Breaking Patterns

Wednesday I walked for two miles, my first time to walk that far since surgery. Not only that, but my average pace was about eighteen minutes per mile, which I would’ve once considered slow, but in my current rehab era seemed quick. By the time I got back to the gym I was already rethinking my plan to enter the Kick for Kenya 5K and ready to move up to the 10K. I was feeling full of my own, new, bad self. I finished the workout with my regular prayer: (1) Thanks for keeping me safe, (2) Thanks for giving me the desire to keep moving, and (3) Thanks for one more turn.

But later Wednesday afternoon as I walked down the basement hallway connecting the parking garage to office elevators I discovered I was now praying, “Thank you for this talk, you know, it really eased my mind.”

It occurred to me I was praying with song lyrics, from the Chicago V album, released in 1972.

I hope it’s OK to pray in those terms. David prayed with poetry, surely I can pray in song lyrics.

I was so encouraged by my two-mile walk I drove to Run This Way and bought a pair of Hoka Clifton running shoes, which are extremely cushioned, not because I’m ready to start running again, which is the most frequent question I’m asked, I promise not to consider a return for six to twelve months, giving my legs time to completely heal and rebuild strength, but to make walking softer and more fun. And, to signal that a new day has arrived.

I knew I needed to jump-start this next phase of life. I’m certainly guilty of what Patricia Ryan Madison wrote, that “age produces an increased tendency to rely on known patterns, if not all-out petrifaction.” Buying those Hokas was a departure from my known patterns.

Sometimes incremental change, the very sort of change I’m most likely to make, doesn’t really change anything. We end up pushing things around, re-arranging furniture, making small tweaks, living our lives in the way. Sometime we need bold changes.

I’m using my summer of new knees as a launching pad for the next phase, or next remake, or next reboot, of life. After all, I’m firmly on the eve of my 6^th decade and I don’t want to waste the opportunity to make the most of it. I don’t know how many more major fresh starts I have left.

I told my friend Rabon, in our conversation about the possibility of jazz lessons, that I wasn’t doing anything scary nowadays, and that scared me a little. I have a great tendency to settle into the things I do well, the things I like, and put off the things that scare me, the risky things. And I don’t mean risky, as in rock climbing or hang gliding – those are nothing. I mean the risky things that I might fail at and damage people’s impression of me and then I’m stuck living with that. How can I be brave if I don’t do scary things?

So besides jazz, the scary things I’m beginning to think about again are half-marathons or marathons, and long-distance backpacking. And finishing my next book, the one I’ve been massaging and manipulating for over a year. I have to stop worrying whether anyone will think it’s good writing, or a worthy topic, and write what’s on my heart. I need to let it go, to quote my granddaughters.

Sakyong Mipham wrote, “Movement is good for the body, and still is good for the mind. To lead a balanced life, we need to engage and be active, and to deepen and rest.” (Running With The Mind of Meditation) What Mipham didn’t say was that both movement and rest speak to our souls, and amplify our spiritual journey toward God.

St. Augustine wrote, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in you." I expect to find continued rest in God as I find ways to break my known patterns. Who knows where this journey will lead.

“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.

Wild Places

“Why does the desert have such a hold on me?” was the question I found scribbled one of my old 3x5 cards. That’s a good question. The desert doesn’t have trees or water or shade, three of life’s best gifts to humans. So why do I keep going back to the desert mountains?

One reason is because the desert is so stark and minimal, stripped of all excess. There is no pretention in the desert. What you see is what you get, and you can see a lot since none of it is hiding behind trees. In the desert you can always see the horizon, so you don’t have to worry about falling off the edge.

Specifically, I enjoy the Guadalupe Mountains, even though hiking and backpacking there can be very difficult. I love to sit up on Bush Mountain or Hunter Peak and look out across the desert expanse and imagine ancient oceans and infinite possibilities.

I need wild places in my life, and I haven’t been in a wild place in at least two years. That’s too long.

It’s just that with my deteriorating knees I couldn’t physically handle the trails up to the ledges, and any wild place I could drive to wasn’t truly wild. The closest I’ve come to a wild place is a mountain ridge I ran to last May, up a long winding well-maintained dirt road, if you are generous enough to consider what I did as running. I was uncomfortable (= in pain) the entire time but I kept going because the top was calling out my name, and besides, we were in Italy and I thought this would be a noble outing in case it turned out to be my last entry in my running log, a log that traces back to 1978.

It was hard work, and a stunning view of Tuscany, but it wasn’t very wild. I’m glad I hobbled to the top, but it didn’t feed the hunger in my heart for a wild place.

I need to feel dirt under my feet. I need to live off of whatever I can carry on my back. Why? Because God speaks to me most often when I’m moving, and when I’m vulnerable. Dirt trails have become a big part of my spiritual journey, and being on top of mountains helps keep my eyes open to the larger, wider, wilder world.

Barbara Kingsolver wrote, “We need it to experience a landscape that is timeless, whose agenda moves at the pace of speciation and glaciers.” (Small Wonder)

The wild place I immediately thought about when reading Kingsolver’s quote was Hunter Peak in the Guadalupe Mountains of Texas. It is a noble and brave place, and certainly wild. While the elevation is only 8,368’, small when compared to mountains of the world, it demands a vigorous hike, climbing 2,540’ elevation in 4.5 miles. Hunter Peak gives you a magnificent panorama of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas.

The wilderness overtakes me when I sit just below the ridge facing east, so that all I can see is the harsh and prickly slopes broken only by dramatic cliffs, all of which drop suddenly 2,500’ to the Chihuahuan Desert. On a clear day you can easily see over a hundred miles to the east and south.

The starkness is breathtaking in its raw unconcern for the hiker. There is nothing in this scene friendly to man, and nothing that cares whether or not man crosses. It’s complete and self-contained and stingy, offering no comforts to sooth a human being. Oddly enough, it’s that very indifference that speaks to my heart. Again, from Barbara Kingsolver: “Looking out on a clean plank of planet earth, we can get shaken right down to the bone by the bronze-eyed possibility of lives that are not our own.”

The reason I rediscovered my old 3x5 card (with the question on it) was because I was digging through my backpacking file and dreaming of future adventures. Now that I have brand new knees I’m once again hungry for those favorite wild places. As my friend Paul Ross likes to say, “My boots are dancing in the closet.”

 “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.

September Reboot

September is a season for fresh starts. In fact, since in my opinion September should be the beginning of fall, I’m taking advantage of this change of seasons by reengaging with my own life. I’ve always looked forward to the beginning of school season as a return to structure and predictability after the chaos of summer, and I still think of it that way even two years after Cyndi retired from teaching and decades after our own children finished school.

I don’t even mind the sudden intrusion of school zones. The yellow flashing lights are reminders we are finally back to normal and it is now time to reengage.

Because I am a creature of discipline and structure and process, I do my best work when I have a system that works, a place to record progress, and a reminder what to do next. I will go to great lengths of effort and time to find the best system, and once I’ve found it, I will not change my pattern unless forced by extreme circumstances.

For example, I have been using the same log for recording miles I’ve run (or now, biked) for over twenty years.

For example, I record my blood pressure, heart rate, and body weight every morning. I put the numbers into Excel so I can generate plots. I intend to track the physical factors that could actually kill me someday if I forget to take care of them.

For example, I have a black backpack I keep in my pickup, and it contains the items I need to begin each morning: my Daily Bible, my journal, and whatever book I happen to be reading. It also has other things, like reading glasses, pens, headphones, etc., but those are in the backpack to serve the first two items. So when I grab my backpack and head to my favorite booth, I know what to do with my first moments of the morning. And so, my day is better, happier, more productive, and more understanding.

I am currently working on the processes and projects that will carry me through this next season of life. It feels like I’m surfacing again from weeks of recovery, rehab, and house arrest, all due to knee replacement surgery. I feel like Gale and Evelle climbing out of the mud in Raising Arizona.

I’m happy to be riding my bike outside on the streets again, in the sun and wind, even if the doctor only allows me twenty minutes per ride per day. It is my return to discipline and routine, and I am happier for it.

I’ve also been paying close attention to how I walk, trying to erase the ten-year muscle memory of limping and waddling. I’m lifting my head and neck, keeping both feet pointing forward, using my core muscles, and bending my knees. To be honest, it feels awkward, like I’ve morphed from walking like Granny Clampett to walking like Chewbacca.

Lauren Winner wrote this in her book, Still, “Every ten years you have to remake everything. Reshape yourself. Reorient yourself. Reboot.” I intend September 2015 to be my next remake. My new knees will change who I am and what I do and say. They have already changed my dreams.

Whenever I record my (twenty minute) bike rides in my logbook I can see the future, and my future looks like longer rides, epic backpacking trips, long-distance walks, stronger legs, and pain-free knees. The return to pattern and discipline is the return to life.

I hope this September is your season for change, your opportunity for fresh starts. My challenge to you is this: Ask God to speak to you about your future; ask Him to give you the courage to start over and reboot.

“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.

Do You Need A Fresh Start?

I will have to learn how to walk all over again. Well, not completely from scratch. I can still move down the sidewalk on both feet with very little conscious thought, but I still have a hobble in my step, a limp. I still walk like a combination of Granny Clampett (from the Beverly Hillbillies) an Uncle Joe Carson (from Petticoat Junction). I still walk like I did before having my knees fixed.

My knee problems began in 2004, which means I have an entrenched, 11-year muscle memory for walking with a limp, for walking without bending my knees, for hobbling from side to side.

Just because I have new mechanical knees, and so far they are working great and making me very happy, doesn’t mean I have new muscles or new neurons.

I’m writing about this because just two days ago I noticed myself limping down the hallway in my office, not from surgery, but from habit. I wasn’t happy to have a persistent limp I didn’t need and didn’t want. I was compensating for something that no longer existed.

Is it possible to live so long in injury that our bodies forget how to live without it? Is it possible to forget how good life can be? Or is it possible we learn to enjoy limping? After all, it provides a convenient excuse to explain away poor performances.

I know this much: It’s possible to limp so long we make agreements with ourselves. As in, “Pain-free walking just isn’t for me,” or “I’m stuck in this lousy relationship but I’m used to it now,” or “I’m saddled with this addiction for the rest of my life, I should just get used to it.”

We live on and on, limping through life out of habit, and something inside us dies.

The question we have to ask is this: Do I want to get well?

Jesus asked this same question of a man in John 5:1-9. The man had been paralyzed for 38 years, and Jesus found him lying by a pool of water, a place where blind, lame, and paralyzed people were left for the day by their families.

There was a tradition that when the water was stirred, the first person into the pool was healed. Jesus asked the man, “Do you want to get well?”

The man said, "Sir, I have no one to put me in the pool when the water is stirred up and someone else steps down ahead of me"

Curiously, the man didn’t answer Jesus’ question. He started making excuses. Jesus didn’t ask him, “What are your problems? What makes your life so hard?” He asked, "Do you want to get well?"

This man had been sick so long he forgot about wanting to get well. All he could do was explain his own limp.

Too often we settle when we don’t have to, because we forget how good life can be. We forget about God’s healing. We hide behind our limp to avoid living the life God has for us.

I would encourage you to ask yourself: Am I limping? Have I given up hope? Am I settling for a life of habit instead of living the life God has for me? What have I allowed to die within me?

Maybe, like me, you’ll have to learn how to walk all over again.

“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.

From Weak to Strong

My recently repaired right knee, still tender and stiff from surgery in late June, went from being my weakest link to one of my strongest links, just like that. How did that happen? I didn’t actually increase its capacity or flexibility. I didn’t do any hyper-effective leg workouts that transformed overnight. I didn’t get a visit from the knee fairy who tapped me with her wand.

What happened was, I was crawling around on the floor of Katie’s house in Mansfield trying to find a graceful way to stand up without putting my knees down. I didn’t fall. I was on the floor on purpose so I could do rehab exercises with 5-year-old granddaughter Madden. I could’ve, maybe should’ve, called for help, but part of rehab is learning how to do stuff, and I was determined to get up on my own. I knew this wouldn’t be my last time down on the floor. I needed to learn new techniques.

Finally, I gave up and put my right knee on the floor with full body weight and stood up. It was amazing. It was easier than I’d expected.

The thing is, only three days before, I was babying that same knee and I would never have pushed off the floor with it like I did. It was too weak and too sore, and I was too nervous and afraid. But now, after having the left knee worked on, what was once my bad knee became my good knee, and what had been my good knee (although not that good) became my bad knee. What was weakest became strongest, just like that. It was instant phase change.

Most of life’s changes take months or years. As in training for a marathon, or learning to speak French, or graduating from engineering school.

But some phases change in the blink of an eye. For example, in 1970, Apollo 13’s mission changed in one moment. In 2001, the future of the United States change in one Tuesday morning in September. In 2010, I changed from goofy fun-loving dad to patriarch, with the birth of one granddaughter.

And now, in 2015, my right knee went from weak to strong. It went from being the dependent leg to being the supporting leg. Why? Not because it literally gained strength, but because its role changed.

And since I was forced to depend on my right leg more and more, even before it was ready, it actually did get physically stronger. The process was self-fulfilling; being used added strength.

Of course, I wouldn’t write about this if it was just about knees. It’s really about us.

How do we get stronger? We change our place in community – become supporters instead of dependers. Changing places makes us stronger.

Spiritual leadership is not about being the smartest, boldest, or strongest on the room. It is about being the most loving. It is about serving. About giving yourself away every day.

What to be stronger? Find a new role. Serve others more.

“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.

Walking Distance

I saw this quote from comedian Stephen Wright: “Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time,” and so to prove the point I asked the mapping app on my phone to give me a route for walking from our house in Midland, Texas, to our daughter’s house in Mansfield, Texas, 319 miles. The app said it would take 4 days and 13 hours to walk. I assume that does not include rest breaks, eating, or sleeping. Like the man said, everywhere is within walking distance. Which reminded me of one of our great family stories, a vacation to Washington DC in 2002. In order to save money I found a hotel outside the actual city and planned for all of us to ride the subway, the Met, from our hotel to the center of DC. When I phoned to make the reservations I asked, “How far is your hotel from the nearest Met station?” The young man answered confidently and convincingly, “It’s within walking distance.”

But our first morning we discovered our hotel was a solid thirty-minute drive from the station. And most of the road had no shoulder or sidewalk, so walking alongside was dangerous if not impossible. Hardly what a reasonable person would call “walking distance.”

The other part of the story, and an added observation that might explain the “walking distance” misunderstanding, was the gentleman who checked us into the hotel when we first arrived. He was the slowest person any of us had ever seen.

I don’t mean slow in the sense of dim-witted, although we had our suspicions. I mean slow in that every single one of his actions, like typing on his keyboard, moving his hand from keyboard to mouse, reading data from his computer screen, was so slow it was all we could do to keep from laughing. It was all we could do to keep our balance and not fall to the floor. He was so slow he was even slower than that. I don’t think anyone could be that slow on purpose, even if he was being forced to give us the room he’d hoped to keep for his fiancé when she arrived from France and it was the only room left and if he didn’t have a room for her she would fly back home and the wedding would be off. He was slower than that.

It occurred to us that maybe he was the one who told me over the phone that the Met station was within walking distance. Maybe he lived in a wrinkle of space-time so that normal distance and normal pace were different for him than for everyone else in the world.

I’ve been thinking about walking a lot, lately, being between knee preplacement No. 1 (right) and knee replacement No. 2 (left). One of the reasons I opted for this procedure was so that I could enjoy walking again. And today, three weeks after No. 1, I’m already walking even better than I expected. Better, in fact, than before surgery, which I suppose, was the point of replacement.

I recently finished a book by Jim Forest titled, The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life, and he wrote: “Walking is a physical activity that is meant to have spiritual significance.”

Walking is so simple and common, and one of the earliest things we learn how to do as human beings. We learn to walk long before we learn to talk, or go to the potty, or find our own food.

For me, walking includes running and hiking … at least, the spiritual significance of it. Some of my richest spiritual conversations with God have come while walking, hiking, or running on a dirt trail.

Forest wrote, “Unimpeded walking is one of life’s most ordinary, least expensive, and deeply rewarding pleasures … Putting one foot in front of the other and going forward can provide a foretaste of heaven.”

Well, walking didn’t feel like heaven a few weeks ago when we spent seven hours on the medieval stone streets of Florence. It was fun, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it felt far from heaven.

However, I can already see a brighter and deeper future ahead of me. I am glad to be walking again. Ready to converse with God again on the trails.

“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.

A Promise to Breathe

“What are you going to write about this week?” asked Cyndi. She was taking my happy birthday peach cobbler out of the oven (I’m not a cake man (the cobbler was amazing)). “I don’t know yet. I’m at a loss. And forgot today was Wednesday and my piece is due tomorrow.”

“What do you think I should write about?” I asked.

“Just don’t write about the lowering-your-pulse-contest-with-yourself you had in post-op. Nobody wants to hear about that.”

Before my surgery last week I assumed this slowed-down recovery time would be rich with insights and ideas. But the truth is, my journal - where I write daily - is surprisingly thin lately. Most of what I’ve written is about rehab exercises and medication and daily details. I anticipated more. I’d hoped to be more productive.

Cyndi pulled out her iPad and read this poem to me by Danna Faulds:

It only takes a reminder to breathe,

a moment to be still, and just like that,

something in me settles, softens, makes

space for imperfection. The harsh voice

of judgement drops to a whisper and I

remember again that life isn’t a rely

race; that we all will cross the finish

line; that waking up to life is what we 

were born for. As many times as I 

forget, to catch myself charging forward

without even knowing where I am going,

that many times I can make the choice

to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk

slowly into the mystery.

“It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still, and something in me settles.” Those are good words. As she read, my mind traveled back to a morning in the Guadalupe Mountains, at the junction of Tejas and Juniper Trails, when I sat on a fallen log planning to spend some time writing in my journal, but instead, I simply sat still and breathed and listened for a half hour and allowed the sounds of the forest to soak into my heart.

The significance of the moment surprised me. I am so process-driven in most of my life I seldom stop and listen just to stop and listen. It turned out that “doing nothing” was important to this “doing stuff” guy.

I told Cyndi, after she finished reading the poem, “That trail junction, sitting and breathing, became a thin spot for me. I stop and sit every time I hike past that fallen log.”

So what does that tell me about surgery rehab? Will it be one of my thin places if I’m prepared to slow down, sit, and breathe? How can I make this time as productive as I’d imagined?

For the past three months I’ve been looking forward to knee replacement surgery, or more accurately, to my new life on the other side. It’s hard to be patient and let the healing take place. I want to heal faster. I’m ready to be back on the trail.

Sit and breathe and wait.

I am so in love with the idea of a lifelong search for God, which for me is an active process, I forget about silence and listening.

So here is my challenge to myself for this summer. I will continue to work hard at rehab and recovery, but I’m determined to listen and breathe, not try to force the insights or plan good writing.

Sit and breathe and wait.

“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.

How Big

Do you have gifts and talents that you underestimate? The answer is: Yes, you do. We all do. We typically don’t recognize or understand our most powerful talents on our own, we need to hear from friends and family. In fact, it is unlikely we’ll ever understand our calling or purpose without the advice and counsel from people who are close around us. But we get glimpses, and for me that often comes through music or movies.

Cyndi and I often watch a movie in the evening while working on stuff (like family finances, writing the next book, managing a mobile home park, running a yoga studio, etc.) We tend to pick movies we’ve seen many times so we can follow along without being distracted by a story we don’t already know. And much to nephew Kevin’s dismay, when he is with us, as he often is, we typically choose non-exploding non-fighting movies.

This week we watched August Rush again. I’ve now seen this movie many times since my first viewing at a Wild at Heart Advanced Camp in May 2008, where it changed almost everything about my life, so I didn’t expect it to affect me in the same way as it has in the past. I supposed I’d built up some immunity.

I was wrong. The movie nailed me, once again, and I had to go sit by myself in my closet (I have a rocking chair in there) and absorb the message. Specifically, I internalized what God was saying to me before I let it get away.

There are a lot of movies that dig emotional responses out of me - no, that’s too weak a statement - there a lot of movies that make me cry. And each year the list of movies gets longer, either because I’m better at picking out movies, or because I’m getting softer. August Rush is one of those; it slips past the bare patch of my armored chest like Bard’s black arrow and sticks directly into my heart.

The movie is about a young orphaned boy named August Rush, a musical prodigy, who uses music to reach out to the parents he hopes to find. Only, when I watch it, it isn’t about music, but about writing and teaching.

In the movie, when a man asks August, “What do you want to be?” he answers with one word, “Found.” Not being lost is profound, and watching this movie helps me realize it’s my job to find people and lead them on the trail so they won’t be lost.

But the scene that penetrates my armor is when the head of a music conservatory asks young August, “Where does the music come from?” He answers, “It’s like someone is calling out to me. Writing it all down is like I’m calling back to them.” This is exactly what writing feels like to me.

Wednesday night after the movie finished I sat in my rocking chair with tears rolling down my cheeks, praying, again, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how big it is.”

“I’m sorry I continually underestimate what You’ve given to me. Because I don’t speak to big crowds or sell tons of books or have thousands of readers I underestimate the gift, and the result. Thank You for giving me so many turns, Thank You for lighting the fire inside to teach and write and give away and improve. Thank you for sharing insights and connections. I want to give them back to You.”

Here’s the thing. None of us understands our own influence. None of us knows how big it is because we don’t pay attention to the same things God pays attention to. We don’t notice the same results God sees. We don’t see hearts the same way God does – we are stuck in this present day and God sees the long-term benefit. All we can know is that we aren’t the heroes of our own stories, no matter how big. The heroes are the people who respond, who stand up and step forward, and we are simply lucky to be part of that.

“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.

Navigating a Deeper Life

Are you a good navigator? Or are you the sort who gets lost often? My wife, Cyndi, has a much better intuitive sense of direction than I do. I need more than intuition, I need maps. I am a map guy.

Which brings me to an article I read in Backpacker Magazine titled “Navigate Like a Pro.” The article contains tips to keep from getting lost in the wilderness, but their advice is more fundamental than mere backpacking. They tapped into deeper ideas that help us navigate closer to God.

The article, from the May 2015 issue, features advice from Liz Thomas, a long-distance backpacker who holds the women’s unsupported speed record on the Appalachian Trail (80 days). Here’s what she says we need to do to keep from getting lost.

(1) “Keep your mind and body sharp. It’s really hard to navigate if you’re hungry, thirsty, or cold. An unfueled brain is more likely to make poor decisions.”

We all make bad decisions when we’re exhausted. We speak when we shouldn’t, pick fights we should’ve left alone, and repeat the same mistakes over and over. Unfortunately, we live in a time when exhaustion is a point of pride. Too often we plan our days all the way to the edges, leaving no margin for change or adaptation, feeling like lazy slackers when we aren’t constantly busy and rushed.

But according to Dr. Christine Carter, author of “The Sweet Spot,” there is plenty of research to show that people who are able to sustain high performance don’t let themselves get busy. Moreover, their not-busyness makes them much more productive than average. Living full speed, 24/7, reduces our ability to make good decisions and increases the likelihood we’ll get lost.

(2) “Confirm your location on your map often. This sounds obvious, but this is the single best way to prevent wandering off course. I always hike with a map in my hand or in my pocket.”

The biggest and worst mistakes I’ve made in my life have happened when I moved on my own initiative without asking advice. I put too much confidence on my own intelligence and cleverness, took off on tangents, and ended up solving the wrong problem or missing the heart of the business deal. To be effective, to stay on the correct trail, to avoid getting lost, we have to check in often, tag up, ask opinions, show unfinished work to people we respect, listen to feedback, be willing to stop, reevaluate, and adapt.

(3) “Learn to read contour lines. GPS units are great, but you still need to be able to read a map. That means understanding how contour lines represent real-world terrain.”

The problem with using a GPS is you never see the big picture. They are great for taking you to a specific location, but not so great for learning the overall lay of the land, or what you can expect just past the edges of the screen.

Too often we live out our spiritual lives as if using a GPS. We read only books by Christian authors, listen only to Christian music, tune in only to sermons. We get excellent advice and directions for specific problems, but miss the opportunity to know and understand the bigger world that lies just beyond the edges.

In 1 Chronicles 12, the historian makes a list of all the tribes who were lining up behind King David. Verse 32 tells about the tribe of Issachar, who “understood the times and knew what Israel should do.” We want to be people like that. Learning to read the contour lines of our world gives us better knowledge of what to do and where to go.

(4) “Learn the difference between true north and magnetic north. The difference is called declination; it changes over time, and it varies according to your location.”

The best way to stay tuned to true north in life is to read your Bible on a consistent basis. Read it cover-to-cover, over and over. Reading other books is important, but opinions change over time and vary according to location. Keep returning to true north. Keep reading the source code. Stay in your Bible.

(5) “Think like a railroad engineer. When traveling cross country, observe the landscape and choose the path of least resistance.”

Sometimes we make following God too hard. We fret over signs and open doors when God wants us to follow our heart. Often, the path that feels right, is the right path.

(6) “Avoid shortcuts. Not only does cutting switchbacks or taking short cuts cause erosion, but it’s also an easy way to get lost.”

In the Guadalupe Mountains where I do most of my hiking, cutting switchbacks is a good way to lose your footing and slide 3,000’ down to the desert floor. Don’t do it.

When we start to get indications about our calling, we often want to jump before we’re ready. Take your time; let God train you; allow him to build the skillsets in your life; don’t rush ahead taking short cuts. You’ll most likely get lost, and might get hurt.

How about you? Are you a good navigator? Or are you the sort who gets lost often?

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

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A High Tolerance

“The good news is, you obviously have a high tolerance for pain,” said the orthopedic surgeon last Friday. I was happy he said it in front of my wife, Cyndi; anything that makes me look strong and manly in her eyes is a winner. He said it while analyzing my X-rays and calculating the angles of displacement in my knees. “The bad news is, also, that you have a high tolerance for pain. You’ve let this go on long enough.”

“Your left knee needs replacing; your right knee needed replacing now, as soon as possible, before the angle worsens and the ligament is stretched beyond easy repair.”

It’s comforting, actually, to get an authentic diagnosis from a professional based on real data, even when the result is surgery. It answers the questions in my head: Am I making this up? Do everyone’s knees feel like this and I’m just being a wuss about it?

The doctor gave his practiced speech with all the reasons why I should consider total knee replacement until he figured out I was already on board. In fact, I wouldn’t have been in his office if I hadn’t already committed to that plan. My worst case scenario heading into Friday was that he would send me home to come back next year.

We set an appointment for right knee replacement on June 24, and left knee replacement on July 22. Before then I have to see a physical therapist for a couple of times, and also get a CT scan so they can build a custom 3-D printed knee. How cool is that!

Needless to say, I won’t be riding the MS150 this summer. I don’t know about cycling in Ft. Davis for Cyclefest. I have no idea how quickly I can be back on my bike or putting in real miles.

However, don’t take that as a complaint. I’m ready for this next phase of life (knowing full well none of us are ever as ready as we think). I’m ready to discard what isn’t working and replace with something new. Living life means constantly shedding what we don’t need and accumulating what’s next. We learn new things and unlearn old things, embrace ideas for the future and shed artifacts from the past. We are constantly churning, usually ideas and practices, but occasionally body parts.

Here’s the thing: What haunted me after the doctor visit actually had nothing to do with knees. I wondered how often my “high tolerance for pain” caused problems. Maybe when I pretend to be tolerating pain I am simply avoiding confrontation, or glossing over serious problems. How often do I wait too long to fix something, hoping it will get better on its own?

There is more to tolerating than I first thought. At least I’ll have several weeks of recovering from surgery to think 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.