Wounded

I felt very brave to go cycling Friday morning. It was foggy and 45*F. I changed the lenses in my shades from dark to rose-colored so I could see better in the fog. I had new batteries in my flashing red light so motorists could see me better. I was ready to go.

So I rode away from the house only to circle the block and come back home to put on my tights and jacket. I still don’t have a handle on how much to wear when cycling during the winter months. It’s a different calculation from cold weather running. Runners underdress in cold weather, but cyclist have to overdress since we create our own wind chill.

It felt strong to ride fast down “A” street in the cool air with no wind. I even slowed before making the hard right-hand turn into the paved alley just north of the Dakota Apartments.

But I didn’t slow down enough. I made the turn, something I’ve done dozens of times, but when I crossed a big wet spot on the pavement, something else I’ve done dozens of times, both of my tires lost purchase and my bike skidded out from under me. I landed hard on the asphalt on my right hip, elbow, knee, and palm.

As I floundered on the ground trying to get back up, a nice woman drove down the alley toward me. She had seen the entire fall, so she rolled down the window of her tan Tahoe and asked if I was OK.

I slowly wobbled up to my feet. All my bike’s parts seemed to be in working order since I’d used my body to protect my bike from hitting the ground. I didn’t see any blood or torn clothing to hint at serious physical injury.

I said, “Thanks, I’m fine. More embarrassed than hurt.”

She said something like, “OK, be safe. I’ll bet you are sore tomorrow.”

The damage to my body was minimal since I was going slow enough to fall straight down and didn’t skid. I readjusted my equipment and myself and rode on down the alley to Lancashire Road, planning to finish my scheduled 38-mile ride.

But not for long. My hip began to ache, the fog was no longer fun or exciting, and my early morning courage faded. I realized I was done for the day, so I turned around and rode back home to take a hot shower.

Standing in my closet, I carefully peeled away my layers of cycling clothes to assess the damage. I had scraped the skin off my right kneecap and had a growing, palm-sized bright purple bruise on my right hip. Neither hurt right away, at least not as much as they appeared, but I knew I would feel differently the next day.

Later that morning, as I sat in my favorite booth and wrote in my journal about cycling wrecks, I thought about those other wounds that haunt us. The scrapes and bruises to our heart and soul that come from moral failures or personal defeats or thoughtless family or friends, or even the wear and tear of daily life. Those hidden injuries affect everything we do.

Showing off our physical wounds is part of the fun. I often say, “Without a scar there isn’t a story, and without a story, it’s like nothing ever happened.”

But those wounds to our heart, we tend to cover them up. We hide them, thinking we’re protecting ourselves by covering over.

Sometimes we even hide them from ourselves and we don’t know why we behave the way we do. Why we back off when we should be brave, why we slow down when we should fly, why we fail to speak up when someone close to us needs it most.

My wounds from falling will heal soon. But our wounds of the heart last longer. Partly because they are so hard to identify, but also because they tend to hit us in our softest points.

Maybe we have to remove a few layers before understanding how damaging those old wounds can be. Sometimes we may need help with the layers, being too sore and damaged to peel them back ourselves.

As far as cycling is concerned, my plan was to get back on my bike as soon as possible. Moving often flushes the soreness away, something I’ve learned after 34 years of running.

Of course, getting back in my bike won’t heal the skin abrasions. Those take time, and even then may leave a scar or two. My hope after any fall like this is that I will come out of it a better and savvier cyclists.

That has certainly been my experience with deeper wounds in my heart. After treatment and healing, I am a stronger and smarter man. And braver. Brave enough to go out again the next day.

“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

Simple things

Just as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so go on living in him—in simple faith (Colossians 2:6, Phillips) I asked my friend, Randall, “When do you reach the grandfather stage when you don’t have to do every single thing your granddaughter asks?”

He said, “Well, can you say no to your daughter, yet?”

Good point.

Our Thanksgiving week started Sunday afternoon when Cyndi brought our 2.73-year-old granddaughter, Madden, to our house in Midland, from her home in Mansfield. We had her all to ourselves until her parents, Drew and Katie, drove in Wednesday evening.

Madden is delightful. She talks all the time in (what seems to me to be) highly complex sentences. And she wants me to do everything with her. “Pops, let’s hop across the street together.” “Pops, come sit beside me and read to me.” “Pops, I want some cheese” “Why did you switch cars with Gran, Pops?” “I want to do it myself.” “Pops, can you make a funny face?” “I want to do it myself.” “Let’s go down the big slide together.” “Pops, watch out for the goose poop on the sidewalk.” “I want to do it myself.” “I want you to do it with me.” And, like that. It was great, but exhausting. I haven’t been on two-year-old duty since 1985, and I’ve lost most of my endurance. But simply hanging with Madden simply made me happy.

The thing is, because I wanted to spend as much time as possible with Madden, I didn’t go running or cycling all week. It was a good trade, but I missed moving down the road. I also missed Cyndi’s Wednesday morning Body Pump class, staying home in case Madden woke up.

I finally got to run Thursday morning, in the Midland Turkey Trot 5K.

My daughter, Katie, won the women’s race outright. Of course she did. I didn’t win anything. For one thing, I’m slow, but also because I was in the same age group as Popcorn (Boston qualifier) and Craig (Ironman triathlete). So there was no pretending I had a chance. I did finish ahead of the woman pushing a stroller, so I had that to brag about.

I could have gone to Cyndi’s Body Pump class Friday morning but instead I opted to stand in line outside Sam’s Club with daughter Katie. We tricked my son-in-law, Drew, into going to Cyndi’s class. It was satisfying to see him sore the rest of the day, being the workout beast that he is. It made me feel better about my own soreness from chasing Madden.

To maximize family time, I put all my exercise thoughts toward Sunday afternoon, hoping for a long and fast bike ride. It would be my big comeback, my reentry into routine. My chance to start moving again, as well as burn off holiday snacking.

So when it was finally Sunday afternoon, I got dressed to ride (after some premium time with Cyndi), but when I grabbed my bike from the ceiling hooks, I discovered the back tire was flat.

Not a problem, however. Still excited about finally moving, I quickly changed the tube and raced away down “A” Street.

I was about a mile-and-a-half from home when I realized the shimmy in my back wheel wasn’t from gravel in the road but from another flat. I had to creep back home, keeping my weight forward on my front tire. I changed the tube again.

My second time to leave home, I made it a half-mile before feeling the same unstable shimmy. Bummer, another flat. I was starting to lose my excitement about this Sunday afternoon ride.

When I removed the tube, I saw it was doubled back over itself, overlapping about three inches near the stem. The folding had caused the flat, and it was the second time I’d seen the exact phenomenon that afternoon. The tube must have crossed back on itself while I aired it up. Both flats were my fault; I was in a hurry. I’m not exactly sure what I did wrong, but I suspect I should have put a bit of air into the tube before fitting it between rim and tire.

By then, my brilliant Sunday afternoon had morphed into Sunday evening. It was too dark ride safely, no matter how much I wanted to log some miles. I was quite disappointed. All I needed to top off my excellent week was a simple bike ride, but now the opportunity was gone. I didn’t know what to do with myself except to drive downtown to check my post office box. A weak cure for frustration, I know, but I had to move myself somewhere, even if in my truck.

Later that evening as I told my sad story to Cyndi, I wondered where I had gone wrong with my plan for cycling Sunday afternoon.

But I hadn’t gone wrong (other than poor flat-fixing technique). I had invested my week in the best things of life; the simple things, like chasing my beautiful granddaughter around the house, and standing in line at Sam’s making obscure wisecracks with my daughter. Those simple things bring me the most joy in life.

So I started making plans for Monday. I was certain I could squeeze twelve fast cycling miles into my lunch break. What could be simpler than that?

“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 ww.runningwithgodonline.com , or “Retreating With God,” go to ww.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

Thanksgiving

I was looking through my weeklyjournals, all the way back to November 1998, surprised how few times I wrote about the joys of Thanksgiving. I was certain I’d written more

I’ve always enjoyed Thanksgiving. Maybe because I don’t personally participate in the two frenzied traditions – cooking and shopping. I enjoy cooking, but don’t really cook anything myself unless trapped in a corner. And I enjoy shopping for gifts, but would rather pay more for something than dive headfirst into Black Friday.

It’s curious that I enjoy Thanksgiving so much when the traditional Thanksgiving foods I long for are few: leftover turkey sandwiches and Cyndi’s homemade apple pie. I can eat almost anything if the social situation demands it, but I’m no longer tempted to eat green bean casserole, brown-sugared sweet potatoes, Jell-O salad, anything with cranberries, anything with pumpkin, or even dressing.

On several occasions, usually after running the Turkey Trot in either Dallas or Ft. Worth, we end up eating Thanksgiving dinner at Cracker Barrel. I order the chicken-fried steak with corn and (plain) green beans. It is wonderful.

So why do I enjoy Thanksgiving so much when I don’t enjoy so much of the regular fair? I think because we always eat with people we love, usually a lot of them, and we take our time and enjoy the company as much as the food. In our family, we laugh more than anything else.

But of course, the Thanksgiving meal isn’t the most important part, is it. As Americans we get plenty of food all year long, and most of us eat too much of it every time we sit at the table. The most important aspect of Thanksgiving is the name itself. Thanksgiving.

Brene Brown, in The Gifts of Imperfection, described our real hunger like this: “We're a nation hungry for more joy: Because we're starving from a lack of gratitude.”

Ms. Brown understands practicing gratitude to be fundamental in our search for wholehearted living. She wrote, “When it comes to gratitude, the word that jumped out at me throughout the research process is practice. As someone who thought that knowledge was more important than practice, I found these words to be a call to action. For years, I subscribed to the notion of an “attitude of gratitude.” I’ve since learned that an attitude is an orientation or a way of thinking and that “having an attitude” doesn’t always translate to a behavior. It seems that gratitude without practice may be a little like faith without works - it’s not alive.”

I’ve noticed several of my Facebook friends counting down the days of November by listing something they are thankful for, something different every day. I’m thankful for their reminder that being grateful takes initiative.

This year I’m grateful for big changes. Cyndi’s sister Tanya just bought a new house here in Midland, and she and her son Kevin have spent the past two weeks moving in. It’s a phase change for all of us, and big changes like that create energy and excitement.

I’m grateful to have Cyndi back all to myself, but even more happy to witness Tanya and Kevin moving boldly into the next chapter of their life. Fresh starts should be savored, never wasted.

I’m grateful for all the young couples in the Compass class at First Baptist Church. You make me happy. I look forward to leading in class every week, and I hope we have many more years together.

I’m also grateful for the valiant men God as surrounded me with every Thursday morning. In my old life, I underestimated the value of having good men around me. Not anymore. The Iron Men make me braver, stronger, and bolder. Thanks, guys.

I’m grateful that my own children have become fine adults and faithful parents. Knowing the future is in their hands is comforting.

I’m grateful for the drive God has given me to write and teach. I would have missed almost every lesson I’ve learned had it not been for my desire to tell the stories.

I’m grateful that my legs can still move. I am not ready to sit down, yet. I think God has too much more to teach me, and I need to keep running and hiking and biking to hear his words in my heart.

I’m grateful to live with a woman that loves me with all her heart, who works very hard to stay sexy and beautiful, and who listens to all my ramblings. Without Cyndi, I would be a lonely pathetic shell of a man; I am grateful for all the ways she has changed me these past 35 years.

And finally, for those of you who read this far, I’m grateful for you. A writer is not a writer unless he has readers. Thanks.

“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

The power of dirt

Running in the mud is something Iwish I got more of. Of course, if I got a lot more of it I wouldn’t enjoy it as much. As it is, I think it’s fun.

So when we got that big 4” rain a few weeks ago, the one that dumped more water on Midland than we received in all of 2011, I couldn’t wait to get out on the dirt roads near my house, even if I knew there was a risk I would get into a big mess.

This is a booming town and someday all that open land will be developed into residential neighborhoods and I will lose the dirt roads, so I run on them as often as possible. I don’t want to waste my turn.

I went running Saturday afternoon while Cyndi and Kevin when to the fair. It had stopped raining by then, but the air was still damp and smelled wet. I hoped it would start again while I was out so I tied my water-resistant jacket around my waist just in case, but no joy.

However, my mud run was great, anyway. It got tricky in a couple of low spots because the boys in their mud trucks got there first and tore up the road, but I just bushwhacked my way through the adjoining mesquite and yucca and prairie grass.

Here’s the deal. When running, I will almost always choose dirt over asphalt.

I started running on dirt years ago because it was softer and less damaging to knees than asphalt or concrete. Before it was love, it was therapeutic. It seems ironic, now, that God would put that love in my heart yet plant my life in West Texas where there are few opportunities for trail running. My first experiments were down dirt alleys in the neighborhoods between the gym and the par course. The uneven surface took getting used to, but it strengthened my feet and ankles. And it made me happy.

What happened once I started running on dirt is what happens to me often - a simple mundane choice becomes a spiritual adventure. Each mile on dirt spoke to my heart. It made me softer, and more alert.

There’s power in being a free range runner, but before you join me, I should mention the risk. I’ve had some spectacular falls. Unlike Cyndi, I have never fallen in the street on asphalt, but I’ve skinned both knees and hands numerous times running on dirt.

One bad fall was on the northwest edge of Kelly Park before it actually became a park, when my feet tangled with loose wire from the nearby fence. I went straight down, landing on face and hands.

Another fall happened near the Scharbauer Sports Complex. It removed three square inches of skin from my left knee and led me to discover magic bandages (Johnson-Johnson Advanced Healing Adhesive Pads). At least I was able to maneuver my landing to a spot between two giant yucca plants and avoid impaling. I also managed to roll to the left and land on my shoulder and back, saving both palms.

Another time, I fell in the median on Esplanade Boulevard in New Orleans, when I jammed my toe on a rogue tree root. I bloodied both knees and had to limp back to the hotel to clean up and recover. I was a pathetic image working my way through the hotel lobby, full of women attending a cake decorating convention.

But it isn’t all about falling. Some of my most profound spiritual encounters have come while running on dirt trails. The most memorable was on the Colorado Trail above Buena Vista at about 9,000’. That particular run was a reward, a gift from God, following a difficult spiritual battle. It was Nov 2003 and it is a great story in itself.

I don’t know why having my feet on dirt is so important, or how it became a spiritual connection. To help understand the connection I decided to do a Bible search hoping find the perfect verse linking mud and dirt with spiritual insight, but all I found was a story about the time Jesus spit on the ground to make mud so he could heal the blind man’s eyes (John 9:6). It is a good story, but not what I was looking for.

So I turned to another deep resource: Jimmy Buffett’s book, A Pirate Looks at Fifty. He called his time spent on the water, “hydrotherapy.” He wrote, “The ocean has always been a salve to my soul ... I made the discovery that salt water was good for the mental abrasions one inevitably acquires on land.” I wondered how I would phrase this for my life. How can I describe the healing that comes from running on dirt? Maybe, “terratherapy?”

I once wrote an essay about the five things I could not live without, and the fifth item on my list was dirt. I need to get my feet on dirt fairly often. Whether I am running or hiking or dreaming, I have to have my feet on dirt. Terratherapy is a powerful thing.

“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

Three Questions

?

Gary’s opening question on Thursday night was this: What three words describe your story in the last year?

My first word was “movement.” I tell everyone that my wife Cyndi experiences the world through movement, and if you know her, you agree. However, I’ve learned that I’m no different. Just like her, I have to keep moving to stay alive and engaged. I have to keep running, cycling, hiking, reading, learning, writing, teaching, and loving, or else I will go to seed.

My second word was “speaking.” I’m learning how to speak into the hearts of the men and women God has circled around me.

My third word: “retraining.” This past year has felt like a retraining time for me as an engineer, as a runner, and as a cyclist. I suspect there are also other categories where I’ve been retraining, but they aren’t as obvious to me, yet.

Why was I answering Gary’s questions? I spent the weekend high above Colorado Springs at the Bear Trap Ranch, at a men’s retreat with Noble Heart. It was an entire weekend full of questions. Hard questions, to be exact. They were the kind of questions that dig deep into your heart; that demand close listening to insights from God.

The retreat was called a Base Camp Gathering, and it was a great time of deep and serious experiences with God that left me feeling light and free.

I was also reminded that we are all individually important for the work of God. Too often, we look at a ministry or a church and all the spiritual leaders seem to have the same skills, personality and talents. We don’t see a place for us, with our different set of skills, personality, and talents. It can make us feel useless.

But at a weekend like this, surrounded by guys with different personalities and extreme stories, it was clear that God needs all of us to live as he has called us.

It occurred to me that when we talk about our calling from God, maybe we should use the word “obligation” instead. It isn’t enough to be called, we have to step up and live it out. Not merely to feel successful, or useful, or better about ourselves, but because the community around us will suffer if we don’t live our calling.

And that thought leads me to Gary’s second question form Thursday night: What desires are you most aware of (at this moment)?

I wrote, “My desire it to leave a deep wake of changed lives. I intend to spend the rest of my life giving away all that God has given me.”

Gary’s third question was this: Where do you sense God has focused his training of you during this past year?

I answered, “I feel like God has been training me to concentrate on those closest to me. That is where my “giving away” begins.”

Saturday afternoon they asked me lead one of the sessions, and I was so happy. It’s always good news when the cool guys give you a turn.

To settle my mind before teaching, I decided to go for a run. I had prepared enough, didn’t need to go over my notes again, and I knew a run would blow out the cobwebs in my mind and burn off excess adrenaline.

However, the fact was, we were at 9,100’ elevation. Not only that, all the roads and trails out of camp went straight up. So what I did could hardly be called running. I was short of breath even on the downhills. But even a wheezing shuffle calms my brain and my heart and opens them to new ideas.

My session went great. And as usually happens I learned more from the guy’s responses than I did from my own study. That’s the best part about teaching: the teacher always learns the most.

Gary Barkalow reminded us that a base camp is the place where alpine climbers cache supplies and shelter to prepare for the next level of the ascent. And so for this group of men, the purpose of our Base Camp Gathering was to reorient our hearts, recalibrate our efforts, and resupply our courage for the next level of ascent God has for us.

Your personal journey can take you deeper and closer to God, resulting in eternal significance, but you have to live your life on purpose. I am stronger and braver because of my time with these men. I can’t wait for the next opportunity.

QUESTIONS: What three words describe your story in the past year? What desires are you most aware of (at this moment)? Where do you sense God has focused his training during this past year?

“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

The Greatest Adventures

I almost always have at least twobooks going at the same time. One typically stays on my nightstand or in my big brown chair at home. The other lives in my backpack (my town backpack, or book bag, that is) which sits in the front floorboard of my pickup when I’m not hauling it around. I started keeping a second book in my pick-up a long time ago, when my kids were young and I would sit reading, waiting for the end of soccer practice or dance class.

I do try to mix up my reading so I won’t get the two books confused, and also so I won’t get stuck in a rut. I won’t read too many hard books in a row, or too many spiritual books, or science books, or humor books. If I read the same category back to back to back I end up skimming more than reading. I want to give each book a fair reading.

But the strangest thing happened recently. My system got messed up. Both of my books were about distance and endurance. My home book was a memoir by Marshall Ulrich titled, “Running on Empty: An Ultramarathoner’s Story of Love, Loss, and a Record-Setting Run Across America.” Not only is Ulrich one of the world’s toughest endurance athletes, he might be near the top of lengthy book title writers.

My backpack book was another memoir, this one by Paul Stutzman, titled, “Hiking Through: One Man’s Journey to Peace and Freedom on the Appalachian Trail.” Another long title.

For as long as I remember, I have enjoyed reading about epic life-changing journeys. I read enough of them that I feel obligated to tell Cyndi, “Don’t worry; I’m not going to try this myself.”

Not that the idea of running coast-to-coast or through-hiking the Appalachian Trail doesn’t sound appealing to me. They both do.

So where does this come from, I wonder? Why do I like adventure stories? Especially man-against-nature or man-against-distance stories? Why does the thought of epic journey sound so attractive?

I think it has something to do with the pursuit of vulnerability.

After all, we can’t test our own limits without putting ourselves in vulnerable, risky situations. We can’t know what we’re made of unless we have something to lose.

Maybe we don’t want to know what we’re made of, afraid to ask the question because we are scared. What if the answer is - you are weak, and a loser, and a quitter?

But merely being brave enough to ask the question, take on the risk, makes us stronger. A Through-Hiker who has to leave the trail due to injury or weather is still stronger than the wannabe sitting at home waiting for the perfect moment to try. Willingness to show up makes us a little braver each time.

The greatest adventures are often the simplest. Maybe even mundane. And they are laced with vulnerability.

Loving someone is uncertain and risky. Putting our art, our writing, our photography, our ideas, our music out into the world with no assurance of acceptance or appreciation is extremely vulnerable.

One of my current mundane adventures: I’m relearning how to run, nowadays. It’s my post-foot-surgery post-arthritis-diagnosis running phase.

I’ll admit that what I do is more hobble than elegant gait. And I’m not always comfortable doing it on public streets in front of friends and neighbors. For someone who writes about the joys of running as much as I do, for someone who had published a book titled, Running With God, I feel like I should be better at it.

People have even asked if I’m race walking now, so I work hard to have both feet off the ground at the same time … the defining distinction between walking and running.

But moving is important. I’m happy with small incremental gains, even gains that would have embarrassed me in the past. I’m pleased when my pace drops into the 14-minute range because I think I can do 13 next.

 And if I can do 13s, then 10s, and then maybe even a 50K.

As I push my knees and learn how to handle the new sensations in my legs, the very activity seems to add value to life. It makes my heart happy. I end every run thanking God for his encouragement.

I’m just not ready to sit down yet. I hope there are lots more epic races in my future. Maybe even a long-distance trek.

What are your adventures? Is there something epic you dream of doing?

“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

Reconnecting to the supernatural

Do you have sacred places, thinplaces, where God once spoke to you? Do you ever go back to reconnect?

One day last week I listened to a Mosaic podcast by Hank Fortner, and he reminded me of one of my favorite Bible stories - about the time when God stopped the Jordan River so the people could walk across.

Now the Jordan is at flood stage all during harvest. Yet as soon as the priests who carried the ark reached the Jordan and their feet touched the water’s edge, the water from upstream stopped flowing. (Joshua 3:15-16, NIV)

Those priests were brave men, walking into a flooded river while carrying the heavy ark. God didn’t stop the water until they took the initial risk of stepping in. And if that wasn’t enough, they stayed in the middle of the river to show the way.

The priests who carried the ark of the covenant of the Lord stopped in the middle of the Jordan and stood on dry ground, while all Israel passed by until the whole nation had completed the crossing. (Joshua 3:17, NIV)

I’ve read that story, even taught that story, many times through the years, but this time I couldn’t help but imagine one of those priests sneaking back down to the same spot on the riverbank, years later, after the conquest was over, and putting his feet in the water to see if it would stop again.

Maybe he was a little sad that it didn’t work a second time, but even happier to know it was God who did the stopping and not his own magic feet. Wouldn’t you rather have God than magic feet?

I imagine that priest returning often to put his feet in the water, to feel the coolness, to remember the time when the river stopped, to relive the moment of God’s power and authority and grace, allowing the water to draw him closer to God once again. Spoiled to the supernatural, he wanted more.

There’s more to the story: the twelve stones.

 So the Israelites did as Joshua commanded them. They took twelve stones from the middle of the Jordan, according to the number of the tribes of the Israelites, as the Lord had told Joshua; and they carried them over with them to their camp, where they put them down. Joshua set up the twelve stones that had been in the middle of the Jordan at the spot where the priests who carried the ark of the covenant had stood. And they are there to this day…. Joshua said to the Israelites, “In the future when your descendants ask their parents, ‘What do these stones mean?’ tell them, ‘Israel crossed the Jordan on dry ground.’ (Joshua 4:8 - 22, NIV)

And so, I imagine my priest starring at that pile of rocks, a permanent reminder of God’s power. Maybe, when his life was especially hard, he put his hands on them just to remind himself of God’s goodness. Maybe he even sat on the ground with his back leaning against the pile, letting the heat in the rocks soak into his exhausted body, like the grace of God soaking onto his heart.

I don’t think I’m off base here. In his phenomenal book, Wild Goose Chase, Mark Batterson asked: I wonder if Peter ever rowed out to that spot where he walked on water? Did Zacchaeus ever take his grandchildren back to climb the sycamore tree? Did Lazarus ever revisit the tomb where he spent four days? Did Paul ever ride out to the mile marker on the Damascus Road?

Every once in a while we need to go back to the sacred places and celebrate what God has done. Reconnect to the supernatural. I’ve done that a few times in my life. I think of it as anchoring a memory.

One day in 1999 when I was driving back to Midland from a drilling rig visit, I stopped in Brownfield and changed clothes in a fast food restaurant parking lot (in the privacy of my car, that is) to run down Highway 137, one of my first “adult” routes. It was in September 1980, while running down that very road, the immense responsibility of being a brand new father washed over me all at once. At the turnaround, I made a commitment to step into the role, and I was a different man running back home. I returned to Highway 137 nineteen years later because I wanted to smell the air and remember the texture of a road that played an important part in my new life as a husband and father.

Another story: One morning in May 2008, at a Wild at Heart Advanced Camp at Crooked Creek Ranch, Colorado, I returned to a concrete picnic table where God spoke to me in the deepest emotional experience of my life. I wanted my friend Eric to take a photo so I wouldn’t forget, or diminish, what happened there. I still look at that photo often, to remind myself that I didn’t fanaticize the whole story.

How about you? Have you returned to a sacred place where God once spoke? Have you leaned against the rocks to feel the heat of God’s grace?

“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

So much junk

I’ll go ahead and say this right upfront: Email makes my life better, richer, and more efficient. It made my dream of being a widely read writer a reality when I first started publishing weekly journals back in 1998. But as with all good things, email can also become a disaster in the wrong hands.

My story begins Monday last week when I checked email on my phone. Something was amiss. All I saw was a long string of messages saying, “Mail Delivery Failed.” I had fifty seemingly identical messages. All day Monday, every time I checked it downloaded a new set of fifty emails. Message after message, saying, “Mail Delivery Failed.”

It’s true, I’d sent out a group email the night before, and I often get one or two messages like that because I type the address wrong or someone changes addresses or whatever, but this was something else. For one thing, I’ve never sent a group email large enough to get this many returns. And another thing: when I looked closely at some of the returns they had addresses I had never heard of. I was under attack.

I also knew it was different from those email viruses going around that send junk to everyone on your contact list. None of these returns were from anyone I ever knew. I was getting returns in Japanese and German and Thai and Arabic. Not my contact list.

When I got home, I went to my laptop, tagged the returns as junk mail, and deleted the rest of them in my inbox. Then I went riding, to burn off some of the frustration.

From that point forward, Outlook did a great job grabbing the incoming returns and stuffing them into junk. By the time I went to bed Monday night, I had 7,340 messages in my junk folder. It seemed like a lot. I deleted them all hoping my problems were over.

They weren’t.

For the next couple of days I got page after page after page of the same “Mail Delivery Failed” messages. They were all unique, with different bounced email addresses. Outlook sent them all to my junk folder, but my server cache, wherever that is, filled up so that friends could no longer send legitimate emails to me since my inbox was too full.

By Friday morning, the return message rate had decreased to the point I was once again receiving legitimate messages from friends. Even my own predictable junk mail from catalogues and political candidates found a way through. I had stopped deleting the emails in my junk folder because I wanted to know how many I would receive. Why fight through an adventure if you can’t quantify the damage, is what I always say.

So here is my diagnosis: Some scammer, who knows who, who knows where, found my email address and password and used it to send his spam so that it appeared to originate with me. When the messages were rejected, either by a canny server or because the address was stale, they bounced back to me.

My friend and computer go-to guy, Frank, said it would probably be over in a few days after the spammer moved on to someone else’s fresh address.

In the meantime, I had been tagged as a spammer. I was receiving worldwide rejection from people (or, computers) I would never meet. I only hoped Homeland Security didn’t get one and put me on their comprehensive suspicious-character-don’t-let-him-do-anything-especially-fly-on-an-airline list. I also hoped al-Qaeda didn’t get one, or SPECTRE. Blofeld holds long grudges.

Well, it’s now over. I didn’t have to change my email address because of this attack, which made me happy because I like my address. There are only three people using Stonefoot since we created it ourselves using the name from one of the giants in The Last Battle from The Chronicles of Narnia. I would hate to give that up without a fight. Other than temporarily cluttering my hard drive there was no damage done.

By Friday evening, all I was receiving was typical standard junk. No new “Mail Delivery Failed” messages. The final count in my Outlook junk folder was 44,266 emails. Seems like a lot. It was a reminder there are many things that make my life better that I cannot control.

Sometimes life throws so much junk at you, you might as well stop fighting it. Just wait until it tapers off, delete the records, and start fresh.

QUESTION: What junk are you dealing with this week? What is filling your inbox?

“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

Is that enough?

I was considering Sunday’s discussion about a man in the Bible namedStephen. You can find his story in Acts 6-8.

Stephen’s story took place around A.D. 34-35, shortly after Jesus' crucifixion. He was a powerful speaker, and go into trouble with the Jewish authorities because he preached Jesus. He was also exceptionally brave, maybe audacious.

When he was summoned before the Sanhedrin, the highest Jewish court in the land, they asked him if the charges against him were true. Stephen didn’t even acknowledge their question, but launched on a 50-verse history lesson, reciting the long list of Jewish rejection of God in front of the very men who knew this material best.

It would be like lecturing your physics professor about Isaac Newton, or an Olympic athlete about training, or a Supreme Court Justice about the Bill of Rights. How long could you go before they shut you down? “Young man, don’t you dare lecture us on history.”

I don’t know why the proud men of the Sanhedrin let Stephen keep going, except for this: “All who were sitting in the Sanhedrin looked intently at Stephen, and they saw that his face was like the face of an angel.” (Acts 6:15, NIV)

There was obviously something strange and powerful about Stephen, both in his appearance and in the way he spoke. People were drawn to him, and sensed an internal strength and power. Even his enemies recognized his spiritual depth. Maybe that’s what kept the Sanhedrin quiet during Stephen’s sermon.

However, Stephen isn’t famous for his sermon, but because he was stoned to death after preaching it. He was the first martyr recorded in the New Testament. And the narrative implies one of the ringleaders of Stephen’s death was a man named Saul. He later became a believer, and his name became Paul.

My real interest in Stephen is this: Was it Stephen’s purpose in life to make one grand sermon and then die violently in front of Saul?

And the follow-up question: Was that enough?

I write and talk a lot about calling and purpose, and about living intentionally, but I usually think of that as a life-long adventure. I never consider it to a one-time flash.

I realize that Stephen did more in his short life than preach this one sermon. The Bible tells us this about him: “Now Stephen, a man full of God’s grace and power, performed great wonders and signs among the people.” (Acts 6:8, NIV)

So it isn’t fair to think his speech before the Sanhedrin was his only shot at life’s purpose.

Still, the question remains: Was dying in front of Saul worth it? Was it enough to score a life well lived?

You could argue, yes, it was enough, knowing that Saul would become Paul, write most of the New Testament, and personally spread the gospel and plant churches all around the Mediterranean. But at the time of Stephen’s death, he wasn’t Paul. And he was just beginning as Saul, the great persecutor. He didn’t become Paul until after Stephen died, so Stephen never saw the true impact of his death.

How about you? What if your grand purpose in life was to make an impact on one other person? Would that be enough?

We seldom know the true effect of our life. We may get glimpses, an occasional Thank You, maybe even a story or two. But I believe we never see most of the effect of our life beyond bits and pieces.

Is that enough? Can you give your life away with such little feedback?

The answer: Yes, it is enough. We are responsible for the depth of our ministry; God is responsible for the width. We are responsible to bravely live our calling in front of people, giving our lives away; God is responsible for the results.

Living for God with little feedback, fulfilling our purpose anyway, is the heart of faith. Faith that, if God gave it to us and prepared us for it, God will also protect it and make it have long-lasting impact.

Stephen’s life and death mattered more than he could have known. We still study him, 2,000 years later.

And so, your life matters more than you will ever know. Live it out, boldly, audaciously, in faith.

QUESTION: Are you giving yourself away? Is it enough?

“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

A changed image

What does it take to change theimage you have of yourself? Would you even want to?

My self-image as a cyclist changed significantly after my foot surgery last spring. I hobbled around on crutches for seven weeks; when that was over, I was ready to move. Dr. Glass wouldn’t let me run on my new foot yet, but he did approve cycling. I was so happy to be doing something, anything, moving, I rode 16 miles every day. Not only was I regaining fitness, I could feel my pace quickening and my comfort on my bike improving. I felt like a real cyclist for the first time since I started riding again.

Then, for some reason, I had an inspiration to ride 56 miles on my 56^th birthday, which was June 23rd.

Actually, I’ve had a long-standing dream to run my birthday, but there was no way I could run 56 miles, foot surgery or not. And even if I could, running that far in Texas in the June heat would be crazy. I’d have to do it all at night, and where would I go? At the track - 224 laps?

But biking 56 miles seemed doable. Just a small stretch.

The previous summer I rode 50 miles with Todd, Kara, and David, my first big ride after buying my Specialized. But I didn’t follow it up with any more long rides. Since then, my furthest rides had all been in the 25-mile range.

So riding 56 miles was a significant increase (124%), but once the idea rooted in my consciousness, I couldn’t shake it off. What was the worst thing that could happen? My legs could crater and I’d have to sit down beside the road and wait for a ride home. But I would have my phone to call for help and my iPod for entertainment, so the risk seemed minimal.

Friday morning, birthday-eve, I rode out-and-back on 191, with one excursion up to Greentree, and another on Billy Hext. I had to stop and fix one flat at Cornerstone Church, and I took a well-deserved break at the Stripes Convenient Store. By the time I got home, I had actually ridden 58 miles. Happy birthday to me.

My average speed for the day was 13.13 mph. Not fast, but not terrible, either.

The thing is, that ride changed me. I realized the limits I’d set for myself were way too short. I was capable of much more. I saw myself in an entirely different category. I had changed my image.

Still full of myself, and confident in my superhuman strength, I rode 45 miles the next Friday, this time averaging 14.6 mph. I know the average speed thing is not an exact measure of effort or fitness since it depends on wind and temperature, but it is the only real indicator I can measure and compare.

Again, the ride felt good, and I wasn’t especially sore or tired when I got home. I learned I could work very hard for three hours straight, pushing my legs, lungs, and heart, and still feel good the rest of the day.

Since then, through the summer, I rode another five or six rides in the fifty-mile range, some with friends (Cory, and Todd), but mostly by myself. And my average speeds have crept above 15 mph, which used to be my major goal for much shorter rides. I am looking forward to more giant leaps forward in the months/years to come. If I can ride 50, I can ride 100. If I can ride 100, I can ride around the world.

So what’s the point in writing about all this?

Because we all get stuck in our present selves, afraid to move forward, afraid to take risks, afraid to change. It happens to me all the time. I only wrote about cycling because that was an easy change. I’m afraid to write about things that are hard. Things like changing my image as a husband, a parent, a teacher, a follower of Jesus.

How about you? What image do you need to change? Maybe all it would take is a 124% step up. It’s risky. You might fail. But failing isn’t so bad … just keep your phone nearby so you can call for help

QUESTION: Which image do you need to change? How can you make a big step forward?

“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