith. Something was different about this touch.

“Someone touched me; I know that power has gone from me.”

Isn’t it curious that Jesus could feel healing power leave his body. This stirs up a lot of questions. If this was a physical sensation for him, no wonder he was often exhausted after a full day of healing and had to escape, get alone, and pray. He was physically and emotionally involved with each healing.

Did the woman really sneak up on Jesus? Is it possible she touched Jesus and he didn’t know she was coming, and didn’t know who she was?

It’s hard to believe Jesus didn’t know who touched him, so why did he ask the question? He asked for her benefit, not his.

Her physical ailments had been a constant source of pain and embarrassment for twelve years, and had restricted her contact with holy men like Jesus. In fact, it’s possible no one had touched her for twelve years. After all this time, she must have assumed healing and personal attention were not for her. She wasn’t qualified. She didn’t count. Another version of the story, found in Mark 5:26, makes this sad comment, “She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse.” She snuck up to touch Jesus in secret because being seen or noticed had worked out poorly for her in the past.

It can happen to all of us. We become so beaten down by life we go underground, learn to accept pain and embarrassment, hope no one notices us, hope the cool kids leave us alone, cross the street to avoid the bullies, give up dreaming and hoping, and lay low until it is all over. I believe that was the mindset of this woman. The last thing she wanted was to be noticed and have to explain her actions. Unfortunately, she was discovered.

“Then the woman, seeing that she could not go unnoticed, came trembling and fell at his feet.”

There is a scene at the end of the movie, The Client, when the young mom and her two boys were moving into the witness protection program. The mom, Dianne Sway, said, “All I ever wanted was a white house with a walk-in closet.” When she realized her dreams would come true she said, “Now I can watch my boys grow up, maybe even join the PTA.” Up to that point, her life had been so beaten down even simple and cheap things, like joining the PTA, were beyond hope. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening for her.

I believe that also describes the life of the woman who was healed. She couldn’t believe something good was finally happening to her.

That’s why Jesus stopped and asked, “Who touched me.” He wanted her to step forward and admit what she did - not to blame her or embarrass her, but so he could hold her close, hug her, accept her, and wrap her up until she stopped trembling. If Jesus had kept walking, the woman would’ve faded into the crowd, her physical ailment completely healed, but her heart still full of rejection. Jesus called her out so he could speak directly into her eyes, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.”

Nearly all of us have problems that we won’t talk about, issues that force us to sneak through the crowd. As we stumble from solution to solution, our hope fades and desperation intensifies. In my case, I tell myself, “I should be over this by now; I should be further down the road of spiritual maturity and not worried about these ancient haunts.”

Jesus healed the woman physically when she snuck up on him and touched him. But he knew she needed more. Her heart needed healing the most. How gracious it was that he stopped and met her heart face-to-face. He wants to do the same for you and me. Jesus wants to heal us completely.

“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 041912: The Lord’s inheritance

One night last March, while I was laying in my Hennessy Hammock, near Little Creek in the Gila Wilderness of western New Mexico, I read about God’s instructions to Israel. He was telling them how to divide the Promised Land among the twelve tribes. In Joshua 18:7, it says, “The Levites, however did not get a portion among you because the priestly service of the Lord is their inheritance.”

All the other tribes received a specific region, so they could establish their own homeland, observe their own customs, and create their own wealth. But the Levites did not get a portion.

They weren’t left destitute. God took care of them, giving them certain cities scattered among the other tribes, but they did not have a specific allotment of land. They couldn’t accumulate wealth. They would be mostly dependent on the people who lived around them.

I wrote in the margin of my Bible, “Were the Levites satisfied with that? Was the Lord’s inheritance enough?”

Were they OK living with the Lord’s inheritance even while those around them got vast lands with big success? Were they comfortable when their kids hung out with the other kids who had cooler toys? Were they satisfied parking their cheapo cars beside everyone else’s luxury SUVs? Was the Lord’s inheritance enough?

The next morning in the Gila Wilderness, over Paul’s campfire biscuits, I asked my fellow backpackers, “Is the Lord’s inheritance enough for each of us? Are you happy doing what God has given you to do and with his providence, while people around you get so much more?

I thought about the first century preacher, Stephen, who was stoned to death for preaching the gospel. For him, the Lord’s inheritance was a painful death. Was that enough? It’s easy for me to say “yes,” his death was worth it, but would Stephen agree? It was his death that set up the Apostle Paul’s grand conversion on the road to Damascus, and Paul literally changed the world with his preaching, and still changes lives with his writing. Did that make Stephen’s short life worth it?

A couple of weeks ago my Uncle James was visiting in Midland, and he asked me the current pay scale for consulting petroleum engineers. I told him, “To tell the truth, I’m embarrassed it is so high. I’m not sure I deserve what they are paying.”

I continued, “Don’t get me wrong, I take the money and do the work. I’m not stupid. I still remember times when no one wanted to pay petroleum engineers anything at all.”

How does that square with being satisfied? In the context of the greater good for mankind, I cannot justify earning as much in three days as my wife, Cyndi, an excellent elementary school teacher with 25 years of experience, earns in a month. Surely bringing grace to the lives of 5^th-graders and their parents has more value than finding oil. Is she happy with the Lord’s inheritance?

As a writer, am I satisfied with the Lord’s inheritance? Is it acceptable to be ambitious, to try harder, or to want more? Must I be content with the inheritance I have right now, or can I strive for more? Am I supposed to be satisfied if I never have more than 100 readers who listen and believe what I write, even while other writers have thousands? And how does that square with those words I heard from God while at a Wild at Heart camp, when he spoke clearly to me about writing, telling me, in effect, “Berry, you don’t realize how big it is.” After that experience, I feel obligated to have big goals. Still, I feel awkward praying for great success.

Rick Warren said, “We are responsible for the depth of our ministry; God is responsible for the width.” Maybe that is the secret to balancing our satisfaction with the Lord’s inheritance with our natural ambition and future dreams. We should focus on growing deeper, and let God handle the width; we must use and develop the gifts God has given us, and let him determine the size of our inheritance.

Question: How about you? Are you satisfied with the Lord’s inheritance, or is it a struggle?

“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 041212: Much to learn about surrender

I had surgery on my right foot, Friday, March 30^th. It took much longer than I’d expected but I don’t really know because I slept through the whole thing. I counted 62 stitches, a lifetime high score.

One question they asked me over and over during the hospital check-in process was, “Mr. Simpson, when was the last time you stayed in a hospital?”

My answer: “1963; for surgery.” Not one person who asked the question was born before 1963.

Anesthesia is much better today than it was back then. I still remember the rubber mask over my face and the smell of ether. In fact, some solvents still bother me even after 49 years, especially fingernail polish remover. This time, I have no memories whatsoever of the anesthesia they used.

Two weeks into my recovery, I’m wearing a big black Darth Vaderish boot, but I’m not yet allowed to walk with it. I suppose I’ll be using crutches for the near future. Around our house I get scolded (well, scolded is too strong, let’s say admonished, or encouraged) because I won’t ask for help whenever I struggle to do something while using my crutches. I’ll try over and over before asking for help. Don’t get me wrong, I like the help and I don’t want to scare anyone away, but I also don’t want to turn into I-Need-Help-Guy. I don’t want asking for help to become my default position.

However, the longer I’m on crutches the more comfortable I get asking for help and getting help. I also know that part of growing up means letting other people take care of me; if I always have to be in charge, if I always have to be the one who does stuff, I’m not living in in grace and vulnerability. Still, I’m a little amazed that I have to think to myself, “It’s OK to let them help me.”

And there are still some things I cannot do myself no matter how hard I try. For example, I cannot carry a large Rosa’s cup full of Diet Coke.

All of this reminded me of the time when my daughter, Katie, first learned to ride a bicycle. She didn’t want me running behind the bike holding her up, coaching her, or standing anywhere near her. She wanted to do it all by herself, and she didn’t care if she fell over several times or if it took longer her way.

I’m the same as young Kate while on these crutches. I’ll spend time and energy trying to figure a way to carry some heavy books or laundry rather than ask for help. I want to do it myself. At least, I want to try to do it myself first, before asking for help, even if it takes longer.

As it turned out, being on crutches bothered me less than not being able to drive. During the hospital checkout process, I agreed not to drive until approved to do so by my doctor. Right away, I was surprised how much not driving bothered me.

I hated not being able to control my own coming and going, frustrated that I couldn’t plan my own movements. It didn’t bother me so much to depend on other people, but I was disappointed that I couldn’t remain in charge of my own personal space and schedule.

Those feelings of frustration were magnified by the fact that my surgery happened at the same time my dad had to move my mom out of their apartment and into a high-security Alzheimer’s facility. It was necessary to limit her movements and control her freedom, but she didn’t like being told what to do, when to do it, or where to go. However, she had become a danger to herself and needed more security and structure. She complains about it every time I see her, and I don’t remember hearing her complain about anything before now.

I could relate to her complaints since I inherited much of my own personality from her, and since I was dealing with independence issues of my own. I was hyper-aware of my mom’s frustrations because I’d been feeling the same thing. However, there are two glaring differences between her situation and my own. First, I know I’ll get better with the passage of time; my mom probably won’t. Second, my mom’s concerns are well founded. She is surrounded by people determined to tell her what to do and when to do it. For me, there are no such people. All my worries about loss of freedom and control are theoretical, within my own mind.

PS: As it turns out, my exile from driving lasted only five days, and for two of those days I was taking Demerol and didn’t want to drive anyway. That leaves me a bit embarrassed complain so much about not being in control, but those five days, in connection with seeing my own stubbornness through my mom’s situation, reminded me how far I still have to grow to be the man Jesus expects me to be. Being my true authentic self is no virtue if it means I am arrogant and independent. I have so much to learn about surrender.

“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 040512: Driven or called?

I often pull books off my library shelves, books that I read months or years before, and flip through the pages, searching for those sentences that brought me to a screeching halt the first time through, hoping they’ll do it again. A few weeks ago, I pulled Speechless by Stephen Curtis Chapman and Scotty Smith, and on page 132 I found this question delineated by fluorescent yellow highlighter: “What’s the difference between living a driven life and a called life?”

Just as I’d hoped, I’ve been chewing on that question ever since. I don’t think I have ever felt driven, or thought I was living a driven life; however, I increasingly feel called to change the world around me through writing and teaching and open living. And that calling, I suppose, drives me.

However, I suppose I can list the names of friends who will disagree about whether I live a driven life. They would say, “Yes, you do,” and maybe they’d be correct. I’m certainly compulsive about following a proven procedure, and stubborn about pushing ahead in spite of obstacles. For example, I hate giving up a scheduled run just because my knees hurt more that day, or a planned bike ride simply because it is 100 F. I resent either pain or weather assuming they can take over my life. If stubbornness can be the target of a driven life, maybe that describes me.

I think part of the difference between living a driven life and living a called life might be the difference between being pushed and being pulled. I feel pushed to do engineering work since that is my training and one of my best skill sets, but I feel pulled into writing and teaching, pulled by a force bigger than my own personal drive.

A driven life is often too cluttered. It's easy to get so busy we have no time to do the right things because we are driven to do so many things. Of course, that can be a simple issue of priorities and time management, but in the context of calling, I think men often fill their days with tasks to avoid finding their true self. If I hear a friend complain week after week about his life being too busy I think that's an indicator that he is caught up in a driven life rather than a called life. Men living in their calling don't complain so much about being busy because their busyness brings them energy and joy.

I also wonder if busyness is another way to avoid risk, to play it safe. Stay hyper busy, do the same things week after week, never have margin for new adventures, and life appears to be full and rich when it is actual thin and barren. Anytime I've stepped into the next layer of my calling, it was risky and scary. And I’ve had to leave behind activities that use to drive my schedule.

But there are things I feel so strongly, so deeply, I know they come from God. For instance, I love to - have to - teach and write and live life out in the open. One of the things I have never been able to stop doing my entire life is telling the story of what just happened - whether the story of a backpacking trip, the story of a Bible lesson, or even the story of reading Stephen Curtis Chapman. Anytime I go somewhere, read something, experience a new place, converse with an old friend, I expect to learn something. I expect to be changed. I expect to come away with a story to tell. Sometimes it takes months or years before I understand the story well enough to tell it, but until I find the story there will be a gap in my life.

So, back to my opening question: “What’s the difference between living a driven life and a called life?” Maybe I’m just haggling over definitions, finding distinctions where they don’t belong. But this I know: I no longer care to burn myself out doing things that lay crosswise to the grain of my soul. I want to live a called life.

QUESTION: What are you pulled into doing? Do you feel driving, or called?

“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 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