Come Back

When they heard God strolling in the garden in the evening breeze, the Man and his Wife hid from God.  God called to the Man: “Where are you?”

The Man said, “I was afraid because I was naked, and I hid.” (from Genesis 3:8-10, MSG)

Every January 1, the beginning of my annual journey through the Daily Chronological Bible, I read the grandest and boldest Fresh Start Story of all, the opening narrative of Genesis. And my favorite story comes from Genesis 3.

The most famous part of this story is the tragic account of Adam and Eve choosing to sin by eating the forbidden fruit. Why did they do it? The serpent told them, in effect, “God is holding out on you; there is a life you can have that’s bigger than the life God has for you.” So they ate, expecting to find a bigger, smarter, wiser, and more fulfilled life.

We’ve all heard that lie, haven’t we? The voice in our head says, “Pursue this even though God says it is wrong; your life will be so much more exciting if you do.”

But Adam and Eve discovered that the wisdom they expected actually showed them their own sin and nakedness, and for the first time in their life, they hid from God. They were afraid of God.

That fear, the first they’d ever felt, must have rocked their world as much as the pain from their sin.

Well, my favorite part of the story is what happened next. The text says that God went walking in the garden, looking for them. God called out, “Where are you?”

Of course, he knew exactly where they were. This wasn’t a game of hide and seek, or a geography quiz.

What God was asking was this: “Where is your heart?”

He didn’t go searching to capture them and punish them. He came to bring them back. God wanted his people to come back. He didn’t want them to be afraid of him.

The best part of the story happened when Adam answered, “I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.”

It was a remarkable confession - that he was afraid of God, and afraid of his own exposure.

But what is even more significant is that Adam answered at all. He could have slunk deeper into the trees and tried to hide further.

He didn’t do that, though. He came back. Adam’s best move in the entire book of Genesis was that he came back. Even in his nakedness and exposure and fear and shame and embarrassment and sin, he came back. His desire to experience God was greater than his fear and shame. He couldn’t stay away. He came back.

It’s a sad truth that Adam sinned against God. He made a huge mistake that changed the entire course of mankind, and he deserves to take the hit for that. But what made him human, his best move ever, was this, he came back.

Just like Simon Peter, who came back to Jesus instead of running away, after committing the most embarrassing sin imaginable. Peter’s need for grace and acceptance and healing from Jesus was greater than his shame and embarrassment.

Just like David, “A man after God’s own heart.” The Bible doesn’t give David that label because of his perfect life, which wasn’t perfect, but because he always came back. After every failure, David ran back to God.

They came back because their need for healing and restoration was greater than their shame and embarrassment. And because they came back, we can come back. We don’t have to slink deeper into the wilderness to hide. We can come back.

The story of Adam took another bad turn when Adam blamed his sin on Eve, who blamed her sin on the serpent. That’s often the way with fresh starts. We begin doing the right thing but stumble almost immediately.

Fresh starts are real, but so is failure. Yet, even when we fail, we can turn around and come back again.

Maybe we set great New Year’s goals on January 1, but by January 3, we wonder what happened. We’ve already stumbled. How could we fail so quickly?

How many times each day will we have to decide whether to go deeper into the trees or step into the light, whether to run away and hide or come back to God?

But here’s the good news. Setbacks don’t have to define our lives. Like Adam, Peter, and David, we have a choice. We can come back to God. He is searching for us, even now.

“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

What Is Your Quest?

His personal trainer rendered him speechless by asking, “Are you sure you don’t want to do more?” I was reading To Be a Runner, by Martin Dugard, one of the best running books I’ve ever read. A longtime runner and coach, Dugard had reluctantly recruited a personal trainer to help him break out of a long, sedentary spell of sloth and weight gain. In the opening interview at the gym, The House of Pain, his trainer, Terry, asked, "What are your goals?”

Surprisingly, for a trained athlete, he didn’t have a goal. He wasn’t sure what he wanted from the workouts other than to be better.

But Dugard also had a philosophical problem with the word “goal.” He preferred “quests.” To him, goals sounded pedestrian, but quests were quixotic.

The distinction between goal and quest was not so obvious to me; however, I could see the difference between setting a goal to lose twenty pounds and being on a quest to hike the Appalachian Trail. Or the difference between setting a goal to read twenty books versus a quest to write twenty books.

Goals seem to be about what you do (or what you want to do), while quests seem to be about who you are (or hope to be).

Therefore, a quest should be bigger than life, something we cannot accomplish on our own. A quest should be an epic adventure.

(Of course, to be honest, I cannot use the word “quest” without hearing Monty Python’s Search for the Holy Grail in my head. That’s probably why I seldom use that specific word, even though I talk about the concept of epic adventures often.)

Martin Dugard told a story about running up a long set of steps to the top of an Italian mountain, near the shores of Lake Garda, to see the ruins of a fifth-century castle. The route got progressively steeper the further he ran, but he was not tempted to turn back. He didn’t know what he would find at the top, or whether it would be worth the struggle, but he had wasted too many weeks without running so he kept moving up.

Dugard’s life aphorism is, “Keep Pushing - Always.” He described  it as a reminder “not to settle but to dream, to live, to sing, to let go of the past and fulfill your destiny. Sometimes a single run can make your whole life come full circle - or maybe just make sense of the things you never understood. That run up an Italian mountain banished my fear of settling.”

His last phrase, “banished my fear of settling,” caught my attention because of my own tendency to settle. I’ve taught myself to seek adventure, movement, and journey, but my natural, organic, inclination is to seek equilibrium, to find a place to settle whenever possible. I’ve learned to schedule runs, hikes, and rides - hard ones and long ones - to keep this tendency at bay.

I’ve also fought my tendency to settle by becoming a goal setter. I don’t claim to be a great goal achiever, but I try to set a sufficient number of goals so if I only achieve a few of them I still make real changes and feel good about myself. And some of those goals have now become habits so deeply engrained I no longer have to think about accomplishing them - they’ve become part of my daily life.

And so, as a goal-setter, I hate to waste a January. If you’ve been in any of my classes, you’ve heard me preaching the value of New Year’s Resolutions (except that I would rather say “goals” than “resolutions” since resolutions are usually about stopping, while goals are about doing. I think most people would rather do than stop. (Maybe I should consider New Year’s Quests!))

Back to the book - my favorite part of Martin Dugard’s story comes at the end. After several rounds of give-and-take between Terry-the-personal-trainer asking about goals, Martin giving wimpy noncommittal answers, and Terry making fun of him, Dugard finally said, “I want to look better in my author picture.” He hoped this would end the questioning.

Terry asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to do more?”

What a great question for January 2013. Are you sure you don’t want to do more?

Not necessarily more things, or more goals, but taking a few goals deeper into the quest?

Do you have a goal to lose ten pounds? Why not do more, and commit to running your first 5K? Or half-marathon?

Maybe you have a goal to start cycling? Why not turn it into a quest to complete a long-distance group ride?

One goal I want to start is learning to draw. My quest is to be a better writer, and I think drawing will help me to see better.

How about you? What are your goals, or even better, what are your quests, to begin 2013?

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

Transitions

“One thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me” (Philippians 3:13-14, NIV) Tuesday morning last week, I read this note in the margin of my Daily Bible: “December 11, 2007 - my last City Council meeting.”

I wrote that in my Bible so I wouldn’t forget; it was a big day in my life. I had served on the Midland City Council for twelve years.

I don’t remember much about that last meeting except that it felt right - like it was time to move on. I had no real regrets about leaving, yet I would’ve stayed and enjoyed it had I won the election.

The peace of that particular day surprised me, since I’d spent years wondering what I would do with myself after leaving government. I enjoyed serving on the Council, even the difficult and painful times. I loved making decisions that made Midland better, stronger, and safer for families. I was proud of the work I did to encourage park development, improve quality of life, and turn vacant run-down empty lots into living neighborhoods. I poured a great deal of intellectual and emotional energy into city government, and it occupied a huge portion of my mental capacity for the entire twelve years.

So my biggest questions on December 11, 2007 were, what will I do next, and who will care? Maybe the unspoken question was this: Who will I be after today?

For twelve years I’d wondered how it would end. I expected to be anxious and restless after leaving, until all those government wheels spinning in my head coasted to a stop.

But what really happened was this: nothing. The daily wear-and-tear and problem solving flew away quickly and completely. Instead of being haunted by my own absence, I was free. I forgot about government almost immediately. It faded quickly into something I used to do, long ago and far away, like going to college or being single.

The freedom was a gift from God. He was telling me be cool, it was time to go, press on to the future, and forget what lies behind.

Here’s what happened next.

I found time to write and publish two books. (My third will be out in January 2013.)

I dived deeper into the lives of the men God entrusted to me.

Cyndi and I built a new house - actually, we stood around and watched while Kahler Homes built it - and we love it. We filled it up with people almost immediately and have kept it full ever since.

I don’t know how I could have done any of those if still in government.

What I am trying to say is, while I enjoyed serving all those years, and I am certain I would enjoy it today if I were still there, I am happier in my new life. Happier than I was before, and happier than I expected to be. And the fact the transition was so easy makes it even better. As if God took my hand, led me across the street, and said, “Let’s try some different stuff over here for a while.”

Well - back to my Daily Bible - the next morning, December 12^th, I read a story from Acts 24 that reminded me how transitions seldom work out as quickly or cleanly as we want. Most are harder, and most drag on longer that we hope.

The story in Acts was about a time when the Apostle Paul spent two years in prison because the governor was afraid to make a decision. Two years, gone, just like that.

Paul’s situation reminded me of another transition story. In 1994, like many other engineers, I was laid off by my employer of fifteen years. It took two years before I was working again. Two years, in the middle of my career, gone, just like that. Unemployment was frustrating and embarrassing; hard to comprehend God’s purpose.

However, during that time I developed the practice of writing one page every day. The topic wasn’t important as long as I filled the page. I also broke out of my corporate cocoon and dipped into the relational side of the independent oil and gas industry. I made a lot of new friends.

At the time, both of those activities seemed like busy work, stalling until something better came along. But looking back I realize they made my current life and work possible. Who knew?

And to be honest, the period of transition that began in 1994 has never really ended. Instability and uncertainty just became my way of life. I can’t say I am happy about that, but I’ve grown comfortable with it.

So sometimes, the transition doesn’t end right away. Maybe we need more training or conditioning; maybe the circumstances aren’t ready for us; maybe we just need to be grow up a little bit. It’s often hard to know the “why” of God’s timing.

The end of the calendar year means transitions for most of us. This is a great opportunity to move from the past, whether behaviors or beliefs or roadblocks, and into the next phase. It won’t be easy, but transitional moments should never be wasted. Ask God to show you what to leave behind and what to press toward.

And another thing about transitions. We seldom get a peek at what will come next. God doesn’t show the next thing to us until we are ready, and like ten-year-old boys, we are never ready as soon as we think we are.

So press on toward those transitions. They may happen quickly, or may take two years, but you can trust God to have your future in his plan.

Questions: Which big transition of your life happened quickly? Which took a long time? What do you see for 2013?

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

Honoring a simple tradition

Our traditions are like our stories; they illustrate who we are, the kind of people we’ve become, our values and priorities. And behaviors become traditions only one way, through repetition. And that takes intentional action. So Wednesday, in honor of tradition, I ran twelve laps on the track at Memorial Stadium, starting at 12:12 PM. A tiny handful of runners - two others, to be exact, and one run official to certify the activity and hand out water - joined me to celebrate the numerically symmetrical date December 12, 2012, or 12-12-12. Why? I had to do it. I could not let it pass by.

This tradition began more than 24 years ago when I was running early one morning and realized that August 8, 1988 was coming up and we should do something with it. The running club came up with the Crazy Eights 8K, to be run at 8:00 PM, the evening of 8-8-88. One club member welded some crooked figure-eight trophies and another, Frank, made wooden mounts. We gave the trophies to the 8^th place finisher, and 18^th, 28^th, etc.

Being proud of ourselves, we started planning for the 9-9-99 9K. Eleven years later, we ran at 9:00 PM on the cart path of the new nine holes at Hogan Park Municipal Golf Course, and Chuck, the Parks Director, gave old nine irons to the 9^th, 19^th, etc., finishers.

The opening decade of the 21^st-Century provided more frequent opportunities for similar races. My favorite was the four-mile race on 4-4-4 near Stonegate Fellowship church. Much to everyone’s surprise it was cold and rainy that afternoon, and we Texans had already packed away our winter gear. We all froze in the cold rain.

But the reason that race is my favorite was what happened at the finish line. We saw an experienced marathoner, Andy, racing with a young high-schooler, Derek. Andy pushed Derek the entire four miles, and he made the boy hurt in a fast finishing sprint. As soon as Derek crossed the line he threw up in the street. He then collapsed into the gutter, still retching, cold water rushing past him, carrying the mess away. All the guys working the finish line and those who’d already finished were amazed, impressed, and proud that a young man would give that much of himself in a race. We stood around for several minutes bragging about him until some women ran over to give him love and comfort and help him inside. We men were so moved by his example of courage it never occurred to us to help him. That young man is now a U.S. Marine. Go figure.

After that, we ran every year, 5-5-5, 6-6-6, etc. We even duplicated the original Hogan Park 9K at the golf course by running at 9:00 PM on 9-9-9.

So with 12-12-12 approaching I wanted to finish the series in style. Some traditions are more fluid so that you have days or weeks to observe them. We take leeway with birthdays, holding parties on days when it’s most convenient rather than insisting on the exact day. But the 12-12-12 thing wouldn’t work on any other day. The very reason for the tradition is the symmetry of the date, and running on the 13^th or 11^th instead of the 12^th just doesn’t swing. Unfortunately, the 12^th was a Wednesday, and since we had to run at noon or midnight, that was a problem. Neither twelve miles nor twelve kilometers made sense in the middle of the day in the middle of the week.

And not only that, the hustle of the holidays stole our attention, and there was a fire in our church, the race sponsor, and soon, the initiative to put on a race was gone.

Without an official race, I knew I would do something twelvish on my own, but didn’t think anyone would be interested in joining me. Then another of my road-warrior friends, a past president of the running club, Carla, now a letter-carrier in Colorado Springs, Colorado, stirred me into action. I sent out emails and posted on Facebook about running twelve laps at the track at noon on Wednesday, 12-12-12.

I understand that to many people the whole symmetrical date thing sounds more like an obsession than a tradition. I can’t explain why it is important to me, except that it’s fun.

I also understand, or am beginning to understand, or maybe learning, that it was more important for many of my friends to know I observed 12-12-12 than it was for them to actually participate? Why do I know that? I got a lot more feedback from the announcements than participation at the actual event.

That’s OK. I didn’t mind. In a weird sort of way I’ve learned to appreciate the expectations people have of me. It feels tribal.

We often laugh at traditions; especially baby boomers who think we carry the rebellious sixties in our hearts, wondering why we have to do what we’ve always done merely because we’ve always done it. As I’ve gotten older I realize that the fact we’ve always done it is often reason enough to do it again. In a fast-changing world it is even more important to hold on to simple traditions … especially the simplest traditions.

And so, let me be the first to invite you to join me for a two-mile race on Wednesday, February 2, 2022. You have ten years to train, so get started. You’ll have fun. It is a tradition you don’t want to miss.

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

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

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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