Having Fun in the Cold

I will admit I’m not always tough enough to ride in the cold wind. In February there are more days when I choose not to ride than when I choose to ride, especially when the temperature is in the 30’s. But around here the cold doesn’t last long; in fact, really cold days are rare, so taking on the weather is not a daily chore but an occasional fun adventure.

Which brings me to last Monday, a holiday, popularly known as President’s Day. It was the perfect day to organize a group bike ride since most of my cycling buddies had the day off and since most of us had already finished our obligatory weekend chores.

The Saturday and Sunday before had been sunny and in the 70’s and suitable for shorts and T-shirts, but when I woke up at 7:30 AM Monday morning I discovered it was 34*. I texted to my fellow cyclists, Cory and Brian: “34* Is morning still good?”

We bounced texts back and forth, none of us wanting to pull the plug on riding in the cold. Finally, I knew it was my duty to make the call since I was the oldest of the group. I texted: “OK. Let’s wait until noon.”

We met at my house at noon in all our cold weather gear. However, by delaying the start 3-1/2 hours we only gained 5* in warmth and now the wind was picking up so it was hard to know if we’d improved our situation. But we didn’t get all dressed up for nothing. We had to ride. And there is the rule of guys: Choose discomfort, even death, over looking bad.

Once we started riding, the cold wasn’t such a big problem. It was the wind. But the wind is always the main problem when cycling in West Texas, since we have no hills to climb. At Monday noon it was blowing from the north and west at 14 mph and increasing. We knew it wouldn’t let up until September.

Just before we left on our ride I saw a post from friend (and half-cousin-in-law) Michael, who said he was going golfing in shorts and a polo shirt, in Seattle. I posted back, “I am going cycling in all my cold-weather gear, in Texas.”

It was a great ride, and a prime reminder of why we do things together like this. We discussed Sunday’s Bible study lesson on prayer, learned of common career backgrounds as youth pastors, shared kid stories, shared a few cycling war stories, and made fun of our cycling friends who missed the ride.

Our northern friends might not consider what we did to be true cold-weather riding, but it was as cold as I plan to ride unless I buy lots more winter gear. Our southern friends might ask why we didn’t exercise inside instead, but, well, for me, riding on a stationary bike or running on a treadmill inside, no matter how bad the weather, is simply exercise ... a workout … it is just work.

But riding or running outside, even in the cold and wind, especially with friends who’ll share the discomfort, is play … an adventure … it’s fun.

And we don’t have to dig out our winter gear very often. If cold weather in Texas lasted for weeks, or for months, riding would lose all semblance of fun. But it doesn’t, so it is.

Later, that Monday night, I read from Christine Carter’s book, The Sweet Spot. “In today’s hyper-busy world, most people don’t rest or rejuvenate much. We don’t allow ourselves the “non-instrumental” activities in life.” Ms. Carter believes that because we don’t schedule fun into our lives we become less effective, less efficient, and grumpier over time.

I wrote in the margin of my book, “Today’s ride was fun, rejuvenating, and it made me happy. I’m feeling more effective and efficient already. I can’t wait to ride together in 100* this summer.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Who Are Your Influences?

“I’m jealous,” said John. “I want your library.” “It’s my favorite room in our house. I spend more time in there than anywhere else.”

I had cleaned it up for the party, but in truth, I like the fact that our library is always full of projects and mail and stacks of books and movies and computers. It may look like clutter, but if you squint your eyes it looks like a vibrant life.

I have been in the process of arranging and rearranging my books for the past year, one of my 2014 goals, but all I’ve done so far is make a mess. Since I keep adding to my collection, organizing is a dynamic target. I can’t decide which shelves should hold which topics, so I end up restacking my piles over and over. Maybe I should break down and use the Dewey Decimal System, or the Library of Congress system? Seems too structured, even for me.

And to be honest, this round of organizing is for my downstairs books only. Our house is full of books. The upstairs books have to fend for themselves. They should be happy they are still in the house and not given to Friends of the Library. At least two bookcases of children’s books in our hallway belong to Cyndi, not me. She has her own organizing project to look forward to.

My conversation with John took place last Friday at our annual Deacon’s Soup Night. I was standing in the front yard greeting guests and reminding them that we’d moved the party from the neighborhood clubhouse to our house across the street. John and his wife arrived before most of the other guests, meaning they had time to explore our house, although I’m not sure he made it past the library.

I could tell right away he was a fellow reader since he didn’t ask, “Have you read all those books?” but rather started immediately into common authors and topics, zooming in to Shaara, McCullough, and Ambrose.

We didn’t get to finish our conversation before Cyndi called me inside to get the party started – apparently the Deacons were getting restless – but I’m sure John and I will pick up where we left off now that we know we have books in common.

I used to worry that I’d read so many books but couldn’t remember specific details from very many. As British author Penelope Lively wrote, “I have emptied each of these into that insatiable vessel, the mind, and they are now lost somewhere within.” I thought I should have a better working memory of what I’d read. What happened to all that information?

But then I decided not to worry about that any more. I realized I don’t read as much for new information as to be influenced by other voices. I would guess the reading for information vs. reading for influence ratio is about 20/80. Again, from Ms. Lively, “A fair amount (of what we read), the significant amount, becomes that essential part of us – what we know and understand and think about above and beyond our own immediate concerns.”

So I pick authors and read all they’ve written, hoping their insights and skills will seep into my subconscious, and maybe someday when I am teaching or writing they will trickle back out.

I read Erwin McManus, Donald Miller, Leonard Sweet, Phillip Yancey, Charles Swindoll, John Ortberg, and C. S. Lewis, to influence how I think about God and shape the way I talk about spiritual things.

I read Sara Miles and Anne Lamott to understand what Christianity looks like through the eyes of someone who lived most of their lives on the opposite side from me.

I read Steven Pressfield, Austin Kleon, Seth Godin, and Jon Acuff to open my eyes and my thoughts, to dream big about writing, and to finish what I start.

I read Calvin Trillin, Roy Blount, David Rakoff, and Mary Roach to remind myself a writer can be funny and entertaining no matter the topic as long as he tells the story well.

I read history and biography to put life in context. I read adventure books to enlarge my vision of what’s possible. I read cycling books to confirm my growing love for the sport and to learn how to write about it better. I read books about running and ultramarathons because I’m not yet ready to give up on those dream.

I’d love to hear who you read. I am always searching for my next influences, and I like reading new voices and young writers. Send me your list.

And feel free to come over and visit my library any time. Maybe you can influence how I go about arranging all these books.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Telling Stories

The stories my mom told me when I visited her in the Alzheimer’s Unit, they were usually from decades earlier, even back to her days leading girl’s camps in the 1960s. They were the stories her brain ran home to when it was no longer constrained by reason and a rational timeline. It was difficult to keep up in conversation when she moved forward and backward in time, but I was happy that her default stories were about ministry and family. Our stories, like our memories, are the ballast that keeps us from being tossed aside by illness, or toppled over by the resistance, or blown away by winds of fear.

Our stories define us. They communicate our heart. To say let me tell you my stories is to say let me tell you who I am and what I believe and what I think is important and who I love and where I’m headed, and all that. To know my stories is to know me. To know your stories is to know you.

Whenever we try to describe someone, the best way to do it is usually by telling a story. And just this week, while digging through past journals preparing for my next book, I rediscovered a great identity story.

One Monday evening in 2007, Cyndi I attended a jazz performance in Odessa. It was excellent. All four musicians were friends with my brother, Carroll, a phenomenal drummer himself, who lived in Austin at the time. After we got home I emailed him my observations about the music and the musicians. I should have picked up the phone as soon as I sent the email because I knew he would call right away. The first thing he said was, “No way I could read an email like that without phoning.”

We talked a long time about music and Carroll’s respect for the musicians we’d heard, and he told personal stories about knowing and playing with each of them.

I mentioned how Neal, the night’s drummer, played more melody than rhythm. Carroll knew exactly what I meant. He talked about how a drummer will take a long time setting up his kit just right. He’ll adjust and re-adjust drums and cymbals and stool until everything is millimeter perfect. “It’s part ritual, and part striving for excellence; nothing to get in the way of the music.” But he said Neal seemed to have his kit set differently every time he played. “If he backed his pickup against the curb so all his drums flew out on to the stage, he could sit down and play them where they landed and still be the best drummer you ever heard.” Carroll said, “Neal is so far above the rest of us he doesn’t even need drums.”

Now that was a great story. Not only did it tell me a lot about Neal, it also told me something about Carroll … and how Carroll thought of me, that he would tell such a drummer-specific story and expect me to get it.

Well, just this past Sunday night we watched a cool Jeep commercial during the Super Bowl; it featuring wild and beautiful places around the world with “This Land Is Your Land” playing in the background.

I posted: “This commercial moves my heart. With each passing year, I have more and more trouble distinguishing spirituality from geography, sense of place, and home. It all gets mixed up.”

What I meant to add but forgot, what I should have included, was this: But it isn’t enough to go places and see wonders. I want to come back home to my people and tell the story of where I’ve been, and share the lessons God showed me.

Telling the story is something I’ve been compelled to do my whole life. As the Psalmist wrote, “Come and hear, all of you who fear God; let me tell you what He has done for me.” (Psalm 66:16)

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Finding Community on the Trail

Here it is: I’ve wasted a trip to Austin if I don’t find time to run around Lady Bird Johnson Lake at least once. It’s one of the best urban trails in the world and I love to run there. Moving down that trail makes my heart thump with joy. It isn’t just the dirt trail or the beautiful trees and water that make this particular place so much fun. It’s the hundreds of other people circling the same route: some going clockwise and others counterclockwise, some very fast and others very slow, some with dogs and some with baby strollers, some wearing ancient ragged race T-shirts and some wearing the latest neon-colored outfit, some running in large groups a-buzz with friendly banter and some alone like me, some teenagers and some in their 70s.

Being on the trail with all those like-minded people is energizing. I can run better and further and faster because of them. There are things we can understand about each other, even as total strangers, which would never make sense to our longtime personal friends who don’t run. We are a community even though we’ve never met.

The funny thing is, if I lived in Austin and ran this trail every day, I’d never actually meet most of these people. I’d still run mostly by myself. Yet being around them adds energy to my life because it reminds me I’m not alone in this world. I like knowing there are similar people who have unexplainable goals and weird habits and funny smelly clothes and big stopwatches and GPS mapping aps. Knowing I’m not alone is powerful, comforting, and energizing.

So as I ran, my thoughts were on my next book, the one I’m wrangling with right now. I’m still in the process where I keep rearranging big ideas looking for a pattern. I’ve been intrigued with the phases of or lives – not necessarily phases that philosophers or anthropologists assign to all of us, but the personal phases that show up when we tell our life story. Me, I see three major spiritual phases in my own life.

Phase one, from birth to university, when my faith was actually my parent’s faith. I saw the Gospel through the lens of family.

Phase two lasted from university to about 2004, and it’s centered on spiritual disciplines and structured learning. I understood and interpreted the Gospel through the lens of spiritual practices.

I’m just beginning to understand my third phase, and since it’s ongoing even today, I may learn more in the future and change my interpretation completely. But I call this my community phase, and it begins when I started leading the Iron Men group and I realized how much I needed community in my life.

I thought my most significant contributions would come from what I said or wrote, not from who I was, how I lived, or who I knew. I provided data, not relationships. And I totally underestimated the power of community.

(I have a lot more to write about this phase of life, but I need more time on the trail to work it all out.)

And so, back in Austin, as I finished up my run on the LBJ Trail and hobbled back to my car which I’d parked under the Mopac Bridge, I considered two major dilemmas.

While I love solitude (It’s where I draw energy and where I’m most creative) I also love being with my people (That’s where I grow strong, tell stories, and see God). How do I aim my life at both?

And the second dilemma; while running makes my knees sore and stiff for hours afterward, it also makes my heart happy and feeds my brain. I have to put up with one, to have the other.

To tell the truth, I like dilemmas like those. I hope there are a lot more; that’s where the energy of life is born.

And I hope I have three or four more major phases of life. I can’t wait to see what comes next.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

I Need More of That

You might be happy to know I’ve already made opening steps toward one of my goals for 2015: “Make modifications to our seldom-visited westerly side yard.” The space I’m talking about, it’s an exaggeration to call it a “yard;” it is actually the small strip between our house and the fence on the west side, about five-and-a-half feet wide. It used to be weeds and dirt and we never thought about using it until last spring when Cyndi had it filled with cement, making a continuously smooth sidewalk-type surface. I have been thinking about how to use the space ever since Cyndi’s modification.

And my first idea was to set up my hammock. Once I put up a shade screen it would be a perfect place for swinging naps.

Cyndi and the kids gave this hammock to me back in the 1990s, and for years I had it set up in the shade under our Honey Locust tree in the backyard. I loved to lie in that hammock and read the Sunday paper while gently swinging myself by pulling on the slender rope tied to the porch post. I learned to swing and sleep at the same time. Sometimes I wrote in my journal and contemplated on spiritual things. It was wonderful and peaceful. It was home.

In my opinion, there are two marks of adulthood: (1) looking forward to naps; and (2) being happy when a phone call is for someone else. I’m always happy when the phone isn’t for me, but not as happy as I am when I’m taking a nap.

Nowadays, I typically take only one nap per week, on Sunday afternoons, and I have to work to keep it. There’s always something else important to do, even things I enjoy doing, like riding my bike with the cycling club. But if I miss my nap I feel cheated all week. I won’t be as creative, or as smart, or as friendly.

Unfortunately, napping in my hammock in the shade ended when I cut our Honey Locust tree down after bores attacked it in the summer of 1999. It broke my heart to lose the tree.

Cyndi and I planted it ourselves when it was just a one-inch diameter youngster, and through the years it grew into a trunk of 18 inches. It was a significant tree; the biggest and oldest impression we'd made on earth. I was inspired by that tree.

And without my favorite shade tree I didn’t know what to do with my beloved hammock. I tried setting it up around the yard and under the porch, but it took up too much space. With stand, it is about twelve feet long. Eventually, reluctantly, I put it into storage.

When we moved into our present house in 2008 I stashed the hammock and stand behind the freezer in the garage, hoping I would soon find a place to set it up.

And now, finally, our newly remodeled side yard seems perfect. There is plenty of privacy (No one wants to take a nap out in public), and I knew I could manufacture enough shade.

Last Saturday, in keeping with my 2015 goal, I pulled the pieces of the hammock and stand from the garage and set it all up. It was my first of many modifications to the side yard.

But the hammock was too wide. What I mean is, it fit inside the space, and with deft maneuvering I could climb in, but there wasn’t enough room on either side for swinging. It was quite disappointing.

I didn’t give up, though. I ordered a narrower net-style hammock and I’m planning to make it work.

Why does it matter, you may ask? Because having a hidden corner of the yard that feels like home is a big deal. Because a hammock that doesn’t swing is just another bed. Because, not only do I crave adult naps, but I need to move. Because swinging in a hammock settles brain floaters, calms storms, reduces to-do lists, and brings peace and tranquility. I need more of that,

And Because I’m certain that using my reborn hammock will open my mind and jump-start my creativity toward the accomplishment of all the rest of those 2015 goals.

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

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Letting Go

The thing is, I’m continually searching for the sweet spot to live my life, the still point, the center. It’s my assumption that I’m only one practice, one habit, or one spreadsheet away from blissful yet productive existence. That’s one of the reasons I read so much, or at least, how I pick many of my books. I’m looking for ideas to find that intersection between stillness and adventure.

One of my favorite writers, Natalie Goldberg, described how she handles life’s burdens and the numbness that comes from constant disappointment, in her book, The True Secret of Writing,

She adopted a personal mantra that she repeats to herself; she calls it her “Loving Kindness Practice”.

May I be happy

May I be peaceful

May I be free

May I have the ease of well-being

May I be safe

May I be healthy

Goldberg believes that her own inner peace expands out to everyone and everything else when she repeats those phrases to herself. I’m sure she’s correct.

She also wrote about the process of letting go ... as in, what are the elements she has to let of in order to live happy, peaceful, free, and healthy. “What do I carry with me all the time? What should I carry with me from now on? What should I leave behind?”

Like a backpacker, we can only carry so much. It’s true that the more gear (or attitude) we carry, the better we protect ourselves from upsets, surprises, and accidents, but if our load gets too heavy it will break our back and destroy our will to continue down the trail.

Goldberg understood that it wasn’t enough to simply repeat a mantra over and over. She had to let go to make her Loving Kindness Practice really work.

I thought her Practice seemed like a cool way to avoid the trap of disappointment and live in more among good qualities. However, since she’s a practicing Buddhist, her suggestions come from that particular perspective. I wondered if I could adopt a similar practice based on a Biblical perspective. Even though the actual end result might be the same, and the specific practices not that different, it made a different to my own heart if I knew the source.

Which lead me to Galatians 5:22-23: “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.” Could I use this list to ground myself in God’s qualities in such a way they would expand out to everyone else around me?

So I am proposing the following practice based on the Fruits of the Spirit, and I’m asking you for suggestions to make it even better. What if we all repeat at least one of these phrases to ourselves every day, all day … would it change how we live? Would it change the people around us?

May I be accepting; let go of judging

May I be generous; let go of cynicism

May I be mindful; let go of my need for respect

May I linger; let go of quick success

May I be kind; let go of condemnation

May I give slack; let go of expectation

May I be loyal; let go of grudges

May I be gentle; let go of being right

May I be intentional; let go of careless living

So far, this list seems a little clunky to be sustainable, but it’s a good start to a brighter and more contagious life. Why don’t you join me by selecting one phrase every day and repeat it to yourself whenever life’s disappointments hit. Who knows what may happen.

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

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

At the Edge of Peace

I don’t consider myself to be an edgy guy. I am not fashion-forward, not an early adopter of technology, I don’t have a quick temper or often do impulsive things, I don’t hang glide or climb frozen waterfalls (not that I wouldn’t take you up on it if you offered), I don’t climb big rock faces or go slack-lining, I don’t have to be the leader in any situation (although I will step in if needed), I don’t dive into political arguments or theological debates on social media. I’m happy to leave all of those edges to someone else. I did have a former pastor who once referred to me as “the edgiest deacon in our church.” I took it as a compliment, but I’ve never been sure what being an edgy Baptist deacon means.

However, there are some edges I am drawn to, over and over. The western escarpment of the Guadalupe Mountains is one. Another is the cliff face known as Wilderness Ridge that overlooks McKittrick Canyon, also in the Guadalupes.

One of my most profound spiritual encounters happened at sunset with my feet dangling over the Wilderness Ridge cliff. I was completely alone, but the solitude felt warm and comfortable, as if God was reminding me to trust Him a little while longer. It was settling, and contented, and peaceful, and full. It was my “still point of the turning world,” moment. (T. S. Elliot)

Henri Nouwen described it well: "In the center of breathless actives, we hear a restful breathing, Surrounded by hours of moving, we find a moment of quiet stillness. In the midst of action there is contemplation. ... Somehow we know that without a quiet place our lives are in danger. "

Peering over the cliff edge also reminded me of Bilbo, from The Hobbit, who hardly thought of himself as an edgy guy until “something Tookish woke up inside of him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.” (J. R. R. Tolkien)

I remember back a few years ago when we were all reading the small book, “The Prayer of Jabez,” by Dr. Bruce Wilkinson, which encouraged us to pray, “Oh that you would bless me indeed and enlarge my territory,” Cyndi told me, “You can’t know how big your territory is until you walk all the way to the edges. You can’t know the extent of God’s blessing until you push out to the fence lines.”

She said, “I wonder how often we settle for a small portion of what God has for us, thinking we have it all, because we stopped exploring too soon. We don’t know where the boundary is until we walk up to the fence. Don’t stop too soon.”

Pushing to the edge of our territory is seldom about peace. It’s usually risky and frightening. As Gandalf told Bilbo, “There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.”

So in 2015, I hope to explore the rare junction of sitting on the edge of peace, living in the moment, and pushing to the edge of adventure, not being afraid. There is mystery in that point, and I want to know more about it.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Leaning Into 2015

Here is the thing about New Year’s Goals and Resolutions: They aren’t about feeling guilty over your life, or about correcting past mistakes. New Year’s Goals and Resolutions are about leaning forward. They’re about living an intentional life. Instead of spending your energy responding to life as it happens, having goals allows you to create your own future.

I go through the goal-setting and resolution-making exercise every year, and most years I publish my list, to be accountable and to encourage other people to do the same thing. However, I would guess that over the last twenty years, my success rate, meaning the percentage of goals and resolutions I can say I absolutely accomplished by the end of the year, is probably less than 30%.

But I’m a different man because of that 30%. Not only that, I’m a different man for attempting the other 70%. Even the act of writing them down, and sometimes that’s all the attention I give them, changed my outlook for the next year.

PROJECTS I NEED TO FINISH:

Publish book #4. (I am deep into the structural part of this book, but it is hard to find quality time to work on it and live the rest of my life, too.)

Finish Cyndi’s outdoor shower. (I’ve been poking around the project trying to figure the best way to do it. I should be past most of the decision points now … time to finish)

Make modifications to our seldom-visited westerly side yard. (This project will spill over into making my garage more useful)

Finish our wills, end of life plans, financial statements, and all of that. (In the past two years we have lived through enough estate complications (from both families) we have no excuse to finish this up.)

HOW I WANT TO LIVE:

Take two backpacking weekends. (I don’t know how many more times I can haul my pack up Tejas trail on these sore knees; I should go now before it gets worse.)

Run a trail race.

4,000 miles cycling, 400 miles running. (These are more “holding-on” goals than stretch-goals.)

Run at least one more marathon.

Hold an Iron Men Retreat with at least five guys speaking.

Play scales and warm ups on my P-Bone at least twice a week.

Do core workouts at least two evenings a week.

Find a way to make my 100-life-goals more accessible and reportable. (This includes reorganizing and evaluating.)

WHO I WANT TO BECOME:

Make this my default reaction: Assume positive intent on the part of everyone

Ruthlessly eliminate hurry from my life. (As prescribed by Dallas Willard (via John Ortberg)

SCARY LONG-TERM DREAMS:

Run a 100-mile trail race (This may never be possible for me, but ultramarathons have sung their siren song in my ears ever since I first started reading about running; I can’t give up on this yet.)

Take an epic multiday bike adventure ride

HOW ABOUT YOU?

What are your goals for 2015? Share them. Who knows but that someone may have special abilities or information that will help you accomplish them.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

The Good News

So the good news is that Amazon has been selling a lot of my books this December. The bad news is that I’ve spent two or three days each week standing in the long line at the downtown post office mailing books to the Amazon Distribution Center in Whitestown, IN. The good news is that for all my line standing, I haven’t heard one person complaining beyond making obligatory jokes. The bad news is that not everyone in line speaks English so I don’t know what they are saying … but they don’t appear to be angry.

The good news is that we all handle long line waits better when we have entertainment, which is what we all have nowadays on our phones. The bad news is that means we are staring at our phones instead of talking to each other … not that I talk to strangers in line very often.

The good news is that one of the happiest Window Clerks at the post office says “Merry Christmas” to everyone he waits on, every day, in spite of what you may have heard on talk radio or read on a Facebook rant about how that greeting is now illegal … it isn’t, and it is still uttered by many. The bad news is that the post office no longer allows Salvation Army bell ringers to stand outside the door with their kettles … Cyndi taught me to drop a dollar in every time I pass by, but I pass by so few lately and I miss it.

The good news is that on Monday, the woman behind me in line quietly hummed Christmas carols to herself the entire time, in her deep, rich alto voice, and it was delightful … I would’ve turned to make a request but I didn’t’ want to embarrass her. The bad news is that the post office doesn’t have song leaders to help us all sing carols together as we wait in line.

The good news is that a large portion of my church’s live nativity was performed by members of our Sunday School class, and it made me very happy to see them sharing the gospel story in this creative way. The bad news is that I almost missed seeing it at all because I stayed too late visiting with friends and our new “family boyfriend” … I caught about fifteen seconds of their performance before they broke character and left for warmer shelter.

The good news is the Christmas season, and I love the friendliness and graceful air that exists between people. The bad news is that we don’t like each other the rest of the year.

The good news is that you don’t have to be swept up by the commercialization and competition that the laziest of us complain about, but you can choose to be happy, generous, kind, loving, and unselfish … go ahead, make the choice, you’ll be satisfied. The bad news is not enough people make the choice of generosity over resentment … generosity is life’s secret sauce, and it will make every aspect of your life better, richer, and deeper.

The Good News is Emmanuel, God with us … the Breath of Heaven breathes into us a fresh start and a new life for 2015. There is no bad news, in that.

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

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A Tale as Old as Time

Wednesday night Cyndi and I went to the Wagner Noel Performing Arts Center, the coolest addition to Midland and Odessa in ten years, to see the traveling Broadway production of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. It was excellent. The cast was perfect, the singing was spot-on, and the sound and production were exactly right. We loved it. I remember watching the animated movie many times back in the 1990s, on VHS, so I knew the story and the songs. But I was completely surprised at my own reaction during the second act, when Belle and Beast were dining and dancing and Mrs. Potts sang:

Tale as old as time

True as it can be

Barely even friends

Then somebody bends

Unexpectedly

I had huge big-boy tears rolling down my cheeks. I didn’t see that coming at all. I mean, I was thoroughly enjoying the play and pulled in by the performances, but I never expected to cry through the signature love song.

Maybe my reaction was due to the influence of industrial-grade antihistamines I’d been taking all week to fight off a cold; or maybe I’ve become a big softy as I get older; or maybe I really am a hopeless romantic, surprising for a degreed engineer; or maybe I haven’t been able to stop crying since Walk 135 in 1998; or maybe, even after thirty-five years of marriage, I still can’t believe the girl sitting next to me holding my hand fell for me so long ago and keeps falling for me time after time, year after year.

Besides all that, one of the coolest parts of the evening was how many young girls came to the performance wearing their yellow Belle princess dresses. I counted at least a dozen, but I’m sure there were twice that many. Being a bit out-of-touch, I wasn’t expecting to see that. Cyndi said, “Of course they wore their dresses.”

I asked, “Was that the little girl’s idea or their mom’s idea?”

Cyndi said, “It was the little girl’s idea, and their mom was cool enough to let them do it.”

Cyndi told me that our 4-1/2-year-old granddaughter, Madden, wanted to wear her red Santa dress to school and her mom let her do it. Why not? The little girl wanted to be beautiful. Cyndi said, “We all want to live the fairy tale.”

I said, “You’re right, we all do. Even adults. We’ve just outgrown the costumes.”

Even men and boys long to live the fairy tale, but we call it living the adventure. We all want to live in the bigger story, be part of the grand tale, and have more than a provincial life. As we get older we wear our princess dresses and warrior’s armor on the inside where only we can see it since it would be too embarrassing to wear on the outside and reveal our heart’s desire.

Thursday morning as Cyndi and I were getting ready for the day and talking about the play, I told her about crying through the love song. I brought it up while she was in the next room in case I started crying again telling the story. I said, “In the past five years, I’ve heard a lot of guys tell their life story, and all of them think they got lucky in marriage. Just like The Beast, they can’t believe this beautiful woman fell for them.”

Cyndi repeated what I’ve heard her say many times, “The best marriages happen when both people are convinced they are the lucky one.”

She was right about that. Except, in our case, in our marriage, I am certain that I’m the lucky one. Maybe that’s why I cry through love songs.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.