Not What I Had Planned

Let me just say up front, this a true story that happened just last weekend. And one more thing: It turns out I am not always as smart as I think I am.

There; I said it.

Saturday morning. I knew it would be a beautiful Texas February day, with a projected high temperature in the low 80s, with wind under 20 mph. Cyndi was out of town studying yoga. Knowing I was not on Uncle Berry duty, I planned a long bike ride.

Because it was supposed to be so warm I left the house wearing a long-sleeved cycling jersey and my vest, figuring I could stuff the vest into my back pocket when it got too hot. But I turned back after only a few blocks and went home to put on more clothes. I was still six hours ahead of the day’s high temperature. I added wind jacket, full-fingered gloves, and neoprene ear protector to my kit.

My jacket doesn’t have traditional pockets in the back, but some sort of long pocket with a side-opening zipper. I hadn’t used it before, but it seemed handy enough, so I stuffed my phone and iPod inside. I didn’t zip it.

I’m not going to make or take phone calls while riding unless disaster strikes, but I carry my phone to track my ride with GPS using an app called Strava.

The ride was fun and comfortable, little traffic, no drama, few riders on the road. I was hoping to extend my ride a little further so I crossed under Highway 191 at Deauville and circled around the Legends Neighborhood.

Then I rode home feeling good about myself. The ride was going well, I wasn’t tired of the bike saddle, my legs and hands felt good, and I was wearing the right clothes. I was anxious to see how far I’d ridden.

But when I got home and reached for my phone … it wasn’t there. I quickly stripped out of all my sweaty layers and checked all the pockets, but no phone. Bummer. It must have fallen out somewhere during the ride.

I drove my pickup slowly, retracing my route. After about five miles I saw a black object in the road in the intersection of Rockwood and Edgebrook, just north of Mockingbird. It was my phone, lying face down in the street. There were at least two sets of tire tracks on the case.

My phone was dead. The screen was shattered, and the on/off button wouldn’t respond. The good news was I found it before spending the entire afternoon searching.

Sunday afternoon. I bought a new phone: an iPhone 5s.

Someone who lives with me suggested I staged the entire event just to get a new phone, like in the commercial where the guy spilled (threw) coffee on his ancient laptop. A valid suspicion except I did not want a new phone, and if I staged a disaster I would’ve waited until after the ride so I could upload the data. As it happened, I was forced to guess how far I rode; nobody wants that.

My new phone has Siri, but I turned it off. I don’t want my phone to be my friend. My new phone also has fingerprint “Touch ID,” but I turned it off, too. I don’t use the same hand or the same fingers when I use my phone. And since the 5s uses the lightening connection instead of the traditional iPhone connector, none of my accessories will work, including my iHome, which I used to listen to NPR every morning. New technology doesn’t add value to your life right away. First, it makes life harder.

This was not what I planned for my weekend. I intended to ride 40 miles, take a soothing shower and then camp out at some favorite restaurant and download my accumulated thoughts into my journal, and feel proud of myself, and all that. Seems noble enough.

Even though I am trying to spend 2014 making fundamental changes in how I live, hoping to add energy, vitality, and creativity, I want to make changes I myself orchestrate. I don’t want a bunch of unpredictable changes from accidents out of my control.

Wednesday noon, Bob Goff said, “A lot of us are one job behind who we’ve turned in to.”

The problem with planning my own changes is I’m too slow. I’m probably one change behind who God is turning me in to. Maybe one ministry behind, or one self-image behind. One phone behind. Or maybe the entire phone thing was a training exercise for bigger changes coming.

I don’t know; but if I want to be God’s man, I can’t expect to make all the plans myself. I’m not that smart.

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

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Going Long

I’m looking forward to warmer weather this weekend so I can go on a long ride or two. Since I’ll be on my own – Cyndi will be in Dallas and I won’t be pulling Uncle Berry duty – I’m planning to get in some big miles. I know it will help me organize thoughts for my next book. There is a photo of George Sheehan showing who I want to be, or think I am - a man, fresh from a long run, spilling out creativity and insight on paper.

Here’s the thing about long runs or long rides, which in the context of my life and my current level of fitness means being out two hours or longer. Running or cycling so far is much further than necessary for fitness. In fact, it actually hinders fitness since it courts injury and fatigue.

So why do it?

The main reason is to train for racing. Long distances train the mind and body to handle stress and make you a more efficient athlete.

But there is a deeper, spiritual element to it as well. For me, I need to stay out long enough so finishing becomes a struggle, far enough I’ll be a little stiff-legged for the rest of the day, long enough to spend a couple of hours with myself inside my own head.

Afterward, I need to find a place to sit and decompress and write in my journal as soon as possible. I may not write anything about the particular run or ride, but the extended time moving opens my mind and heart in a way I cannot duplicate anywhere else. The creativity buzz I get afterward has as much to do with rarity as with extended effort.

I’ll admit not every mile is fun. When I have the wind at my back and a smooth road ahead and it feels effortless, like gliding, like flying. But turning into the wind or riding on a rough road is never fun. However, and I hate to admit this, but I think the hard miles open up my mind more than the easy ones.

Lately, the only time I can go more than two hours has been on my bike. I miss running long, and I want that part of my life back. I’m constantly working on my gait and pace to get those long runs back in my life.

In fact, I have been running better, lately. Not fast, still hobbling along at 15-minute pace, but three miles or more with no walking. My knees are never comfortable but I’m learning what to expect, how much discomfort I can tolerate, and how to work my form to help them out. I can imagine a future when I’ll be able to run further and faster.

One of the reasons I’m certain this phase of my life isn’t yet over is I haven’t stopped dreaming … of 100-mile trail races and cross-country bike rides. I need to believe I still have those in my future.

But there is still the question: Why do it? For me, going long is an investment of time and energy into creativity and spiritual deepening. There are places my mind and spirit can’t reach any other way. I want more.

There is no joy in life without purpose, no purpose without journey, and no journey without struggle. There must be difficult miles to add value, learning, or growth. I’m looking forward to many more long miles.

QUESTION: How do you feed your creative urge? “I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

More To This Life

Once, over our monthly lunch, I told my friend Glen Hackler, “Listening to Steven Curtis Chapman makes me with I could sing; listening to Rich Mullins makes me with I could write. Both of them make me wish I could tell stories better.” That conversation took place about 1998. My feelings haven’t changed.

Last Saturday night we heard Steven Curtis Chapman at the Wagner Noel Performing Arts Center in Midland. I tweeted, “An excellent night. There was a time I could enjoy a concert without crying through every song. Apparently, not now.”

I have mixed feelings about crying in public. I don’t especially want to cry in public and I certainly don’t feel comfortable doing it, but it happens more often with each passing year. It has been my goal to not become hard and crusty as I get older; well, apparently I’m getting squishier instead. I’m good with that. I would rather be softer with age than harder.

My tears Saturday night reflected a deep investment in Chapman’s music through the past twenty-five years, and the way his stories have penetrated my heart. I wrote: “Two of the deepest influences on me were Rich Mullins and Steven Curtis Chapman, because they told personal stories with their music.”

Their songs were more than catchy melodies; they were glimpses into a lifelong search for how to live for God every day. Not only did those two songwriters influence me as a musician, but their statements of grace and freedom shaped my theology more than any preacher or writer.

One of the songs Chapman sang Saturday night has this line: “There’s more to this life than living and dying.”

As I wiped away the tears from my cheeks (before they found a home in my beard) it occurred to me that in my desire to be a mentor to men and a trail guide on our shared spiritual journey, my main responsibility was to show that life was more. To pull back the curtains of daily distraction and point out – there’s more to this life than living and dying. There’s more.

One of my favorite comments about Rich Mullins was made after Rich’s death, “I wondered what window Rich was looking out of.” The question being, How did Rich Mullins see God when all the rest of us saw scenery? How was he able to see so much more?

And so, my role as a trail guide is to bring men to the window and pull back the curtain to show there’s more to this life; to keep men moving past the early switchbacks that send too many casual hikers back to their cars prematurely, and say, “It won’t always be like this. It will eventually flatten out and the view will change. There’s more to enjoy just around the corner. Let’s go together.”

The first person to show me the more of life was a young man named Ray Tuttle, who chased me across the parking lot of FBC in Norman, OK, one Sunday evening in September 1976. I had just begun my studies at the University of Oklahoma when Ray hunted me down. He bought me a Coke that evening, and invested his life in me for the next two years.

He taught me a lot of disciplines, like reading my Bible daily and memorizing verses and teaching dorm Bible studies, but those were only tools to help me see belter. What he really did was open my eyes to a faith beyond what I’d inherited and a bigger life as a Christ follower. Ray pulled back the curtain and said, “There’s more to this life than living and dying.”

One last story.

I was watching an adventure movie about guys climbing in Patagonia, called 180* South. The young climbers were mentored by 70-year-old Yvon Chouinard, who founded the clothing company Patagonia and Chouinard Equipment, which would become Black Diamond Equipment. Toward the end of the movie they were about to summit a previously unclimbed mountain which they named Cerro Geezer, when one of the young men asked Chouinard, “What do you want to call the route?” When someone makes a first ascent, they get to name the route so they’ll be remembered by all future climbers who follow them. Chouinard said, “Nothing. Just Climb it. Walk away. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

This was a comment made out of strength, not despair. Chouinard had enough fame. He didn’t need more notoriety. It was enough for him to mentor those young men as they climbed together to the summit, and show them there was more to life than being a famous climber.

Last Saturday night Steven Curtis Chapman reminded me of who I want to be. I want to be a curtain puller, a story teller, a trail guide, who’s message is this, “There’s more to this life.”

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

A Balanced Life?

My friend Paul once told me his feet are happiest when standing on uneven ground. As a true Wyoming mountain man, living on level ground in Texas has taken its toll on him. Me, I don’t mind level ground so much. After all, I’ve lived in west Texas 86% of my life, and the other 14% was in places just as flat; level comes natural to me.

For the longest time I saw the level landscape as a metaphor for life. A life well-lived was smooth, even, and stable. In fact, I looked forward to the day when my whole life would be balanced; when I would be settled into my perfect job and perfect house and perfect pickup and perfect relationships and perfect ministry and perfect set of goals and dreams. A balanced life sounded good to me.

I remember mentioning to Cyndi about how living in balance was surely calm and peaceful; she pointed out that a ballet dancer balancing on point appears calm and graceful, but if you could see inside of her leg and foot you would see muscles firing with constant corrective movements. Cyndi thought there was no real perfect balance for humans. At least, not if the human was alive.

She’s very smart. Not long after our conversation I read this in a science book, Deep Simplicity: Bringing Order to Chaos and Complexity, by John Gribbin, “Equilibrium (perfect balance) is of no intrinsic interest because nothing happens there … the nearest a living thing ever gets to equilibrium is when it dies.”

So if equilibrium equals death, being alive must be unstable, unbalanced, and turbulent. The trick to surviving is to get better at the corrective movements. The older I get, the more comfortable I am living that way. Not only am I comfortable, I’ve learned I need change and surprise, even instability, in my life to keep growing and stay creative. I need a bit of turbulence in order to thrive.

Which brings me to something I read just this morning by Patricia Ryan Madson in her excellent book, Improv Wisdom. “In the act of balancing we come alive. Sometimes we feel secure, sometimes precarious. In the long run we develop tolerance for instability.”

A couple of summers ago Paul took Cyndi and me on a long hike in the Rocky Mountains National Park, above Estes Park, Colorado. We saw at least seven beautiful serene lakes and dozens of mountain streams. It was amazing. For the entire day we were surrounded by stunning snow-capped peaks, but for Cyndi and me, it was the water that caught our attention. We took more photos of running water than anything else. I’m surprised we didn’t take any videos in order to capture the sound, since rushing water against logs and rocks, turbulent flow, is simply musical. We couldn’t get enough of it.

Lately I have been working through ideas for my next book, thinking about what it means to be a trail guide and mentor, and I’ve wondered how this idea of balance and the desire to live a level life fits in. Should I encourage young men to find stability, or should I tell them to learn to, in the words of Ms. Madson, “Embrace the wobble?” Does Jesus care whether we have equilibrium in our lives? Does he want us unbalanced?

I don’t know. But I know this - Jesus wants us to live in whatever state that causes us to seek after Him. For me, that is not equilibrium, not balanced, or steady state. It’s a little bit wobbly. And I am getting used to that.

QUESTION: How about you? Do you look forward to changes in your life?

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

A Filled-Up Soul

I was thirty years old before I became a student. It wasn’t until then that I understood the value of intellectual discipline, and I set about to learn how to think. Before that I coasted on the data I learned and the experiences I had when I was younger.  I had a very rich spiritual upbringing thanks to family and church, and another deep infusion of spiritual truth while I was in college; I taught and I lived from those past experiences and stories for too long.

Here’s what happened: I heard a set of talks (on cassette tapes) by motivational speaker, Jim Rohn. He was the first voice I heard that encouraged a systematic and intentional life gathering and capturing knowledge. He said, “How many people keep a list of the books they read, and a journal where they capture quotes and ideas? Very few. It will put you in the top ten percent.”

What he said changed my life. Not only did I start reading again, but I kept a list of books I’d read and started keeping a to-read shelf at home so I would have the next book ready. I started regularly checking the new-book section at our local library and I’d grab anything that caught my attention regardless of topic or author. Mr. Rohn made me hungry to learn. I wanted to be in his top ten percent.

And then, a few years later, I took another hit from another teacher.

It was a Sunday evening in 1994 and I remember sitting in a metal chair taking notes from a lesson on church history taught by our pastor, Jim Denison. As I listened to Dr. Denison answer questions and dig deep into far-ranging topics, I realized two things: (1) he might be the smartest man I’ll ever know, and (2) he hasn’t stopped learning. He was teaching from fresh learning; he wasn’t pulling out his threadbare notes from university days, but giving from what he’d just learned. Jim was actually engaged in his own education, even as an adult, even though he already had a PhD. The light came on in my head – the gravitational pull of learning seized me. I decided that very evening that I wanted to be just like him and pursue knowledge, wisdom, and insight for the rest of my adult years.

As soon as class was over, I asked Dr. Denison for a reading list, and a few days later I received two lists – one with ten books about church history, and the other with ten books about theology. It was a killer list, too; seminary-grade reading.

In fact, the list was a bit more than I’d planned. I worked hard tracking down books in that pre-internet pre-Amazon era. I learned how to use the interlibrary loan system. I wrote book reports and sent them to Jim, hoping to keep my reading honest and my study on track.

So why am I telling these old stories, you ask. Because of something I read in Gordon MacDonald’s book, A Resilient Life. He told a personal story about a time when he was caught unprepared as a young pastor, when one of his church members was killed accidentally on a hunting trip. McDonald felt inadequate and spiritually dry while trying to minister, with nothing to offer this family. He wrote, “It was a most miserable moment, a scary one for a youthful pastor … I determined I would never again be caught with an empty soul when others needed spiritual resources.”

As I read MacDonald’s story I realized I felt the same way. I don’t want to be caught spiritually dry while trying to minister. The classes I teach need a teacher who is growing and learning right alongside them.

MacDonald wrote, “I came to see that I owed my congregation a filled-up soul.”

Yeah, me too. I owe those God has entrusted to me a filled-up soul. I now see learning as an obligation. To do any less is to sacrifice the gift.

And so, here is my appeal to you. I am always on the lookout for my next influence, for smart insightful writers. Who are your current favorites? Let me know. I have some space on my to-read shelf.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Surrender or fight?

It is no secret that I limp all the time nowadays. It’s become my regular walk, the result of arthritis in my knees and the occasional cycling crash or running injury. And all that limping recently made my reading of a Bible story even more personal than usual. Tuesday morning this week I sat in one of my favorite Whataburger booths reading my Daily Bible from Genesis 32, a story about a man named Jacob. He was moving his entire family, all his possessions, herds, and flocks, back home, toward his brother Esau who had publically vowed to kill him. It is a tense and stressful story.

Jacob cowardly sent his family and herds and servants ahead of him, in wave after wave, hoping to impress and appease Esau, hoping to save his own life. A manly man would’ve gone out ahead of the group, meeting Esau in person, but Jacob used his own family as a safety shield.

The story told about Jacob’s long night before the encounter with Esau. He spent his last night alone. Except, that he wasn’t alone.

The Bible says Jacob spent the entire night wrestling with a man. The man is not identified, but Jacob clearly knew this was God himself, or a representative of God, and Jacob saw this as his opportunity to win a blessing. The wrestling match eventually ended when the mysterious man touched Jacob’s hip near the socket, causing permanent debilitating injury that made Jacob limp the rest of his life.

In a previous reading of this story I wrote in the margin of my Bible: “We like to quote: ‘Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger,’ but sometimes it leaves us crippled for life.”

Every time I read this particular Bible story I ask myself, Would I be satisfied with a personal touch and blessing from God if it meant a permanent disability? Would I consider that a fair trade? Would I consider it a blessing? Would it remind me of God, and point my focus toward Him?

I hope it would. I’d hate to take that sort of hit and waste it in bitterness and resentment.

But when I ask myself that question (Would I be satisfied with a touch form God if it meant permanent disability?), I’m not really asking the best question.

Instead of wondering whether Jacob’s limp was worth it, I should be asking, How would Jacob’s life have been different if he hadn’t wrestled with God at all? What if he’d surrendered instead? What if Jacob had asked God, “What do you want from me?”

What if Jacob had confessed his inability to succeed through trickery and manipulation, even though that’s all he’d tried his entire life, and asked, “Lord, teach me to trust you?”

Maybe God would have touched Jacob’s heart instead of his hip, leaving him with lifelong courage and character.

If only Jacob had acted in gratitude instead of resistance, in humility instead of arrogance, in surrender instead of combat, he might have lived the rest of his life known for strength and influence instead of his crooked gait.

QUESTION: How about you? When do you tend to wrestle when you should surrender instead?

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Shakin' in 2014

I talk big about making changes and how change adds energy to life, but in truth I don't make a lot of big ones. For example, my only change of note in 2013 might be my new MacBook. But that doesn’t stop me from looking ahead, searching for the next change that’ll make me a better man. This translates into, of course, New Year’s Resolutions.

However, I understand how NYR can be scary for a lot of people. The very idea implies life-dissatisfaction, and who wants that.

But for me, I see NYR as hope that I can be better and stronger and smarter next year. Not that my previous years were unsatisfactory, but that next year can be my best ever. I see NYR as leaning forward into the future.

We used to have a Labrador named Lady, and she ran thousands of miles with Cyndi and me. Often during a run she would jump through the pond at C. J. Kelly Park to cool off. And as soon as she cleared the water she did what all dogs do after they get wet - she shook violently to sling off the water.

Once Lady shook off the water she was ready to move on down the trail, full of expectancy and joy. She had no interest in retrospection or analysis, all she cared about was the road ahead. She wanted to keep moving.

And so, entering a New Year should be like that for us. It's a time to leave behind the sentiment of Christmas and move on to something fresh. It’s our opportunity to shake off the old stuff - the goals and projects and bad habits – even dissatisfaction - of last year.

You didn't lose the extra ten pounds last year? Shake it off and start over. Didn't break a three-hour marathon? Shake it off. Never got around to writing that novel? Shake it off. Didn't get your own business started like you'd planned? Shake, shake, shake!

And then, after shaking off last year, it’s time to move on down the road to next year. Who cares that the trail ahead might be the same as last year’s? So what if our goals are the same old routines we've covered hundreds of time. It's a new year and time to move on. Shake off the old and move into the new with expectant joy.

Here is my list for 2014. This is my most interactive list so far, which means I’m asking for assistance and advice with several of these. It turns out I can’t be the man God wants me to be entirely on my own efforts. I need your help.

Knees: Stop complaining about my knees. Everyone hurts somewhere, and as bad as my knees are they get me around better than many of my friends. And besides, I love movement more than I resent the discomfort, so I should just shut up about it. Here’s the deal: if you hear me complaining about sore knees, ask for all the loose change in my pocket and I’ll give it to you.

Draw: Last year I had the goal to draw or sketch every day, on the theory that learning to draw would improve my vision and make me a better writer. I did this for a few weeks, but it fell away. I don’t know why. Maybe I wasn’t committed to the project as much as I thought. Or maybe I just didn’t like drawing. I’m willing to take this on again, but I need some advice from someone who does this well.

Improvise: I finished 2013 reading the book Improv Wisdom, by Patricia Ryan Madison, and she convinced me that I need more improvisation in my life. “For many of us, age produces an increased tendency to rely on known patterns, if not an all-out petrifaction.” I’m not sure how to go about this yet, but the most obvious place to practice improvisation in my life is with music. Once again, I need advice and counsel.

Assume: I want to spend 2014 assuming the best intentions on the part of everyone. That includes family, friends, enemies, business, and politics. I’m sure I’ll be proved wrong occasionally and learn someone had bad intentions, but they are going to have to convince me before I buy into it.

Publish: Publish my fourth book. I used to dream of being a big-time writer with tons of cash and lots of chances to travel and speak. I would still enjoy that, I think, but the odds of that happening are close to zero. I’ve finally understood that isn’t why I write, anyway. The fact is, I believe God gives me things to say, and it is my obligation to repeat them. God gets to decide how many read them. But obligation is a key word for me. I believe if I don’t keep publishing, the insights and ideas will dry up, and I cannot fathom a life like that. As part of this goal I’m planning to use Schrivener to help structure the book. If you have any thoughts about that, I need to hear them.

Evernote: I’ve poked around the edges of Evernote for years, but never fully committed to making it part of my life. Some of the smartest and most creative people I know use it extensively, so I think it deserves a better attempt on my part. Any suggestions or examples?

Proactive: I want to take a more proactive approach to working out and stretching to prevent further injuries and extend my functional years. I have too many miles to go, yet.

Minimize I’m pretty good at cleaning my clothes closet, but I think I can do better. My plan for 2014 is to reverse the clothes hangers so that they point away from me, meaning it will be more difficult to pull them from the bar. I’ll put them back the right way after I hang up my laundry. By the end of the year I will know exactly which clothes I never wore all year long, and consider giving them away. So if you see something in my closet that you want, you know what to do. Just reverse the hanger whenever you see it.

Project:  I have a magazine article I promised a friend but I’ve been putting it off because I don’t think I’m very good telling other people’s story. It is time to do the right thing and finish this project.

Planning: I will work with Cyndi to finish our wills and estate plan. It’s become even more obvious to us these past months how important it is to do this right, and depend on people we can trust to do the right thing.

Pass it on: You probably know by now I’m not happy unless I drag a few other people along with me down the trail of life. So I hope you’ll join me in 2014. I’d love to hear your own goals for next year.

Don’t waste time over failures or shortcomings from last year, just shake them off. In fact, do it right now. Stand up and give a quick shake. Then point your nose toward next year and take off running. This is a new season and a fresh start. Good luck.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Merry Christmas

We will be at home in Midland for the Christmas holidays this year, a practice that’s become tradition these past five years. Before that, we traveled every year. Cyndi and I were the first of our generation in either family to marry, and since we always lived hours away from both, we established a pattern of alternating holidays – Thanksgiving with one family, and Christmas with the other, and then flip flop the next year – from the very beginning. It was a pattern that we maintained, with only rare exceptions, since that first holiday season in 1979. As other cousins married they joined the same schedule, each family alternating a big Christmas with a small Christmas. Nowadays, however, since all our cousins have families of their own, the tradition has had to adapt. It has become harder to round up the entire tribe in one place.

However, location is no longer all that important to me. I’m happy whenever we’re all together no matter whose house we’re in. I don’t mind traveling for holidays unless the roads are icy, and I don’t mind having lots of family around (although I am usually the first to start looking for an escape to privacy after a day or two).

For Cyndi and I, Christmas is truly a season-long celebration. We start watching Christmas movies as soon after Halloween as possible. In fact, we may watch a different movie every night, which is unusual for us since we almost never have our TV on every night. The only other time we watch that much TV is during the Olympics.

Our favorite movie is The Muppet Christmas Carol, and it is always the first one we watch every year. We also enjoy Miracle on 34^th Street (1947) and Miracle on 34^th Street (2000), White Christmas, Holiday Inn, Elf, The Preacher’s Wife, Olive the Other Reindeer, The Polar Express, The Santa Clause, and Christmas With the Kranks. Lately we’ve added Four Christmases and Fred Claus.

One family tradition we missed this year, and I’m sad to write this, is Christmas caroling. And not only are we not going this year, we didn’t go caroling last year, either.

Not only do I miss singing the songs together, but it makes me nervous to miss. I’m afraid this time-honored tradition will fall away in modern times, and these young families God has entrusted to us will not have the joy of caroling with their children the way we did

Cyndi and I started caroling as a Sunday School class event 22 years ago, and we kept it up through at least three different Sunday School assignments. We have great memories that accompany each adventure … no, even better, we have great stories. I hope we find a place for it next year. My heart needs it.

One of our oldest family Christmas traditions is to read the book, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, by Barbara Robinson. In the past years, Cyndi read it in the car whenever we drove from Midland to Hobbs for Thanksgiving, and it lasted almost perfectly from driveway to driveway. But now that my parents live in Midland and we don’t make the hour-and-a-half drive to Hobbs we lost that opportunity.

However, Cyndi also reads an abridged version of the book every year during one of our adult Bible study classes. Some of the couples may have heard this a dozen times.

Here’s the thing … there are so many ways to tell the Christmas story. We read the gospel accounts, we stage live nativity presentations, we give big choir and orchestra performances, we send Christmas cards, we decorate our houses and yards, we wear Christmas sweaters, we sing Christmas carols, and we give our dollar bills to the Salvation Army bell ringers. Maybe we do most of these because they have become warm traditions for us, but I believe the real motivation runs much deeper. We do all these things, because we’re telling the story of Jesus through our lives and actions, and that story changes both the teller and listeners in more ways than we can know.

It’s the tiny details of traditions that put heart and soul into family celebrations. And it’s the effort and expense and inconvenience that we go to that gives the holidays value and life. I’m amazed at how these details of life get repeated again and again and eventually become family traditions that we can’t live without. Those details are what add texture to our lives together, and working them out is one of the ways we love each other.

I hope this writing finds you with those you love the most. And I hope you take every opportunity these next few days to know and share the grace of Jesus, who is God with us, the breath of heaven. Merry Christmas.

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

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Relationship Labs

My life has taken an unanticipated turn, and I’m happy about it. I’ve become, of all things, a people collector. In my previous life Cyndi and I had across-the-street neighbors, Frank and Carolyn, who as card-carrying people collectors, would never let me sneak from driveway to front door before they hollered out, “Hey Berry, how are you?” I would try to dash past, the same way I try to run into Office Depot or Walmart without the greeters saying “Hi,” but F&C were too true to their nature to let a mere introvert get the best of them. Sometimes they even walked halfway across the street to get my attention.

What made me think about all that was hearing Diana Krall sing these lyrics through my computer this afternoon: “Faithful friends, who are dear to us, draw near to us once more” (courtesy of Pandora’s Christmas Music station).

And just this morning I drew near to a dozen faithful friends for breakfast. We call our Cracker Barrel meals Relationship Labs, pretending that by calling it a lab we are doing something more constructive than eating and making fun of each other for an hour.

It’s a real-life application of Hebrews 10:24-25, “And let us consider how to stimulate one another to love and good deeds … encouraging one another.” In his book, Strengthening Your Grip, Charles Swindoll wrote: “We are to think about ways to stir up each other so that the result is a deeper love for one another and a greater involvement in doing good things for one another.”

The author of Hebrews did us a favor by beginning his admonition with the phrase “and let us consider how;” he left the details up to us. It’s our job to take care of each other. And not casually - but we’re supposed to consider the issue - think about what to do, and evaluate, and do it.

It took me over forty years to understand that I couldn’t change the world as a hermit. I spent too many years running away from people. They made me uncomfortable and I just didn’t want to bother being sociable. I was content to stay in my cave and read and write, coming out only occasionally to teach a class before retreating back inside. But one day it occurred to me that hermits have very little impact on the people around them regardless of writing skills or teaching insights. People’s lives are changed when they let someone live close to them, and I couldn’t be an agent of change unless I become one of those who got close.

And in fact, I’m giving myself too much credit. I wasn’t smart enough to figure this out on my own. I had several highly social friends who wouldn’t leave me alone. Such as Frank and Carolyn, that I already mentioned, and Mark, who wouldn’t let me eat lunch by myself, or Paul, who wouldn’t let me sneak off and pack boxes by myself, or even Darrell, who made me start publishing.

Well, leave it to a writer to over-intellectualize a simple breakfast with friends. Maybe I should just leave it alone – as in, sometimes food is just food.

But the fact is, my life is richer and deeper than it was a few years ago, and these guys are a big part of the reason for the change. Hanging with them is always fun, always strengthening, and always encouraging. I’m blessed to have so many quality men close to my life sharing the trail.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

One of Us

You shouldn’t let interesting weather go unexperienced, and in western Texas that includes those rare cold, harsh days. We have too few of them to miss, so when my Yahoo Weather App said 27*F and sleet, I knew I had to drive home for a quick 3-mile noontime run. Who wouldn’t? It was only my second run since I hurt myself again a few weeks ago (because I tried to come back from injury too quickly (according to Cyndi)). I’m trying to learn from previous mistakes and slip slowly back into my old routines, so I’ve been taking it very easy.

I’ve been cycling some, but when the temperature gets below about 45, and especially if it is windy, well, I just don’t own enough clothing to stay warm … not even warm, I don’t own enough to not be miserable.

But running works in the cold. Just pile on enough layers and you can be warm as toast.

So I ran the dirt roads near my house on the theory that the rough surface would be less likely to ice-over. And I was right. The ground was dusted with snow, but traction wasn’t a problem.

So on the return leg of my out-and-back route, as I passed the pasture with polo horses, they started moving toward the fence to get closer to me. They had insulating blankets strapped to their backs, a bit like me in my long pants and jacket with gloves and ear muffs. All of us had a little bit of ice hanging from our gear.

So I stopped for a short bit while they came right up to the fence where I was standing. I’ve run past this pasture many times, and probably run past these same horses many times, but this was the first time they acknowledged my presence, much less walked to the fence to check on me.

Maybe it was a statement of solidarity on their part; as in, all running beasts outside on a cold windy day should stick together. I hope that’s what it was. I appreciated their attention.

I took a few minutes to stand against the fence, took off my glove and held out my hand so they could smell me. I’m sure they would’ve been even friendlier if I’d brought horse snacks, but I didn’t. It’s hard to remember everything.

Still, it felt like a brief moment of bonding. It felt like I was One Of Us. I was outside running in the cold, just like they were, and it felt like they were saying “well done.”

OK, I know I am making too much of this, but it was a cool moment and I need all the encouragement I can fabricate when it comes to running. I had my phone with me to log my distance, so I took a photo of my new friends.

As I ran on back toward home I remembered a similar experience one cold winter afternoon while running on the county road north of the Tramperous Ranch in northeast New Mexico, where we were visiting Cyndi’s grandparents for the holidays. The late winter afternoons were always my favorite time to run there because the low-angled light from the setting sun enlivened the gold and yellow in the winter grass and it was beautiful.

On that particular day, as I ran along down the road racing sundown, a chestnut mare trotted over to the fence to watch. Just as I pulled alongside her she took off, running down the fence line, parallel to the path I would be running if I could’ve run that fast. When she reached the corner of the pasture she turned to watch me catch up.

It was one of my best running moments. It felt like she was waiting for me to join her. Once again, I felt like One Of Us, a fellow running beast.

I’ll be the first to admit I know very little about horses. I especially want to point that out before all of Cyndi’s cousins read this and jump on my personifications of such cool animals. But anytime I discover I am One of Us, I can’t help but smile, and relish my position. I suppose I don’t want to be alone as much as I let on.

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

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