Eliminating Hurry

Why is it so easy to get too busy? Too busy working and teaching and writing and leading and serving and giving - all important and necessary things - that we never relax? Why would anyone live like that?

Well, speaking for myself, doing lots of stuff all day every day is good for my ego. It’s fulfilling to be a part of so many good things, and being needed by everyone feels nice.

Also, staying busy removes the pressure to do those chores around the home that make it a nice place to live. If I’m busy doing important things I can explain away my slovenly homemaking: “Yeah, my yard is a mess, but it’s because I have been so busy at the church.” Who can challenge that? Staying busy is the best excuse.

My friend Gary Barkalow once said that if we want to follow God, if we want to be able to respond when He calls on our heart, then we have to leave margin in our life. We have to deliberately leave slack in our schedule and empty space on our calendar. Otherwise, we’re too busy to do what He asks - but more importantly – we’re too busy to listen to Him.

The reason I’m writing about this is because I recently finished reading a book by John Ortberg titled, Soul Keeping. He described a conversation with his friend and mentor, Dallas Willard, in which Ortberg asked how a busy pastor like himself could stay spiritually healthy. Willard told him, “You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life.”

Not only was that not the advice Ortberg expected to get, it was advice that seemed impossible to follow.

To slow down our life, to eliminate hurry, means we have to turn down some things that we are good at, things everyone else expects us to do. It might mean eliminating something we once chose to do.

I went through this process myself about six years ago without really knowing why it was important. When my twelve years of city government service ended in December 2007, I started paring down many of my obligations. I quite some organizations that had been an important part of my life for a long time. In fact, I left a civic organization that I had helped found and served as president. I don’t know why I was so determined to pare down my schedule except that it seemed I needed a reboot.

As it turned out, had I not done all that, I would never have finished writing my first book, much less two more books after that. I would not have had time to engage in Journey Groups, a discovery and mentoring ministry that has greatly benefited me and lots of other men. I would not have had the energy to devote to teaching in Compass and Iron Men and Axis classes.

My reboot worked. I was spiritually and emotionally healthier, but at the time if felt a little like I was bailing out on people. It felt self-indulgent and irresponsible. And yet, I knew it was important. I still don’t know what prompted me, but it seemed critical at the time.

In the past six years I’ve been better at not scheduling my life to the edges like I used to do. I’ve learned to leave margin in my life.

But still, that was six years ago, and the magnetic pull of busyness is relentless. So when I read Dallas Willard’s advice today I have to reevaluate my current life and wonder where I can eliminate hurry. I don’t immediately know the answer.

The thing is, I’m much more comfortable being busy. But if I want to grow in the Lord, I have to come home to Him, spend time with Him, and relax with Him. I need my home in Jesus. I need space where I don’t have to be afraid, or nervous, or political, where I can relax and linger in my relationship with Jesus.

I believe I am spiritually healthier and more creative when I intentionally leave margin in my life. I think I can do better, though. I need to learn how to be ruthless.

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

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Walk This Way

Tuesday morning I read a tweet from someone I don’t remember who, about people making fun of the way she walked, and I thought, “Well, that’s my life. Every day.” And then I forgot about it. Until later, during the night, when my brain camped out on that thought. Finally, at 3:30 AM, I got out of bed, dug out some 3x5 cards, and wrote it down. I knew the only way I’d get back to sleep that night was to write it all down right then.

What wouldn’t let me sleep was the idea that how we walk says so much about us. You can infer a person’s outlook on life by the way they walk. You can judge their degree of self-discipline, their confidence, even their sense of mindfulness. You may decide not to engage with someone merely because the way they walk marks them as a whiner.

I crawled out of bed early Wednesday morning with this verse on my mind: “Therefore as you have received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him,” (Colossians 2:6) In this case, our walk, or better said, our pattern of living, reveal our commitment to Jesus.

People don’t actually make fun of the way I walk, but they always ask about it. As in, “Are you OK? You seem to be limping.”

It’s because I have arthritis in both knees, just like my mom did. In the past three or four years it has begun to degrade my forward motion.

The problem with a condition like arthritis is I don’t have a great story to go along with it like I would if I had a catastrophic injury. As in, I was defending my granddaughters from a wolverine by lunging at his neck with my really cool bone-handled KA-BAR Iron Men pocket knife, and as I fell off the wood pile where we’d taken refuge I injured both knees, leaving me with a permanent limp that I don’t mind since all I have to do is look at photos of Madden and Landry and know it was worth it.

Not only would that be an epic story about my knees, but also about living up to my knife, a KA-BAR (Hardcore Lives, Hardcore Knives).

But I don’t have a story like that.

My story is more like this: I used to be a slow runner and now I am an extremely slow runner, often slower than 16:00 pace. They say, “Didn’t I see you out powerwalking yesterday?”

Most people assume I finally wore my knees out after 36,844 miles of running. It only makes intuitive sense.

But it doesn’t make scientific sense. The research overwhelmingly says running doesn’t encourage the onset of arthritis, but rather continual use tends to prolong the function of joints. With knees, like your heart, it’s “use ‘em or lose ‘em.”

In fact, just last weekend I heard an NPR Science Friday interview with two researchers (Greg Whyte and Tamara Hew-Butler), who said linear exercise (running, walking, cycling) extends the working life of joints and doesn’t wear them out.

Still, I limp, even during linear use. It reminds me of a quote by ultra-marathoner, Dean Karnezes, “Run when you can, walk if you have to, crawl if you must; just never give up.”

Thinking about walking all night when I should have been sleeping gave me another verse: “Therefore, my dear friends, … continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling,” (Philippians 2:12)

Except that I want the Bible to say “WALK out your salvation,” instead of “WORK out,” since how I walk is evident to everyone, more than how I work. I want my salvation story to be obvious to all observers even on those days I think I am doing a better job of hiding it.

Don’t misunderstand my intent when I write about bum knees. I am grateful for knees that work at all, and for every mile they take me.

George Sheehan once asked, "Have you ever felt worse after a run?" And the answer for me, since 1978, is, no. I am always glad I went.

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

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Ten Years Blessed

One of our go-to movies, The Bourne Supremacy, has a heartbreaking scene that shows Jason Bourne burning all the evidence of his girlfriend and their life together. He was making it harder for the bad guys to find him again. He wanted to disappear. I’ve watched this scene so many times and I always thought it sad he had to destroy everything. For most of us, our most cherished possessions are the photos and stories of our life.

What Jason Bourne was doing, is the opposite of how I want to live. I want to leave lots of traces. I want to leave lots of evidence. I want to use the stories of my life to tell God what has given me.

Back in December 2003 Paul Byrom asked if I’d be part of a new men’s ministry he was pulling together at our church. I said I would gladly be part of it but I didn’t think I should teach it, or lead it, since everything I was doing at the time I was the teacher. I worried that I was teaching too much and listening too little.

Another reason I was reluctant to lead a men’s ministry was because I never considered myself a man’s man. I was not an athlete, didn’t play golf, only followed sports sporadically, would rather be by myself reading or writing than hanging with the men spitting and whittling, didn’t hunt or even own a gun, rarely went fishing, had never been to drag races, and was totally indifferent about NASCAR.

But when Paul told me they were going to start by going through the Wild at Heart materials I knew I was full in. I think Paul knew it, too. My wife, Cyndi, had already tipped him off during one of their early morning runs.

What happened next is summed up by this quote from Mark Batterson’s book, Wild Goose Chase: “Nothing is more unnerving or disorienting than passionately pursuing God. He will take you places you never could have imagined going by paths you never knew existed.”

This past Tuesday evening we celebrated ten years of that same men’s ministry, which is now known as Iron Men. It has grown into a band of like-minded men dedicated to helping each other live solid, godly lives as leaders, husbands, and fathers.

I consider any man who has been to one of my Wild at Heart classes, or a Relationship Lab, or for any other reason has landed on my email list, to be an Iron Man. If you stand next to me in line at Whataburger you might end up on my list. Why? Because I want all the men who come close to come in closer. I know that if we all move further up and further in together, we will be better men with deeper character. I know we all need each other more than we know, and certainly more that we are willing to admit.

The relationships I’ve formed during those ten years have been the most significant influence in my spiritual formation. I did not expect that, back in 2003.

The name of our group comes from Proverbs 27:17 that says, “As iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.” But sharpening each other isn’t all we do. We also smooth each other. We’re like old wooden-handled tools that show the wear of constant use, the smoothed portions worn smooth by the hands that used them. Our constant contact with each other wears away the rough spots leaving us with the pattern of our fellow valiant men. The older I get the more I look forward to being worn smooth by these men.

And we don’t just study books together. We do a lot of hiking in the nearby Guadalupe Mountains, at least two big trips each year. Why” Because men make friends outside, especially when they’re doing something difficult together. One morning, on the strenuous opening mile of switchbacks of the Guadalupe Peak Trail, I mentioned to my friend Paul Ross “Surely there is an easier way to do ministry.”

Well, there might be, but I doubt easier is the same thing as better. I don’t know any other way to duplicate the time I get to spend with my guys; the extended conversations along the trail are my favorite part of the trip.

I’m often surprised that the guys want to go up the same trail again - same mountain, same hike, year after year. But of course, we don’t really do it for the actual hiking; we do it for the time together on the trail. As William Blake wrote, “Great things are done when men and mountains meet; this is not done by jostling in the street.”

So many times we’ve come down off the trail, collapsed into our seats on the bus, changed into comfortable shoes, gulped water, scarfed down Advil, and immediately started telling stories from the day and congratulating each other. It makes me happy. My heart swells and my brain settles, proud to be one of us. The world is full of men who live their entire lives with no real friends who will hike to the top of the mountains with them, yet I have a bus full of guys like that.

It reminds me of a Bible story about a young man named Saul who lived a small life tending the family flocks until God called him out to be the first king of Israel. I Samuel 10:26 says, “Saul went to his house in Gibeah, accompanied by valiant men whose hearts God had touched.” Before he became the king, Saul was all alone. But afterward, he was surrounded by valiant men. Coming off the mountain, I realized I was like Saul, surrounded by valiant men whose hearts God had touched.

Rick Warren once said, “We overestimate what we can do in one year and underestimate what we can do in ten.”

Ten years ago God gave me a gift I didn’t request or expect, or even understand. He gave me the Iron Men, and they are the finest men I have ever known.

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

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A Good Day

Late Monday evening I received this email from my Dad: “If ever I made a suggestion for a journal, this would be the time – “It’s been a good day.” I have been asleep for an hour and woke up with that on my mind.  It’s the last thing you said to me after we delivered the flowers and you dropped me off.” He sent that message only hours after attending the memorial service honoring my mom, his wife of 59 years, who passed away five days earlier.

He considered it a good day.

Before I drove Dad home that evening we spent several hours with friends who came to our house to share comfort. We ate lots of food furnished by Dad’s Sunday School Class – they took excellent care of us – a network of support that instantly jumped into action to minister to our family.

Some of the friends who joined us were new friends, many were family, and some friends went back more than 60 years. They filled the entire weekend with hope and faith and love.

We often take the support we get from other Christians for granted because we see it in action so often. We know that if a disaster strikes our family we can make one or two phone calls and a hundred people will be holding us and praying for us and serving us. Most Christians have the same confidence in that safety net --but what about the rest of the world. I’m sure there are groups besides churches who do this sort of thing, but I don’t see them in action the way I’ve seen Sunday School classes minister to one another.

During those days before the memorial service I was reminded by several that “you mother is in a better place.” And it’s an absolutely true statement; a statement that my family believes so deeply we never actually discussed it. It was too obvious; as in, “Everybody knows that.”

Instead, our talk centered on how my mom lived during the 72 years before Alzheimer’s took over. Everybody knew without a doubt she was with God in heaven, so we told stories about her life and looked at photos and laughed together.

I’ll be honest. I didn’t intend to write about this again. I prefer to move ahead in joy and discover what adventure comes next. But I couldn’t resist my Dad’s suggestion. Like he said, “It was a good day.”

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

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Where the Good Way Is

I find it comforting that I don’t have to learn everything on my own; I can look it up. I can research anything. And with my smart phone, I can look it up right now. No waiting, fewer unknowns, and less guessing. It’s a great time to be alive. Of course, looking up the singer of a certain pop song from the 1970s, or the origination of a physics quote, or even the meaning of cliché, is more fun and games than researching serious life work. Understanding how to live life is a harder search.

This week I have been reminded once again how many important things I didn’t have to learn from scratch. Like whether to go to church, or read the Bible, or pour my life into God’s work. I didn’t have to figure out the answers to all of that because I had living examples in my mom and dad.

I am writing about this because my mother passed away this week, about 2:30 AM Wednesday morning, after suffering from Alzheimer’s for the past four years. In the past few weeks she began to fade quickly until she finally just dwindled away. It was time.

Almost immediately I thought of this verse from Jeremiah 6:16, “Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk it in it, and you will find rest for your souls.”

I like this verse because it paints a picture of someone searching for a better life. And the search centers on “the ancient paths,” which for me, represents family. I didn’t have to bushwhack my way learning the best way to live, it was lived out before me by two faithful followers of Christ – my mom and dad. And beyond them, my grandparents and aunts and uncles. I have a mental image of my family tree filled with row after row of people, all of them walking with God and preparing the path for me. It gives me confidence. Cyndi and I are not in this life alone, we have a long history behind us.

Another phrase I like from the verse in Jeremiah says, “Stand at the crossroads and look.” God is calling for a pause in the action, asking us to stop in our relentless pursuit of the future, to stop and ponder our way. God is telling us to stop at the crossroads, at the obvious point of decision.

It requires action on our part to follow Jeremiah 6:16. We have to stop moving. We also have to look and ask “where the good way is.”

Not all ancient paths are good ones. We don’t have to hear very many old stories before learning to be choosy about following someone’s footsteps. We discover which roads not to take and which mistakes not to make.

But by looking and asking, we also learn the wisdom of consistency. Many of those ancient paths became paths because they were tried and found to be true. Those are the paths we should remember and follow.

The final expectation from Jeremiah 6:16 is to “walk in it.” It isn’t enough to identify the best path to follow; we have to commit to it. We have to act on the knowledge, we have to walk.

I hope to spend the rest of my life walking the path forward – learning new writers, new teachers, new language, new skills - and at the same time, facing back into the past – remembering the old writers, old teachers, old languages, and old skills.

I have a head start on that path. I was raised by two people who tried to do the right thing, following God every day. And because they did, I can enjoy my own walk with God today. Maybe I would have found Jesus on my own had I not been raised by this powerful family, but I’m glad I didn’t have to do it that way.

And so I promise – I commit – to sharing the ancient paths I’ve learned, to passing along the good ways, and more importantly, to living my own life for God, quietly and dependably, doing the right things, for the sake of my own children and grandchildren. I can do no less. I owe it to my mom.

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

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The Comeback Kid

This past weekend I road my bike 150 miles for the very first time, in the Cactus and Crude MS150, 75 miles on Saturday, and 75 miles on Sunday. It was a transformational experience. I’m not the same guy I was last Friday before the ride. More than 200 cyclists rolled out of the Apache parking lot in Midland at 7:15 AM Saturday morning under cloudy skies and cool breezes. I began in the middle of a huge group of riders, but by the time I crossed the overpass at I-20, I was alone. That wasn’t my intent, and I would’ve had a better day in a group, but I rode by myself for the rest of both days.

The morning miles felt surprising good, until the halfway point when I started feeling nauseous and lightheaded. It was weird, not what I expected. I thought my back and neck would be the first to go, not my stomach and brain. I blamed it on the cold I’d been fighting all week. Maybe it drained more energy than I thought. Maybe I still hadn’t recovered from last year’s cycling crash. Whatever it was, within the next few miles I fell apart.

I felt so bad during the last 30 miles I considered flagging down one of the sag wagons and riding with them to the finish. Emotionally bottomed-out, I was convinced I’d never ride long distance again. I felt my cycling future slipping away. I was a poor excuse for a man, I couldn’t ride, I couldn’t run, I couldn’t hike, I couldn’t love, I couldn’t live. I should sign up for interpretive dance and be done with it.

At least a dozen times I had to pull my bike over to the side of the road to catch my breath and settle my stomach. I would’ve felt better had I rebooted my gut by throwing up, but I couldn’t even make that happen.

The thing is I’m no stranger to suffering in a race. I’ve finished nine marathons so I know I can suffer and keep moving. But this was my first time to fall into an emotional pit this deep.

However, I’ve learned you can’t let bad patches define you. You have to keep moving. Pushing past suffering is a learned skill, and I knew from experience this would not last forever. I also knew I would have the best chance for emotional recovery if I finished the event on my bike instead of in a pickup. So I kept riding.

I finally arrived at the finish in Big Spring at 2:30 PM. I was out for 7-1/2 hours. My rolling time was 5:34, which means I spent a total of two hours either sitting at rest stops or beside the road gasping for breath. The good news was my legs, the one part of me that didn’t fall apart, felt strong and ready for another day.

I finished, showered, put on fresh clothes, and took a nap. My future was clearing. I was nervous about what would happen the next day, but excited to find out. I was coming alive.

My friend, Jeff, suggested that I bonked so completely because I wasn’t taking in enough salt at the rest stops. I think he was correct.

Sunday morning, Day Two, I was anxious about putting my bum on a bike saddle again, but it wasn’t bad as I expected. That was a good start.

We rode north all day, meaning we had a tail wind, meaning I had a serious chance at a better day. And it was significantly better. I was never nauseous and never lightheaded. I was always in control. I was never desperate, even on the extended climbs.

At every rest stop I ate the saltiest snack they had – mostly trail mix, and it was perfect. I tried pickle juice, but decided I’d rather get sick again than drink any more of that.

The volunteers at every rest stop were fun and energetic and helpful. However, I did notice they called me “Sir.” As in, “Can I help you with your bike, sir?” “Would you like to sit in the shade and recover, sir?” “Are you feeling OK, sir?” I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with my aura of authority, but my gray beard and hair.

The last climb of the day wasn’t as difficult as I anticipated. I’d heard stories about the big hill into the town of Post and dreaded it all morning, but I rode right up the hill like a manly cyclist. Even better, after I made the climb, and during the flat portion before the descent into town, I passed a young flatbelly. I blew right past him. It was an excellent moment in my riding career. I was The Comeback Kid.

I finished Day Two at 12:30 PM, a full two hours faster than Day One. My actual rolling time was 4:32, so I took an hour off my cycling time and an hour off my rest-stop time. Part of that was due to a consistent tail wind, but the rolling hills canceled some of that. Mostly I just felt better and rode better.

This was a big weekend for me; a stronger move into cycling. Not only was it my first MS150, but my first ride beyond fifty miles. And in spite of my struggle, I finished hungry for more, with confidence I can do better next time. Every step forward resets your horizon, and I knew I had even better days ahead.

The participants in the Cactus and Crude MS150 raised over $200,000, and I was happy to be a small part of that. It is a gift from God to know that we can change the world doing something we love. Thanks for giving me another turn.

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

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Ruined by Reading

The first book I remember reading all by myself was the classic, Go Dog Go, by P. D. Eastman. I wish I still had my copy of the book, but it disappeared in some garage sale after I finished reading it. Recently, when our daughter, Katie, and her family, were visiting, I told my first-book story. Katie smiled and pulled out a new copy of that very same book, Go Dog Go, belonging to my granddaughter, Madden. It made me happy.

I have always been a reader.

During my elementary school years I used to sign up for the summer reading program at the Winkler County Public Library. My mom let me walk from the church, where she was working as part-time secretary, to the library. I would load up on books, carry them back, and read them lying on the floor of her office while she worked on Sunday School attendance records and the weekly church bulletin.

I learned about Civil War battles, WWII aircraft, the Alamo and San Jacinto and how to be a Texan, Boy Scout merit badge skills, and how to build my own rockets and make my own rocket fuel. Cyndi was surprised a library let boys check out books about building homemade rockets, but it was the 1960s. Apparently it was considered safe back then.)

Once, in the 5th grade, I checked a book from the school library titled Man of War, naturally assuming it was about giant British warships from the 17th and 18th centuries. I was so disappointed  when I started reading a book about a race horse. Who wants to read about horses?

I read so many books about war my teacher told me to pick something else. She was afraid I would turn violent. But she did me a favor. I moved to another section in the library and discovered books about spies and espionage. Perfect.

The first time I spent my own money on a book was to buy paperback copies of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, for $1.25 apiece. I still have them on my shelf.

When I was a student at the University of Oklahoma I discovered the Baptist Student Union bookstore, and many of the books I bought and read shaped the rest of my life.

As an adult, the first non-text-book I asked for was American Caesar, about General Douglas MacArthur, by William Manchester. Cyndi gave it to me our first Christmas as a married couple.

Unfortunately, my early adult reading practice was sporadic and weak for too long. That is, until I heard a motivational talk by Jim Rohn encouraging me to be intentional and systematic about learning and growing and living. He told me to keep a list of the books I’ve read. Following his advice, I started my list in 1986.

Not long ago I rediscovered a book by Lynne Sharon Schwartz titled Ruined by Reading. She wrote, “Reading was the stable backdrop against which my life was played.”

That is certainly true for me. I am defined by years of reading. If you hear me say something clever, or read some brilliant piece of my writing, know that it comes from my lifetime of reading.

I love having books around me, especially if they’re books I’ve read. Sometimes I wonder if my drive to write comes from the desire to do my part to add to the books on the shelves.

Well, you can tell a lot about people by the practices they maintain throughout their life. To know me, you have to understand my life with Cyndi. But I’ve been a runner even longer than I’ve been married. And I’ve been a musician longer than I’ve been running. And I’ve been a dedicated reader longer than all those, longer than anything but eating and sleeping.

How about you? What is the longest thread running through your life? What is your deepest practice?

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

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A Week With The Girls

Cyndi and I met our daughter Katie in Abilene last Saturday, where Katie handed off her own two daughters, Madden (age 4.3) and Landry (age 0.9), and 300 pounds of baby gear, so the girls could spend a week with their Gran and Pops. And honestly, it’s taken all week to remember how we used to leverage little kids into our full lives. Of course, Cyndi spent the most time with the girls. She took them to play with Pattie’s two grandsons, took them to swimming lessons, to the Children’s Museum, to the water park in Andrews, and everywhere else. I’m sure she has more stories and insights than me, but she’ll have to write her own blog.

I had the girls to myself each evening while Cyndi taught her classes. It went like this …

“Look girls, Grand made us Neelix Rolls, a family favorite” “Pops, can I have another one?” “What would our mom say?” “Well, what do YOU say?” “Sure. Here you go.”

“Pops, do you know how to skip?” “Not anymore.”

“Pops, can you read this book to me?” while holding a copy of Confessions, by St. Augustine. “Sure, Madden, come back in twenty years.”

“Here is another sticker for your shirt. It’s a sparkle star.” “It looks great on my black polo.”

“Cyndi, do you think it would be OK if I took the girls on a bike ride if they sit in the trailer?” “No, Landry is too small; she’ll tumble over on her head.”

“Pops, will you fix my hair?” as we walked into church. And then  when it became clear I had no idea how to do it, “Call Gran on your phone so she can come fix my hair.”

“Hey Pops, what does a Monarch Butterfly say?” “African or European?”

“Do you have Hello Kitty on your phone?” “Not since Gran made me take it off.”

"When will this race ever be done, Pops?"  while sitting my lap watching the Tour de France. “In three weeks.” “That’s too long.”

At Chic-fil-A … “Hey Madden, are you big enough get me a refill?” “Yes.” “Do you know where to go?” “To the counter.” “Do you know what I want?” “Diet Coke.” “Good girl.”

Some of my deepest spiritual roots come from the summers I spent with my grandparents. They invested their lives and faith in me, and I benefit from that still, fifty years later.

Spending a week with Madden and Landry is a call to action. I’m already looking forward to next time.

  “I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32 Read and subscribe to my weekly blog, read daily writing on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Follow Me

The nurse asked if I had a Medical Power of Attorney from my dad, and I nodded my head. “In fact, I’m using it. We’ve already started selling his stuff.”

She couldn’t stop laughing, even though we were in the emergency room, and even though my dad was lying between us on a stretcher with various hospital machines attached to him. He had been cracking jokes at the expense of the nurse since arriving and I just added to the mix.

I give my dad full credit for showing me how to find the joke in any situation, to be funny without hurting other people, and to let the other guys get the punch lines and the big laugh. It’s one of the most important things he gave me.

Dad came home from the hospital that very same day with a diagnosis for vertigo. One of his best friends says, “We’ve all had that one. It’s really a diagnosis of being old.” Everyone has a joke.

In all our years together, I don’t know if my dad gave much thought to passing along the good things he learned. What I mean is, I’m sure it was important to him, but he’s not from a generation or personality as introspective as mine, so it wasn’t something he talked about.

Me, I think about it all the time. I seldom have a thought that doesn’t run home to the idea of how do I share what I’ve learned. How do I speak to the hearts of the young couples, and the young men, God has placed in front of me? How do I give away, in the 21^st century, what was invested in me in the 1970s?

The Apostle Paul was concerned about the same thing when he wrote to his young protégé, Timothy: “What you heard from me, keep as the pattern of sound teaching, with faith and love in Christ Jesus. Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you - guard it with the help of the Holy Spirit who lives in us.” (2 Timothy 1:13-14)

In the margin of my Daily Bible I have a succession of notes scribbled on different years that show my growing relationship with these verses:

(1998) “It’s scary to say: Do what I do.”

(2001) “The longer I teach, the more comfortable I am to say this (do what I do).”

(2005) “In fact, this has become the heart of my ministry as a teacher and writer.”

(2011) “I should not teach anything unless I believe this.”

(2013) “Teaching isn’t about providing information, but about sharing life.”

There is a progressive deepening of ownership on this. First, we hear something. Then, because what we heard is important, we decide to keep it. At some point, keeping it isn’t enough, but we need to guard it, and make sure to follow it. Finally, once we realize the information came to us not because we were lucky or fortunate, but because it was entrusted to us, we are obligated to give it away.

Back in 2008 I took my dad hiking on Guadalupe Peak in celebration of his 80^th birthday. It was not an easy day. The National Park Service website describes this trail as strenuous, and very steep, with exposed cliff edges.

But we had a great time. The day was clear and sunny and never hot – a perfect day for hiking in Texas. We had fun on the trail, telling jokes and wisecracks.

It took us about two hours to hike up to Lookout Point. My first goal of the day was to get past this point so Dad could experience the tall pine trees and oaks and junipers. I wanted him to know there was more to this hike than the harsh rocky switchbacks you see from the parking lot.

We hiked another one-and-a-half hours before stopping for lunch, just around the bend from the wooden bridge. Dad said, “This is it for me today. I think we should go back down.”

I said, “You’re right. It would be the wise thing to do.”

“I’m having a great day, and I would love to make it to the top and phone my friends from the summit, but I don’t want to be foolish about this.”

Even though I was the trail guide that day, my dad was still teaching me. You don’t have to fight all the way to the end to have a good day.

There are so many things I give my Dad credit for – things that have turned out to be fundamental characteristics of my life.

Besides humor, there was music. My Dad was a church worship leader (back then we called them choir directors, later music ministers) as far back as I can remember. Not only did I learn to love and play church music, but I also learned from his example that music was something men could do. It was a manly activity, as much as hunting or carpentry. I don’t know if I would’ve picked that up from anyone else.

Another thing I learned from my Dad was that being a consistent man of faith for an entire lifetime is a noble, worthy, and courageous way to live.

Back in my university days, in the late 1970s, I remember hearing one of my spiritual leaders, Chuck Madden, describe how he was mentored by Leroy Eims, of the Navigators. He said they lifted weights together every morning, went running, worked on writing books, and like that. There was no structure or step-by-step plan, just the rubbing off of personality and spiritual depth from constant exposure. That’s how I learned from my dad. He rubbed off on me.

And so, as I work on my next book, exploring how to give away what was invested in me, I ask you to come sit beside me and absorb what God has given me.

It’s hard to say “Follow me” without feeling arrogant, but we have to get over that if we want to change the world. We’re not in positions of influence because we reached some superior level of spirituality, but because God, in His grace, put us there. How dare we waste what God has entrusted to us.

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

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On The Vulnerable Edge

Friday morning I rented a mountain bike from Mellow Velo in downtown Santa Fe, and rode about twelve miles on the Dale Ball Trails. They were great single-tracks, and as difficult as anything I should ever ride. There were lots of narrow tracks between trees and cactus, rock gardens that required bouncing over or maneuvering around and, of course, steep uphills and downhills.

It was great fun, but I didn’t survive unmarked. I returned with scrapes and bruises on both arms and legs. I have often said, “If you don’t have a scar, you don’t have a story; and if you don’t have a story, you didn’t really leave home.” I tested my own theory on this trip.

The good news: I didn’t have any frightening high-speed crashes. All my falls were slow topples that happened when I was tentative and hesitant. When approaching a hairpin, I’d wait too long to decide whether to dismount and walk around or speed up and try to blast through. In my hesitation I lost velocity and fell over; usually falling downhill with my bike landing on top of me. I was a pathetic sight and I was glad to be alone.

Later, on the easy bike ride back downtown, I realized I had been singing the Fleetwood Mac song, “Over My Head,” all of the morning.

The previous evening I went with Cyndi and Wes and Roni to a yoga class taught by Dean and Rebecca Lerner, two of America’s premier Iyengar instructors. It was advertised as a “mixed level” class, but the mix was all better than me. I brought down the average.

I couldn’t do anything the rest of the class did, because of my limited yoga skill and my tight inflexible body. But I’m used to making adjustments and using props. A couple of times our instructor gave an alternative move for the “stiffer men,” and I knew exactly who she was talking about.

Rebecca Lerner taught the class while Dean walked around helping people. Which means, he spent more time helping me more than anyone else in the room.

Dean was constantly correcting me and adjusting me and bringing me props, which, to be honest, pushed me further out on the vulnerability edge than I was prepared for. Allowing someone to continually correct and adjust me in a public setting where, not only is it happening in front of other people who are much more skilled, but is happening to almost no one else, without me getting embarrassed or frustrated or angry, is a big change for me. No one likes to feel like a beginner in front of the cool kids. I don’t actually mind if my skill levels aren’t up to everyone else’s, because that is a function of more practice, but I quickly bow up if I think someone is patronizing me.

However, I never felt that way when Dean was helping me. I was happy every time he fixed my pose. It never felt like a put-down, but rather like, “Here, you’ll like it better this way.”

However, I was happiest whenever he walked past me to work on someone else. At least I wasn’t the only one who needed help.

While were in Santa Fe I listened to a Ted Talk by Sarah Lewis titled Embrace the Near Win, and she said, “We thrive when we stay at our own leading edge.” Of course, I wouldn’t classify either yoga or mountain biking as my leading edges. It would be more accurate to call them my vulnerability edges. Both are way out beyond the point where I know what I’m doing

Part of my recent growing up has been learning to embrace vulnerable moments, to let God speak to me through them, and let my own heart speak to others. Brene Brown wrote, “If we want greater clarity in our purpose or deeper and more meaningful spiritual lives, vulnerability is the path.” (The Gift of Imperfection)

We have the greatest opportunity to change the world when we are willing to be open and vulnerable. Like Peter walking on water to Jesus, willing to fail in front of his peers.

But there is also this. While I intend to embrace vulnerability, I hope to improve as a yogi and as a mountain biker. It’s nice to know I have so much room for improvement.

Erwin McManus wrote in The Artisan Soul, “It’s been a wonderful realization after fifty years of life that if we work hard enough, hard work will eventually be mistaken for talent. And if we refuse to give up, perseverance will eventually be mistaken for greatness.”

How about you. Where are you pushing your vulnerability edges?

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

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