It Should Have Been Miserable But It Wasn't

Saturday of Easter weekend, I lead a group from Midland to hike Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. I say “I lead” in broadest terms since most of the other hikers made it further up the mountain than I did. The hike is eight miles round-trip with 3,000’ vertical climb, and since 2003 I’ve made it to the summit 16 times with groups of varying sizes. My first time up this trail was in October 2003 and the group was Cyndi and me. We’d invited our entire Sunday School class to join us but our loyal friends thought we were crazy and weren’t interested. So it was just the two of us. Why did we do it? We’d heard our friend Meta talk about how cool it was, and she was a Yankee transplanted to west Texas. We felt like we were letting Texas down until we hiked up the trail ourselves.

This year, I almost had a meltdown Wednesday before the hike. I was worried that the group was getting too big (26+?) and would we have enough transportation to haul everyone and did we have enough drivers and did the newcomers know how hard this was or did someone sell them on a walk in the park and what about all these people I didn’t yet know but felt responsible for and how did it come to this and why do I always get myself into these situations … and well, like that. You know how it goes.

About mid-afternoon Wednesday I finally remembered why we make this same hike year after year after year. It’s because men make friends outside; because people form friendships on the trail; because God speaks to us on the mountain in ways we aren’t prepared to hear when sitting at home; because the core group of hikers are some of the best men I’ve ever known and any time I get other people around these guys only good things can happen; and because grace leaks out of our lives when we do difficult things together.

After all that, I settled down to do what I should have done from the very beginning. I remembered this was God’s trip and we were just tagging along. I was lucky to be part of it.

As it turned out, we hiked in the cold rain almost the entire day. It was 60* with drizzle in the parking lot when we started up the trail, and the rain increased and temperature dropped all the way up the mountain. At the summit the temperature was about 40*, the wind was frightening, and the rain clouds had morphed into thunder and lightning. No one spent much time at the summit since Guadalupe Peak is, essentially, a lightning rod for the entire state of Texas.

The sun finally came out during our descent down the trail, and by the time we all got to the parking lot our clothes were drier. We changed into dry gear and spread out wet clothes in the sun to dry out.

Here is the curious part … the day should have been miserable, but it wasn’t. We were all cold and wet, but once we dried off and started sharing our stories, we were friends. Because of shared hardship we were no longer strangers. All because we’d spent the day on the trail together. One of my favorite writers, Jonathan Katz, wrote, “I am coming to see life as a series of paths, some literal, some emotional, some in the nature of life – marriage, divorce, work, family. These paths take all of us to different places. Paths are important, they are the symbols of our lives, they mark the passages of time, they take us out of our lives or, sometimes, into it.”

What a shame it would have been if we’d not made the hike due to a little rain. We’d have collectively missed a passage of our lives.

As for me, I’m embarrassed about my Wednesday crises and sad I ever doubted a process, a spiritual activity disguised as a mountain hike, which was handed to us from God, which has strengthened the hearts of so many. Who did I think I was to assume this was about me and whether I could handle it all?

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

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Ragamuffin Rich Mullins

This week we watched the new movie about Rich Mullins, Ragamuffin. (The name of the movie comes from a term Rich and his band used about themselves, taken from an excellent book by Brennen Manning: The Ragamuffin Gospel) I enjoyed the movie. Partly because Mullins was so influential to my spiritual formation, and also because it helped be understand his songs and lyrics better. But I have to say, the movie was darker than I expected. I know that Rich was hurting for acceptance from his father and from God for most of his life, but that wasn’t the sum total of his life.

Cyndi and I heard Rich Mullins perform live twice, both in small venues, and while everything he said and sang was convicting and challenging and pointed, he was joyful on stage and energized while performing. I think the movie missed that joyful part of his life.

Rich Mullins was a brilliant songwriter, but by all accounts, not a fun person to hang around with. Too often we expect every Christian, especially Christian artists, to be friendly and warm and open all the time. However, even though we have the Holy Spirit within us to guide our personalities, we are still just broken people. As Brennan Manning said, “We are all beggars at the door of God’s mercy.

To be honest, Cyndi had to drag me to my first Rich Mullins concert. It was at Christian Church of Midland on Neely Street, sometime in the early 1990s. I wish I knew the exact date, but I don’t.

Rich was amazing in concert. His "band" used more instruments than anybody I’d ever seen, and it seemed each band member could play them all. They played guitars (many different types), mandolins, bass (electric bass guitar, stand-up acoustic bass, electric stand-up bass), dulcimer, hammered dulcimer, xylophone, drum set (and congas, bongos, Celtic, and a huge assortment of percussion toys), flute, electronic keyboard, cello, etc. (The movie leaves the impression Rich would let anyone in his band without knowing their musical talents, but that isn’t what I saw on stage. I witnessed some of the best musicians I’d ever heard, ever.)

His music was more rhythmic than melodic, a sort of Celtic-Appalachian-Rock, and it was amazing to hear and watch it live. He captured the open feeling of the prairie and linked it with the wideness and wildness of God's grace.

Rich Mullins made me want to get in my car and drive to the horizon. His songs made me feel like I'd underestimated God’s presence my entire life. His songs made me want to run outside and look at the sky and think about the love of God.

Listening to Rich made me feel I was wasting my time doing anything but writing. Instead of thinking, "Wow, what a great song," Rich made me think "I wish I'd written that."

He made me hope I was doing something with my life that inspired people; that helped them see God and experience His grace. I hoped I was not wasting my influence.

And Rich Mullins loved the church. Not just the CHURCH, as in the collection of all believers, but the church down the street that meets every week. A favorite saying of his was, "The reason I love the church so much is because it is the only place grown men sing."

He did not believe we go to church because we are perfect; he believed that we go to church because we need it. He said, "Every time you go to church you're confessing again to yourself, to your family, to the people you pass on the way there, to the people who will greet you there, that you don't have it all together, and that you need their support. You need their direction. You need some accountability, you need some help."

Rich said, “When I go to church … I involve myself in something that identifies me with Augustine, that identifies me with Christ, that identifies me with nearly 2,000 years of people who have come together once a week and said, “Let’s go to the Lord’s table and enjoy the feast that He has prepared for us.””

One Sunday night in June 1997 a bunch of us went to Odessa to hear Rich Mullins in concert in a small Disciples of Christ church. It was last-minute scheduling that we happened to hear about on the radio. We went with the Aycocks and Mills and Talbots and others. There couldn’t have been more than 200 people in the audience, and we sat in church pews.

As usual it was phenomenal. Mullins thrived in the close intimate setting and performed full-out as if for thousands of people instead of our handful. The audience called him and his band out for several encores, and for the last one they came out without instruments, grabbed hymnals from the pews, and led us all in congregational hymn singing, “There’s Not A Friend Like The Lowly Jesus.” It was wonderful.

Only three months after that concert, on September 19, Rich Mullins was killed when his Jeep flipped over. He and his friend Mitch McVicker were traveling on I-39 north of Bloomington, Illinois to a benefit concert in Wichita, Kansas.

And now, sixteen years later, I still haven’t stopped grieving the loss. I feel it every time I hear one of his songs. I have yet to find another songwriter to speaks to my heart like he did. I often return to my journals from that time period to remember and refresh that significant spiritual period of my life.

What I learned from Rich Mullins was this – there is more, and it’s bigger, and it’s deeper. Rich pulled back the curtain to show me a wider view of God’s love and grace than I’d imagined possible. Like Rich Mullins, I want to be a curtain-puller, an inspirer, a heart-giver. I want to be someone who lives the bigger picture of God. I want to be like Rich.

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

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On the Trail Again

One Thursday afternoon in March I drove over to White Rock Lake with the intent to run for two hours. I briefly considered running nine miles around the lake. I had plenty of time available, but I didn’t want to get caught on the far side of the lake and my knees fall apart and no shortcuts back to my car. We were in Dallas for four days. Cyndi had a training workshop and I came with her so I could hang out around town reading, writing, and running. It worked out great for both of us.

The thing is, I hadn’t run for two hours at one time since the Rockledge Rumble 50K in November 2010. This was March 2014, 40 months later. And my knees were stiff and sore because I was at the end of a six-month Synvisc cycle. I had no business running so far.

But I couldn’t resist.

Since I had five hours until I was scheduled to pick up Cyndi from her workshop I had plenty of time no matter my pace. I knew I could sit for the rest of the day and the next day to recover. And I am always inspired to run at White Rock Lake because of the beauty, because of the other runners around me, and the expectation born from so many epic adventures there.

Which all means, I couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. I parked my rental car on the hill at the northeast corner of the lake off Mockingbird and changed into my running gear in the front seat. Then headed south with plans to turn around after one hour.

I knew it would be rough and slow. I also knew I would walk stiff-legged for several days afterward. So, why did I do it? Why was it so important?

I don’t know. Except that it was.

Maybe the bigger question is, how did running become a big deal for me? If you’d known me in high school you would never have predicted I’d run for 36 years. How did something like running become a spiritual thin place for me? And why did God put something in my life I’ve never been very good at and probably never will be?

Who knows? Who cares?

I finally settled with the wisdom I don’t need to know God’s total end game for my life. I just have to trust Him, that He has it working, which means I have to keep doing my part.

As I ran alongside the lake through the trees I thought about the other trails I’ve followed. Mostly mountain hiking trails. It wasn’t a random connection since I’ve been meditating and ruminating and journaling a lot lately about trails and rock cairns and trail markers and how they speak to spiritual life, teaching, and mentoring.

It occurred to me I’ve been marking trails, stacking rocks, for a long time.

Whenever I tell the same story again and again, whenever I revisit a place to renew my memories, I’m stacking rocks to mark the trail so I won’t get lost. Whenever I tell the same old stories to Cyndi over and over, the stories about our early days together and how we found each other and how we fell in love, I’m building rock cairns to show the path we took so we won’t forget, and maybe so others can follow.

The running trail around White Rock Lake gets lots of traffic and is easy to follow, but the trails of life are not so simple. We have to work to keep them open.

One of the reasons we all need mentors is because it’s so easy to get lost along the way. And we serve as trail guides for others so we won’t get lost ourselves.

As it turned out, I ran for two hours and fifteen minutes. I was so proud of myself I celebrated with a vanilla milk shake. I can’t wait for my next time on the trail. Maybe next time I’ll be brave enough to run three hours.

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

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Slow Growing

It used to bug me that I couldn’t pull an all-nighter training session and run a marathon the next weekend. No, I had to set aside weeks, months, of consistent training. I had to keep working it. I wanted it to be more like my university days when I passed Economics class with a couple of strategically-timed all-nighters. Of course, just because I passed the class doesn’t mean I remember much about economics. Anything I learned in those all night sessions has frittered away except for “guns and butter” and “no free lunch.”

Why can’t I become a faster longer runner right away, like in the Matrix. Just plug the cable into my neck and upload endurance and speed. And why can’t I become a better cyclist using the same technique.

Why can’t I morph into skinny-yet-strong flatbelly overnight? Why does everything I want to do, at least everything of value, take so long?

Erwin McManus wrote (The Artisan Soul), “For our lives to be a work of art, we need to allow a lifetime of work. We must press close to God. We must be willing to take the time and risk the intimacy required for creating an artisan life.”

If we want to be valuable to God and to the people around us we have to keep putting in the work to improve. George Sheehan wrote, “Training is not like money. You cannot put it in the bank and save it. You have to go out continually and fight again and again for the desired improvement.”

It turns out this is also true about relationships. Even the closest relationships die without constant attention. The most heartfelt “I love you” fades away from memory if it isn’t repeated regularly.

It doesn’t seem fair. Why is life that way? Because humans leak. Just like the tires on my bicycle, which lose air slowly and will be completely flat if I don’t add air each time I ride, we humans leak our hard-earned fitness, we leak our fought-for endurance, we leak knowledge about economics, and we leak the assurance that we are loved. And not only do we leak, but because we live in a fallen and broken world, we are constantly under attack by the voices that tell us to sit down and give up.

But here’s the thing … it is the work itself that changes our lives. It is the long training sessions that change us from couch potato to athlete. It is the deep conversations with those we love that change our heart.

In a couple of weeks I will hike Guadalupe Peak with a busload of Iron Men, and it will be a hard day. The hike is eight miles roundtrip, with a 3,000’ increase in elevation. And since the trailhead is above 5,000,’ we are out of breath just getting off the bus.

I’ve made this hike at least fifteen times, and about halfway up I usually remember that there were early plans to build a tram to the top. So anyone could ride the tram to the highest point in Texas and enjoy the view without having to complete the difficult hike. While I’m hiking and trying to protect my knees and struggling to breathe, the tram proposal seems a pretty good idea. But in fact, if we rode to the top, all we’d get for the day would be the view. We wouldn’t experience the life-changing friendships born of shared struggle, or the strengthened self-image from a hard job well done, and we certainly wouldn’t have any stories to share on the drive home.

Again, from Erwin McManus, “Artists understand that the process of fermentation cannot be rushed or hurried. They know that the products they are committed to creating will not happen if they take short cuts or circumvent the process.” (He was comparing our lives to baking bread.)

The coolest part of this, I no longer see this idea of long-term training requirements as a bad thing. It doesn’t frustrate me (as much). Because I know that if I keep working … working at running and cycling, working to improve my writing, working to be a better supporter and lover to Cyndi Simpson … I will be. For all of us, it means our future can be better and deeper. If we get to work.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Making Room

Cyndi worked on her closet this week. The reason I know what she did is because she has a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor two feet high and three feet in diameter. And the reason I know about the pile on her closet floor (we have separate closets, one of my three requests when we built this house (the other two requests: no lawn to mow, and a library)) is because walking through her closet is the most direct route to the laundry room and I had to negotiate my way around the pile without dropping a basket full of clothes and adding to her pile. Thinning the volume of clothes in your closet is not a simple task. As for me, I convince myself I’ll wear it or use it someday, and before I realize what’s happened its two years later and nothing has changed. Except now I’ve accumulated two more years of stuff.

Cleaning, like Cyndi was doing, with the intent to discard, is one of those projects that’s hard to start but gains momentum. As you proceed, as the pile grows, the air gets cleaner and your spirit gets lighter. It’s liberating, whether clothes from the closet or trinkets from a desk drawer or old Christmas decorations or even unfinished projects form the garage.

And so, as I contemplated a Cyndi-like exercise of my own, I listened to a podcast that spoke to my piles of stuff, an interview with British author Penelope Lively, from NPR Fresh Air. Ms. Lively is 81 years old, and she recently published a memoir titled Dancing Fish and Ammonites, which she describes as “the view from old age.” She wrote that she’s no longer acquisitive, but now tries to reduce her possessions. She doesn’t want more stuff.

The interviewer, Terry Gross, asked Penelope Lively about all the books she owns and what does she do with them. Gross said, in her own house books were stacked everywhere, on tables, on the floor, on couches, and she complained, “It’s way too much.” She wondered what Lively did with her own lifetime accumulation of thousands of books and why she kept them knowing she wouldn’t reread or refer to most of them.

Lively gave a great answer: “They chart my life. They chart everything I’ve been interested in and thought about for the whole of my reading life. They identify me.”

Listening to her describe her relationship with books helped me understand why it is easy to clean out some places but hard to clean others. Some of that clutter defines us, charts the path of our hobbies and activities and interests.

So as I follow Cyndi’s lead and start my own Spring Cleaning project I have another tool for deciding what to keep. Does it say something about me, is it tied to memories, does it have a story, is it part of my timeline? If so, I’ll keep it a bit longer.

I should add, this isn’t just about being neat. While I would say I am neater than average (doesn’t everyone say that?) I don’t live my life straightening up. I have piles everywhere, and I often use my piles as physical to-do lists.

No, my desire to clean out and reduce has more to do with creating margin so we have space for whatever God brings next. I think we often have to make room for the next thing before we learn what the next thing is, and I want to be ready.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Love Doesn't Keep Count

I was reading a story from my Bible. from the book of Ruth, when I noticed s phrase that pushed me straight to my journal. It said, “Don’t embarrass her.” The story begins with a woman named Naomi who moved with her family to another country, Moab, to escape a famine. They were climate refugees, looking for a better opportunity. They never intended the move to be a permanent reloation; in fact, the story says they went to live “for a while.”

And then, all the men in Naomi’s family died; her husband and both sons. The story went from hope to disaster in two paragraphs. Naomi and her two daughters-in-law were alone in a time and place that offered nothing to single women. All Naomi could do to survive was return to her home and hope for some sort of miracle.

Ruth was one of the daughters-in-law, and she accompanied Naomi. The two women fed themselves by gleaning, the practice of collecting leftover crops from farmers' fields after the harvest. The farmers left the corners of their fields unharvested as an early form of welfare.

A landowner named Boaz noticed Ruth gleaning in his field, learned her story, and told his men, “Even if she gathers among the sheaves, don’t embarrass her.”

Can’t you imagine Boaz’s men yelling across the field, “The boss said to leave some out for her,” pretending to help but being loud enough everyone knew what they were doing.

But Boaz told them, don’t inhibit her, or scold her, or embarrass her, even if she gathered from among the sheaves (the previously harvested wheat). Leave her alone.

When I read that story I wondered how often I embarrass someone when I’m helping them. How often do I make a big deal out of helping because I don’t want bystanders to think I’m like those poor people?

Probably I don’t do it on purpose; more likely I crack too many jokes to show my superiority. It’s easy to embarrass someone while pretending to be clever.

Bob Goff told us “love doesn’t keep track of how many times it helps. Love stops counting offenses, infractions, and the cool stuff it does.” It says in 1 Corinthians 13:5, “Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” (NIV)

Love helps people. Love keeps its mouth shut. Love doesn’t embarrass.

Love doesn’t brag to the boss at the end of the day, “We let Ruth gather ten baskets.”

Love doesn’t say “I love you so much I turned your closet light ten times this week.”  Love keeps quiet about what it does.

Love doesn’t bellow, “Do you still need money, because I can help.” Love helps quietly.

Love doesn’t keep a balance sheet. Love helps because that’s what love is. Love moves on, forgetting how many times it helped, not expecting a thank-you, and not anticipating a notice or head nod. Love helps because that is what love is. Love does not embarrass.

What a cool story. It starts out in disaster and ends up in grace, because Boaz was generous. Not only with his wheat, but with his acceptance.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

What Do You Think About When The Wind Blows?

Let me be clear: this journal entry began with me being a wind wuss last Sunday afternoon, and continued with my attempt at redemption by riding Monday evening. It was windy Monday evening, too. I tried to find something to contemplate besides discomfort by listening to a podcast about how God speaks to us. I should add, though, my thoughts tend to scatter with the gusts. Last week a young man told me he knew he was physically healthy, but his spiritual health was sinking, and his life was not going well because of it. I believe even his awareness of a need for spiritual health was God speaking.

Moses once asked God directly, “Now show me Your glory.” I wrote in the margin of my Bible: “Would God have shown Himself if Moses hadn’t asked?”

Now that’s a good question if I say so myself. I think, for the most part, God won’t show Himself until we ask Him. Unless He wants to surprise us.

Lately I’ve made several rides over 40 miles; just a few beginning steps onto the comeback trail. All this after (1) last year’s grounding due to injury #1, which was due to a crash; and (2) last year’s abortive comeback attempt when I tried to do too much too soon, which resulted in injury #2.

I’m much better now.

However, it seems the last 10% of every ride, regardless of distance, is when I feel tired and weary. Maybe I should limit my rides to 90%?

In the movie, Music Within, a professor told the main character, Richard Pimentel, to “come back when you have something to say.” Curiously, he never found his message until he lost his hearing while fighting in Vietnam. Personal damage gave him his voice.

So would the Apostle Paul’s voice have been as strong without his “thorn in the flesh?” Did he need that disability to have depth?

Would his message of grace have been so rich if not for Paul’s background as chief persecutor of the church?

Thinking about the lesson I taught Sunday morning from Proverbs 8-9, why is there a voice of folly that competes against the voice of wisdom? Wouldn’t our lives be so much simpler if wisdom was the only voice?

But without folly, or evil, there would be no choice in how to live, and without the ability to make choices, there would be no love.

God wants us to love Him more than anything else. So He gave us a choice.

What does the Bible mean when it says “He who is faithful in little is faithful in much” except to tell me to be faithful with small decisions?

I cancelled my Sunday afternoon ride with the cycling club because of high winds; I’m guessing 25-30 mph with gusts. But in my defense I rode 40 miles the day before with Cory, and my main goal for Sunday was to join the group ride and feed my social side, but there is nothing social about riding in wind like that. Even if you wanted to talk to each other you wouldn’t be able to hear. And to top it off, to put the last link in my chain of reasoning, the wind had picked up most of the Texas Panhandle red dirt and filled the skies with it. I stayed home and off my bike.

It doesn’t get easier with age, the nagging fear that what seems like a reasoned decision not to ride is actually another bout of self-indulgent chickening out. I’m good at convincing myself I did the right thing, but still, often fear I don’t.

George Sheehan once wrote this about running: “I have a love-hate relationship with hills. I hate running up hills, but love the feeling of accomplishment I get when I reach the top. I hate the pain going up, but I love the relaxed sprint down.”

We don’t have enough hills around here to have a relationship, but we do have wind. It’s time for me to focus on the “love” part of this equation with regard to wind, and stop whining.

“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

What Does God Say To You?

What does God say to you when He speaks?  What has He said to you in the past? This week I read two of my favorite stories from the Old Testament, about Moses and Joshua, the first from the end of the book of Deuteronomy and the second from the beginning of the book of Joshua.

The story in Deuteronomy 34 tells about the end of Moses’ life. The Hebrew nation was poised near the Jordan River, finally, and ready to enter the land God had promised them so long ago. Unfortunately, because of a past transgression, God would not allow Moses to enter the new homeland. God had made that judgment clear to Moses on several occasions and it doesn’t seem Moses ever took advantage of their intimacy to ask God for an exception. Moses accepted his fate with grace and resolve.

But the reason I like this story is because of the way God treated Moses in these last moments. It says Moses climbed Mount Nebo and “there the Lord showed him the whole land.” It says God pointed out the different geographic features and showed where each tribe would make their home, as in, “that’s where Judah will have a great kingdom … and those rugged mountains is where Caleb wants to live …” and like that.

I believe it was a tender moment. I don’t believe God was pointing this out to remind Moses he was being left behind, as in, “Ha Ha, look where you don’t get to go,” but rather God stood with his arm around Moses while pointing out the coolest places.

Of course, I made up much of the conversation I just “quoted,” but I don’t think I am too far away from what really transpired. I believe God was telling Moses, “You did well, sir, and your people are going to be OK from here. Your job, as hard as it was, is now finished. People will remember your name until the end of time. You can stand down; I’ve got your valuables protected.”

That’s the sort of thing I hope to hear from God when my life is finished. I want him to point out the families that are growing in the Lord, and the men who are walking with God daily and making an impact on everyone around them. I want God to say, “Your job’s done, I’ve got your valuables protected. They can handle it from here.”

Another reason I like this story is because of what follows. Just turn the page to the book of Joshua, chapter one, and you can read about God talking to Joshua. God said, “Moses my servant is dead. Now then, you …” and proceeded to give Joshua instruction for the conquest of Canaan.

It happened so quickly, the transfer of leadership. The king is dead, long live the king; Moses is dead, now then you.

I wonder if Joshua was excited to finally have a turn at the front, or terrified to be doing this without Moses. Probably both. He didn’t hesitate, though. He moved forward and took the responsibility of leadership.

God told him, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you no forsake you.” Joshua knew, more than anyone, how much Moses leaned on God. And he knew full well the value of God’s promise to always be with him.

I like this story because even though the transition to leadership was quick, Joshua seized his divine moment and stepped into God’s new role for him. Just like that. I hope that’s how I respond to each next phase of my life, with one giant step forward and no looking back.

What does God say to you when He speaks?

One of times God spoke to me was at a men’s retreat at Crooked Creek Camp near Fraser, Colorado. He spoke first through a movie, then later directly into my heart, telling me that the work he had called me into was bigger than I’d thought. He was asking me to step further up and further in. It was a clear and unmistakable charge, and I have been a different man ever since that night.

“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

Packing Lighter

It’s hard to know how much stuff to take and how much to leave behind. One Saturday morning the Iron Men were hiking Guadalupe Peak on the same day as the Junior High students from Wall, Texas. It was cold in the parking lot and all those kids left the trailhead wearing too many layers of clothes. Our group started out a few minutes behind them, and as soon as the trail started gaining elevation we noticed the bushes covered with fleeces and sweatshirts and jackets and hoodies, where the kids had pulled them off when they got too hot. The trail had quickly revealed unneeded clothes and gear. (I’ve read the same about people who begin the Appalachian Trail with too much gear. They start dumping as soon as possible.)

In her book, Packing Light, about a cross-country road trip, Allison Vesterfelt wrote, “Part of what makes it hard to pack light is often you think you’re already doing it.”

I’ve made a dozen or so backpacking trips during the last few years, and every trip I’m striving to pack lighter. In fact, my loaded backpack weighs fifteen pounds less than it did when I started. I’ve learned to leave stuff behind I know I won’t need or can suffer without until I get back down.

But Vesterfelt wasn’t writing about backpacking, or even car-tripping, as much as she was asking how to live her life with less baggage.

One of her friends asked, “How do you know when you’re packing too light? You don’t want to leave your toothbrush behind. How do you decide what’s your toothbrush and what’s an extraneous pair of shoes?”

Which brings me to one of my biggest question nowadays, as I consider the next phase of my life: What should I carry along and what should I leave behind? What is extra, and what is essential for the trail ahead?

Bob Goff told us to live our lives for the person we expect to be next, the person God is shaping us to be, our next phase, rather than who we are today or who we were yesterday. No matter how successful those past uses might have been. He said, “A lot of us are one job behind who we’ve turned into.”

Goff told us to stop wasting time and energy reinforcing our current state but make room for the future. If certain behaviors or practices or responsibilities don’t match our future we should be prepared to throw them over the side.

In fact, he’s well-known for quitting something every Thursday. Sometimes it’s a big thing he quits, like membership on a Board of Directors. He does it to make room in his life for what is to come next, for what God sends his way, for his “next man.”

If I had Bob Goff’s audacity there is one position I would quit this Thursday. I no longer enjoy it and I doubt I contribute much of value. It isn’t because I want to withdraw, but I want my future efforts to go toward teaching and writing and mentoring and this particular position doesn’t fit. However it would be selfish to quit before my term ends, so I won’t.

In 2009 our Iron Men group took on the project of listing One Hundred Life Goals, after our study of Mark Batterson’s book, Wild Goose Chase. Just this week I dug out my list again and went over it. I have completed thirteen items and I’m well underway on many others. But there are at least six items on the list I want to discard. Not because I’ve given up on the dream, but because I am not the same guy. Still, it’s hard to distinguish between packing lighter, setting goals for the “next me,” and giving up on a dream because it’s become too difficult.

So, who am I next? What does this next phase of life look like from here?

I want the world to be a different place because I passed through. And when I say “the world,” I don’t mean society or politics or government, I mean the hearts and minds of men and women God has entrusted to me. Not only do I want to leave them changed people, but to follow in my footsteps.

I want to be the man who gives away what he has received, with a life informed by: generosity, grace, movement, and less baggage.

HOW ABOUT YOU? What does your next self look like? How are you getting ready?

“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

Take Turns Being Brave

One of the things I’ve learned from 34 years of marriage is we take turns being brave. Sometimes Cyndi is the brave one who holds the line, and sometimes I am. But even though this has been true during our entire time together, I didn’t notice it until reading this story about Moses and God in the Bible book called Numbers.

The story of the Hebrews escape from Egypt, and their long journey to Canaan, is riddled with whiney complaints. The people constantly griped against their leader Moses and against God. And many times the gripes resulted in severe punishment from God.

Numbers 11 tells about one of those times when the people complained about their hardships and made God angry. It says God sent fire and consumed some of the complainers. The people then cried out to Moses for help, who prayed to God, and the fire died down.

It occurred to me I wish fire would consume all the complainers surrounding me, except when I’m the one doing the complaining, since my complaints are never frivolous but always legit.

But back to Numbers 11, which says almost immediately after the consuming-fire incident the people started wailing again; they didn’t like the food God had provided.

This time, it was Moses who got angry. Moses asked God, “Why have you brought this trouble on me? What have I done to make you so mad you dumped these whiney people on me? I’m not their daddy. How can I possibly feed them? I cannot carry all these people by myself (my own paraphrase).”

It was like this between God and Moses the entire journey. Sometimes God got angry at the people and Moses had to talk Him down, other times Moses had the crises and God propped him up and give him strength. It was fortunate the Hebrew people had both Moses and God with them, or they never would’ve made it through the wilderness. They needed one of the two to bravely talk the other down or the journey would’ve ended after the first complaint.

In reading this story I saw the same pattern in my own marriage. Sometimes I had to bravely talk Cyndi down when one of our children did something stupid or when the burdens of teaching school got to be too much, and sometimes she had to bravely talk me down when I got tired of living in a family dormitory and wanted to bolt to the mountains. It’s good we had each other so at least one of us could be brave.

Another similarity to Numbers: When Moses was angry, God have him strength, and when God was angry, Moses prayed and reminded him of his love and grace.

And so, in our human relationships, we can borrow courage from each other. When I went through multiple layoffs and job changes I depended on Cyndi to bravely carry me through, and when Cyndi went through retirement and starting a business she depended on my support and encouragement.

Maybe I’m humanizing the actions of God too much, or bending the reactions of Moses too much, but I don’t think so. These stories were kept for millennia so we could read them, relate to them, learn from them.

BY THE WAY: I’m certain this phenomenon of taking turns being brave applies to more relationships than just marriage, but marriage is the relationship I am most familiar with. I’d be interested to hear where it shows up 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