Climbing to the Top

Why are the most difficult adventures often so satisfying? How can pain and discomfort be so much fun we want to do it again as soon as possible? Hard to say.

One reason is the challenge to perform better next time. It’s like running your first marathon. The first time is to conquer your fear of the distance; the next time is to conquer the race itself.

Last Saturday I rode in the 34th Annual Ft. Davis Cyclefest, a 76-mile bike tour in the Davis Mountains of West Texas. It was my first time to ride this event, but I’ve been hearing about it for decades.

The race flyer said, “Ride the Scenic Loop; some VERY hard climbs.” That was a correct assessment. Even so, the climbs were harder than I expected.

What I mean is - I knew they would be tough, and since there is no place for hill training where I live, I knew I wouldn’t be strong.  It turned out to be the hardest physical thing I’ve ever done. At least a dozen times I found myself riding in my lowest gear, mashing down the pedals, trying to keep enough forward momentum to stay upright so I wouldn’t fall over with my feet clipped into the pedals. The hardest thing is you can’t quit unless you want to get off your bike and push it the rest of the way up. You have to keep moving.

On one of the climbs, I believe it was Fisher Mountain, the rider in front of me was weaving back and forth in big sweeping arcs, creating their own version of switchbacks, trying to reduce the grade just a tiny bit. I was too afraid to try that, scared of wasting energy turning my handle bars. I just kept creaking forward.

But I made all the climbs and never got off my bike to walk. I rode all the way up every time. That small thing felt like victory to me.

I can’t wait to try them again. I’ll be better next time (OK, OK, maybe I won’t do better if I get the flue, or if it’s snowing, or if my legs are shot from dancing all night with Cyndi, but besides all that); next time I’ll know what to expect. I have an entire year ahead of me to practice mashing my pedals, and I’m no longer afraid of the distance.

I’ll be better, but I don’t expect it to be easier. As American cyclist Greg LeMond famously said, “It doesn’t get any easier; you just go faster.”

Taking on difficult adventures that include pain and discomfort isn’t about being a masochist. It’s about being brave. Most of us can live every day of our life never knowing if we are brave; so we push the limits to find out. After I climbed my last hill I knew I had used all I had. I was brave enough for one day. I was done.

Except, I wasn’t. Every climb has a fun downhill on the other side, and those downhills are rejuvenating. It is wonderful to fly down the mountain (even though I won’t descend with the reckless abandon of the youngsters who passed me). I started feathering my brakes whenever I approached 35 mph. That was fast enough for me. I kept thinking, if I crash on this road Cyndi will kill me and then sell my bike. (Later, after I got home, I looked at my GPS and discovered I actually hit 36.5 mph as my fastest speed, but don’t tell Cyndi. She thinks I held it at 35.)

It was a great day.  It was hard.  I got faster.  The burger I ate afterwards was perfect. The fast guys up front had showered and napped by the time I crossed the finish, but I’m OK with that.

George Sheehan once wrote: “There are those of us who are always about to live. We are waiting until things change, until there is more time, until we are less tired, until we get a promotion, until we settle down / until, until, until. It always seems as if there is some major event that must occur in our lives before we begin living.” I lived that way too many years; I don’t want to live like that anymore. I’m grateful that at 58 years old I can still have adventures like this, and more, that I have room for improvement.

My prayer, as I got off my bike at the end of the ride, is consistent and true: God, thanks for keeping me safe today, thanks for keeping me fit enough to do things like this, thanks for giving the heart and desire to try, and most of all, thank You for giving me one more turn.

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

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Restoring What Was Lost

On Monday I traveled to Westminster California with my wife, Cyndi, her sister, Tanya, and Tanya’s son Kevin, to attend the funeral for Cyndi and Tanya’s father, Bill Richardson, who passed away after a long battle with cancer. Rather than sleeping in a hotel, the family invited us to stay at Bill’s house, which could’ve been creepy but wasn’t. It gaveus another bit of insight into the life of a man none of us really knew. And we enjoyed his backyard orchard of pomegranates, avocados and apples.

What made this an unusual trip was that the girls (Cyndi and Tanya) had no real contact or interaction with their father for most of their lives. Cyndi was only two years old, and Tanya was a baby, when their mom and dad divorced. After that, they lived a thousand miles apart. Through the years there were a few letters and photos, minimal financial help, occasional gifts, but no real contact. In fact, they didn’t know enough about their father to recognize him on the rare occasions when they saw him.

In the early nineties, about 1991 or 1992, Bill and his wife Jan came through Midland and took Cyndi and me, Byron and Katie, out to dinner. It was a one-evening encounter, and the only time our kids ever saw him.

During the past ten or fifteen years Cyndi and Tanya have connected with Bill whenever they happened to be in California, so that he would know them and their own growing families. He was always friendly and gracious, but the effort to establish a relationship always seemed one-sided.

However, it was important to both Cyndi and Tanya to come to the funeral and be part of the larger family. It was an opportunity to connect with Tiffany, their sister in California, and her family, and maybe provide some closure to all those missing years.

I think the funeral itself was a little rough, hearing the stories they’d never heard and seeing photos from a life so far away, wondering how different their own lives might have been with an engaged father at home, or even with summer visits.

As a father myself, and now a grandfather, I’ve tried to understand how there could be so little contact over so many years, but I finally decided it wasn’t important. Who knows why we live the way we do. We all do things we can’t explain even to ourselves. We all get trapped in behaviors we don’t know how to change.

Maybe Bill wanted to be part of the girl’s lives but didn’t know how to get started after the divorce. It was a different era and people weren’t surrounded by advice like we are today. Or maybe he waited too long to try, and once he realized how much he’d missed it was too difficult to reverse course. Or maybe he tried to make contact through the years but their mom stood in the way. The only ones who know the answers are gone, or incapable of talking about it.

But I know this much - it isn’t impossible to stay in contact, even after divorce and re-marriage. I saw my own brother move his family three hundred miles in order to participate in the life of his daughter from a previous marriage. And I’ve seen how the two surviving families can be friends and invest in each other’s lives. It is a beautiful thing to watch, and I am proud of the way Carroll has made it work.

So our stay in California was great. Tiffany and her family made every effort to welcome us into the close family huddle, and tried harder than many would’ve or could’ve to make Cyndi and Tanya feel loved and accepted. It was a reminder that the loss wasn’t just between two daughters and a father, but between three sisters. They all missed growing up together.

After my mom passed away this past July, I thought a lot about what was lost. The sad fact of Alzheimer’s is that you lose the person you knew long before they actually pass away. I told friends that I really lost my mom two years ago.

It occurred to me that, in this case, the loss wasn’t so much the death of a father as the loss of fifty years. Those years cannot be replaced, and it does very little good to be angry or bitter.

But it doesn’t end there. Our lives cannot merely be about what we missed. The loss of time and relationships is painful and can never be replaced or forgotten, but that isn’t the whole story. To live lives of purpose and meaning, we have to restore what we lost

The Gospel story of the Bible is about restoration. In fact, Phillip Yancey says the Bible can be summed up in one sentence: “God gets His family back.” And so, one of our core purposes as Christ-Followers is to restore what was lost. We can redeem the past by forming new relationships and fighting for the ones we have. We can change the direction of our own lives if necessary to prevent losing another 50 years.

How about you? What do you need to restore today?

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

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Am I Enough?

There I was Wednesday morning at 7:45 AM standing in line for new tires. I had a nagging leak in the front passenger-side tire but I knew I had worn out the original factory tires and should replace them all. I posted on Twitter: “At Discount Tire, and none of the manly men in line knew their tire size. I don't either, but I'm feeling better about myself now.”

My dilemma reminded me of a story from a few years ago when my manhood was tested at the local quick oil and lube place.

The oil-change guy sauntered into the waiting room holding some piece of automobile equipment and walked across the room directly toward me. He asked, “Mr. Simpson, here is your air cleaner; do you want us to replace it?” and I was paralyzed.

The waiting room was full of ace mechanics who normally did this sort of work themselves in their own garages with their own tools which they kept in perfect order hanging over perfect outlines on the wall. The only reason they were in a commercial oil and lube joint on this particular day was because they were saving their energy to do some bronco busting later in the day, or maybe rugby, or competition power lifting. They weren’t sitting around the waiting room reading David McCullough’s biography of John Adams like I was, they were being manly and strong and virile.

In the brief moment between seeing the air-cleaner man come toward me and hearing his question, I knew I was trapped. What if I said, “Yes, change it out?” and in reality it had another six months of life in it. All those knowledgeable men might look at each other and wink, thinking, “This fool is wasting his money. He has no clue about his car, and he probably wastes money all the time. I’ll bet his family is destitute, all driving ten-year-old vehicles, living in the same house for twenty years, and struggling to pay daily expenses because of his irresponsibility.” It’s amazing what you can pick up just from a wink; I could hear them all thinking those thoughts about me.

But what if I looked at air filter and said, “No, it looks fine to me; let’s wait until next time.” What then? Once again, I was trapped. I imagined those waiting room guys looking at each other and slowly shaking their heads as if to say, “His poor wife. He’s going to be sorry when that dirty air cleaner causes a major engine malfunction and leaves his cute wife stranded on Interstate 20 in front of the prison complex in Colorado City – the one where the two mass-murdering gang members just went over the wire. He’ll never see her again.”

Once again I was haunted by the question that haunts all men: Am I enough? Am I really a man? Can I make the right decisions under fire?

I wish the oil and lube place, or Discount Tire, was the only time I was ever heard that question in my head, but in fact it hits me every day. Every time I’m out running, every time I work out at the gym, every time I try to keep up with a fellow cyclist, every time I teach a class, every time I scribble thoughts into my journal, every time I post an essay and wonder who will read it, every time I pull out my trombone at church orchestra rehearsal, every time I make a presentation to my engineering peers, every time my son or daughter calls to ask for advice, every time I work through our family finances on Quicken, every time Cyndi holds my hand and opens her heart and shares her love with me. Every time. Every day.

Fortunately, I don’t have to answer that question all by myself. What I’ve learned is this: I am a real man, and I am enough, because I was made in the image of the living God who breathed His life into me and saved me by His grace.

Well, back to today and my four brand new Michelin tires. Not only is my pickup happy, but I’m happy. By the end of the day Wednesday my Twitter feed was being followed by four man sites: @MenRealMsgs, @gentlemenqz, @malesenseohumor, and @gentleguyqz. I took that as an endorsement. Maybe I’ll be OK next time I need to change my oil or buy new tires.

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

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What Do You Practice?

A couple of weeks ago, in my adult Bible class, we discussed the famous story of Daniel in the Lion’s Den. It is one of those stories more famous than the Bible itself; what I mean is, even people who don’t know the Bible know this story. Daniel was a Hebrew serving at the top of the Babylonian government. He was trusted by the king, and it appears they had a close personal friendship. Of course, this stirred up jealousy among Daniel’s rivals in government, and they conspired to get him in trouble and have him thrown out.

Unfortunately for them, they couldn’t find any scandal or failure to pin on Daniel. Not one. The only hope they had was to trip him up regarding his personal and consistent devotion to God.

They convinced the Babylonian king to make a decree that no one could worship anyone but the king himself, knowing this would trap Daniel. And it did. And as a result, Daniel was sentenced to spending the night in the lion’s den, and certain death.

However, Daniel survived. God shut the mouths of the lions, they left Daniel alone, and he survived.

My contention is that the story would be better served if the title were “Daniel in Window” instead of “Daniel in the Lion’s Den,” because that would put the focus on Daniel’s practice of prayer.

Our spiritual self grows when we maintain spiritual practices. Practice in the sense of daily regular activities that we do for the purpose of doing them. Not out of rote or mechanical repetition. When I was younger, we called them spiritual disciplines, and the list included Bible reading, study, prayer, meditation, scripture memory, fasting, worship, and many more.

Alberto Salazar, a former world class marathon runner and current coach, has been a practicing Catholic his entire life, and in his later years, he has become more outspoken and deeper in his faith. In his memoir titled, 14 Minutes, he wrote this: “I don’t regard faith as a passive virtue but as a praxis, a habit of heart and mind, which we build through effort and over time. … In my experience, miracles grow out of faith, and not the other way around.”

I think Salazar pegged the life of Daniel. Daniel’s miracle in the lion’s den came from his faith developed over years of spiritual practice.

Even though it was miraculous that Daniel survived his night among the lions, he had very little to do with it. He didn’t use his ninja moves to fight off the lions. He didn’t hypnotize them and put them to sleep. Daniel didn’t climb the walls and stay out of reach.

No, Daniel’s strength, his “accomplishment,” came from decades of devotion to God. Daniel was known for praying in his window several times each day. He didn’t pray in his window to attract attention or to show off, but because it faced Jerusalem.

Daniel had lost his family, his name, his culture, and his social net. Daniel became a eunuch when he entered government service, so he had no family of his own.

Daniel didn’t even have a home to return to. Jerusalem, the center of his previous life and the representation of God on earth, had been leveled by war with Babylon. All Daniel had was a memory. So when he prayed, he prayed in a window that faced that memory, to connect him to God, to connect him to home.

The text says Daniel prayed every day, three times a day, for his entire life. It was that very practice that gave him strength to endure. It was that practice that deepened his character so that king after king after king sought him out to serve in the upper echelons of government.

How about you? Do you have any “Daniel in the Window” practices?

One of my longest running practices has been reading my Daily Chronological Bible. I started when someone convinced me it was a good idea to read the entire Bible from start to finish. I kept at it because I wanted to learn more things about God. After I few more passes through the Bible my reason was to change who I was and how I lived. My motivation passed from knowledge to character.

It became a daily practice for me. A spiritual thin place. The daily habit itself is as important as what I actually read. It grounds me. It brings me back home to my root relationship with God. It settles my wandering mind and keeps me from rambling too far from God’s truth. The physical act of doing it brings peace. A day feels strange and empty until I have my reading.

What about you?

What are the practices that anchor your faith?

What are your “Daniel in the Window” moments?

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

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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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