Give it Away

The story bothered me for 22 miles. It was Sunday afternoon and I was cycling, taking advantage of an unseasonably warm winter day. I couldn’t stop thinking about the parable used by our preacher that morning. The Parable of the Bags of Gold begins like this: “It will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them. To one he gave five bags of gold, to another two bags, and to another one bag, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey. The man who had received five bags of gold went at once and put his money to work and gained five bags more. So also, the one with two bags of gold gained two more. But the man who had received one bag went off, dug a hole in the ground and hid his master’s money. (Matthew 25:14-30)

According to the text, when the master returned he asked what his servants had done with his wealth. The story goes well for the first two men who invested their shares and multiplied its value, but not for the third servant, who said, “I was afraid and went out and hid your gold in the ground.”

The servant thought he was doing the right thing by hiding his master’s wealth, but instead he wasted his opportunity to make the wealth grow.

The surprising part of the story, the part that set on my mind for 22 miles, is what the master said to the third servant. “You wicked, lazy servant! … You should have put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest … throw that worthless servant outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Really? Throw him into darkness? Why was his punishment so harsh? He was just being cautious, protecting assets, cutting losses, and like that.

Well, the thing about this story is, it wasn’t about the money. Jesus’ stories were never about the value of money, but about the condition of their hearts. The third man acted out of fear. He was afraid to take a risk with the gold because he didn’t trust the heart of his master. He protected what he had by burying it, and eventually lost it all.

Here are a couple of things I thought while riding my bike. First, God doesn’t call us to live in fear, but rather in power, love, and discipline. And second, we’re accountable to God for what has been entrusted to us, accountable for the use of His resources, and he expects us to invest it rather than bury it.

I also thought of another Bible passage that has become important to me, from 2 Timothy 1:14 … “Guard the good deposit that was entrusted to you.”

And so, like the three men in the parable, what has God given to you? What does he want you to invest and multiply? How do you guard your most important things? (Hint: Your most prized gift from God isn’t money.)

For me, the way to guard what God has given is to give it away. My most valuable possession from God is the truth and wisdom invested into me by my family and by other godly people for the past fifty years, and it is my obligation to give it all away. Not bury it for another book, not keep it hidden because I am afraid of what someone will say, not save it for a larger crowd, but invest it in the lives God has entrusted to me. To guard the good deposit I have to give it away every day.

The author Annie Dillard described this need to give our life away in her book, The Writing Life: “The impulse to keep to yourself what you have learned is not only shameful, it is destructive. Anything you do not give freely and abundantly becomes lost to you. You open your safe and find ashes.”

We don’t’ become rich in God by accumulating, but by giving away. We don’t guard what God has given us by keeping quiet, but by giving away. We have to invest what has been given to us in other people. If we don’t, those very people God brought close to us will suffer. And so will we.

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

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Are You Being Served?

“What are you doing early Thursday morning?” asked my Dad. “Are you busy?” “I’m teaching my Iron Men class at church. It’s our first session of 2016, and we meet at 6:30 AM.”

“OK. I guess you’re busy.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need a ride to the hospital at 6:00 AM.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I’m having surgery on my carotid artery. You know the one they’ve all been worrying about because of my high blood pressure. They’re going to do a Roto-Rooter on it.”

“You asked if I was busy before telling me you’re having surgery? Don’t you have that backwards?”

“Well, maybe.”

We had this conversation on our way to Saturday lunch at Rosa’s with Cyndi. Over our enchiladas we worked out a satisfactory plan where Cyndi would drive Dad to the hospital at 6:00 and I would come as soon as I was finished with my class.

I asked, “Have you told your Sunday School class you are having surgery next week?”

“No, I don’t want to be one of those people who have something wrong with them every week.”

“Have you mentioned anything before now?”

“Well, no.”

“I think you’re safe. But you’re going to get into trouble if you don’t mention it. They want to take care of you because they love you. That’s the job of Sunday School classes, to take care of each other.”

“OK.”

It’s our family way to fly low under the radar, to not complain, to keep our problems to ourselves. Not because we are especially tough or because we are martyrs – we just don’t want to be a lot of trouble. And we don’t need much attention to feel accepted and loved.

I had to learn how to let other people take care of me. It took a deliberate change in my thinking to allow people to serve me. It didn’t come naturally. I thought, as a leader and teacher, serving was my job. I was uncomfortable on the other side of service.

Even last summer after knee replacement surgeries I tried doing everything myself before asking Cyndi for help. I don’t think it was because I was so stubborn, but it simply didn’t occur to me that I shouldn’t try it myself first. After all, how else would I learn my own limits?

Cyndi and I have both had to learn to let other people help us. Allowing other people to serve us is a significant part of leadership, a step forward in spiritual maturity. We’ve had to stand down and relax. It hasn’t been easy.

I learned this lesson myself a few years back during a Guadalupe Mountains backpacking trip with David Nobles. It was the first day of the trip and we were carrying our heavy packs up Tejas Trail, which is four miles long and climbs 3,000’ in elevation. For some reason, I started falling apart about halfway up, getting short-winded and faint and sick to my stomach. I was taking way to many long rest breaks, so David hustled up to the top of the ridge, dropped his pack on the ground, then came back to help me carry mine. I had done the same for other men on several occasions, but I’d never needed that sort of help myself. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t been so grateful.

Here’s the thing: If all we do in life is carry for others, never allow them to carry for us, that really isn’t relationship. If all we do is give, never receive, we have to wonder about our motives. Are we truly serving the needs of others, or feeding the needs of our own ego? We must be willing to receive if we expect to know the grace of God. Only empty-handed people can understand grace. Only vulnerable leaders can understand grace.

So this morning I visited my Dad about an hour after they finished his surgery, when he was just coming around from the anesthesia. A nurse followed me into the room and said, “Mr. Simpson, I need to take a blood sample.”

“You’ll have to ask the last nurse who was in here. She got the last of my blood.”

That’s another family trait that I learned from my Dad, there is always a joke.

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

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It Wasn't For You

“It wasn’t for you,” is what I heard inside my head. Feeling lighter, I quickened my pace immediately. I was about 2/3 of the way into my evening walk, alongside the Black’s significant fence beside Mockingbird, about halfway between Alysheba Lane and A Street, when I heard the voice of God say, “It wasn’t for you.”

I had been listening to a podcast about trail running and why our fear of failure controls so many of our thoughts and actions when I recalled the story I’d been telling myself since 1986, “You weren’t good enough.” It stemmed from a promotion and transfer I received from my employer, which was later yanked away for reasons that were never explained to me and left me to assume I didn’t measure up in the eyes of senior management. I wasn’t good enough as an engineer.

Since 1986 I’ve outgrown much of the resentment that came from that career-changing incident. I’ve learned to look back at the changes in our lives that wouldn’t have happened had we made the move, the ministries we wouldn’t have that are so important to us today, and the effect on people around us that probably would never occur. All the time I spent in city government would not have been possible had we made the move. In my rational mind I had redeemed the story of 1986 and been thankful for our life today.

But then, while listening to that podcast about fear of failure, I could still hear the old story, you weren’t good enough, ricocheting in my head. I knew that at a heart level it was still haunting me.

“What does God’s voice sound like?” is a reasonable question to ask someone like me who claims to hear God speaking to him. And for me, his voice always sounds exactly like my own voice inside my head.

So what does Satan’s voice sound like? Unfortunately, it sounds the same. It sounds like my own voice in my own head.

Yet, even though the two voices might sound the same, it is easy to tell them apart. Satan’s voice is condemning and shaming, and it comes with a long list of reasons why I shouldn’t act in faith. God’s voice is reassuring and enlightening and opens my heart to move forward.

“It wasn’t for you.” And in that moment, in that instance, I finally realized that the real story from 1986 was not the one I’d been telling myself for 30 years. I had not been held back by a short-sighted employer as I thought, but I’d been set free by God. The promotion, the opportunity, might’ve been a good career move, but it wasn’t right for me. It wasn’t right for the future God had in mind for our family.

Why wasn’t it for me? The fact is, if the job had worked out, I would probably be a mid-to-upper level manager today in a major oil company, pulling down big dollars, living in a giant house, and spending lavishly on my lovely wife. But what would be the effect of our lives besides oil and gas? Where would our lasting impact be?

The true story isn’t that “I wasn’t good enough,” but that God had a better plan. The corporate climb might be God’s will for some, but it wasn’t for me. He wanted me to stay in Midland for a long time and invest in the people he brought to us, not invest in a corporate career. I could never have made that decision on my own, I needed God’s intervention. I needed to be set free.

How about you? What are the lies Satan whispers into your ears? It isn’t the only story – God has the true story of your life and he wants you to know it.

The Bible says, you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free (John 8:32 NIV). Whenever I get a piece of the truth like the bit I received Tuesday night, it feels like freedom. I want more.

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

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Keep Exploring

As strange as it sounds, I don’t have a list of New Year’s Resolutions this year. It may be the first time in twenty years I haven’t published a list. Not because I’ve been so resolutely successful accomplishing all my past lists that I no longer have anything left to do, but because this is a landmark year for me and it’s put me to reflecting rather than goal setting. In 2016 I will turn 60 and I’m looking forward to it.

When I turned 50 it felt like freedom and release. I said goodbye to all expectations of being cool or hip or fashionable and started crediting my idiosyncrasies as eccentricities. It was great. I was finally living up to my gray hair and beard.

When I turned 40 I finally felt like an adult. (No, that’s not entirely correct. Even today I only feel like an adult about 50-60% of the time. I always think of adults as the men my dad’s generation, whatever age that happens to be.) But at 40 I could no longer hide behind my age. I was old enough to know stuff, old enough to stop blaming behavior on my upbringing, old enough to formulate my own opinions without basing them on some talk radio host or what the guys at work say, old enough to settle into my reading list and read the books I enjoy, old enough to learn new ideas.

When I turned 30, well, that one‘s still a blur in my memory. We had a six-year-old and a three-year-old and dadhood took its toll on my brain cells. The summer of my birthday we moved but didn’t move to California due to a promotion I got and then didn’t get. A few months later I was with my son Byron when he was hit by a car while we were all riding bikes one Saturday afternoon, and it changed my understanding of being a father and spiritual leader. It was the first time in my life I called upon God out of desperation and fear.

The year I turned 20 was my last of three summers touring with Continental Singers as a bass trombonist, and my segue into big-time college life at the University of Oklahoma. It was the beginning of my lifelong journey with personal discipleship, my introduction to daily spiritual practices and teaching, my first experience with leaders who deliberately invested in my life, and my first date with Cyndi Richardson. Little did I know I was starting the adventures that would define the rest of my future.

And so I’ve asked myself, what will it mean to turn 60. I’m not sure, we can only know lasting effects after the passage of time, but I have some ideas.

Last year my daughter, Katie, gave me a red and white patch that says “Keep Exploring.” In the 1970s I would’ve sewn it on my bell-bottomed blue jeans so that everyone else could see it, but this week Cyndi sewed it on my black backpack so that I would see it every day ... a permanent reminder of how I want to live.

The Keep Exploring movement was created by Alex and Bret, two young men from Flower Mound, Texas. Their webpage says this: “Keep Exploring is the simple idea that adventure can be found anywhere. We are trying to be better explorers by seeking out opportunities in everyday life. This is a collaborative movement - Everyone is invited. Start looking for new roads to take, old mountains to climb, and wild food to chew.”

Well, that’s who I want to be. Maybe not the chewing of wild food part, but I want my 60s to be years of exploring new ideas and trails and mountains and techniques and books and movies and relationships and influences and music.

A few Sundays ago I was cycling with my friend, Wes, and we were working through our increasing list of athletic ailments when Wes changed everything by saying: This is the best time of our lives. We’re finally old enough people listen to us. We can really make a difference.

I thought about what he said for a long time. Through the years I’ve been motivated by this thought: If I apply the weight of my life toward the people God has entrusted to me, I can change the world.

But now, as I enter my 60^th year, even that seems too small. I no longer want to merely change the world … I want to change The Future. I am finally old enough, finally weighty enough, to speak truth into hearts and change the future.

And so I suppose I do have a New Year’s Resolution for 2016: Keep Exploring. I hope you’ll join me. Let’s explore together.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Christmas Caroling

I would’ve missed my chance for Christmas caroling this year if not for the hard working musicians at my church who hosted a community carol singing downtown in Centennial Plaza last Sunday night. I thought it was wonderful. The attendance was short of what we’d hoped, but it takes a few iterations to train people how to celebrate, so I hope we keep doing this in the years to come. It is too important let slip away. It was fun to stand in the cold and sing (well, I was actually sitting and playing my trombone with the ensemble, but I think that counts) and sip hot chocolate, next to the giant Christmas tree and lighted decorations. But here is the real reason I loved it. We were singing outside.

Christmas caroling is one of the few moments in our world when adults, especially men, sing aloud outside. Besides the National Anthem at ball games or college fight songs, we seldom sing. That’s not a good way to live.

I was fortunate to grow up with a dad who sang. He was a worship leader in our church and I saw him sing every Sunday, so in my world singing was something grown men did all the time. That’s a big reason why music is still part of my life.

Cyndi and I used to host a Christmas caroling adventure every December for our adult Bible study group. We would hook a flatbed trailer to my pickup and string lights, then fill it with parents and kids and blankets and go caroling around town. We only had time to make three or four stops, but the singing went on even as we drove from place to place. It was usually cold, at least for Texas, but we learned the colder it was the better the kids behaved snuggled under their blankets.

We haven’t gone caroling for the past three years and I am sad about that. I am disappointed in myself for not making it happen. We get so busy and distracted in December, just thinking about doing one more thing can be exhausting. But we should do it anyway. It’s worth the trouble. It is an old tradition that will fade away and be gone in a generation if we don’t keep doing it.

Back when our son and daughter were in high school we used to go caroling with three trombones. People were quite surprised when they opened their doors and found a trombone trio. Even that was a repeat of something we did in high school, when a group of us band kids would go out caroling.

I miss those times. I need another caroling ensemble to play with. I get plenty of opportunities to sing and play carols in church or at home, but caroling has to be outside.

Here’s the thing. If you are reading this and live in Midland and you’d love to go Christmas Caroling (either singing or playing), you have my permission to bug me about it next fall. I don’t want to miss another season.

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

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Coffee and the Future

I’m nervous writing about coffee knowing my serious coffeephile friends who go to great lengths to make the best just roll their eyes at what I drink. But it’s become a topic again in our house since our coffee maker picked a fight with us. When we moved into our new house, seven years ago, one of the first additions was a Keurig single-cup coffee maker. Cyndi and her sister Tanya bought it for me since I seldom drank more than one cup when home, meaning I never wanted to make an entire pot.

The irony is that Cyndi and Tanya used my coffee maker at least 90% of the brews, Cyndi making her tea and Tanya making her coffee. In fact, they wore out that first Keurig before I had consumed 100 cups. That’s a guess, by the way. I didn’t log my cups.

Then they confiscated a Keurig that my dad wasn’t using, and wore it out.

A couple of weeks ago our third Keurig stopped flowing water, and the company agreed to replace it under warranty. Cyndi unpacked the new one – which will make a carafe of coffee as well as one cup – and tried making her tea. She immediately ran into Keurig’s new business model, which is to allow only official K-Cups to be used in their machines. Apparently they decided they were losing too much money with people buying coffee pods anywhere they chose, so they built something similar to Digital Rights Management (DRM) into their new machines. They will only work when the pods are authentic Keurig-brand K-Cups.

I can’t argue with their decision. They’re just trying to stay in business, and it’s the same strategy used by most printer manufacturers. But since their original machines did not have DRM, it now feels offensive and abusive.

Coffee is a big deal. People around the world drink more coffee than any other drink besides water: four hundred billion cups a year. A cup of Starbuck’s costs at least $16 per gallon, or about $672 per barrel. Even at that price, 24% of Starbuck’s customers still visit 16 times a month

Coffee also has nutritional value. Walter Willett, chairman of the department of nutrition at Harvard School of Public Health and a leading investigator of coffee, said, “Coffee is rich in antioxidants – substances in vegetables and fruits that deactivate disease-causing byproducts of the body’s metabolism.” In tests conducted at the University of Scranton in Pennsylvania, “coffee topped the list of foods that are densest in antioxidants, surpassing blueberries, broccoli, and most other produce.” Only chocolate, dried fruits, and dried beans ranked higher.

I wish that I enjoyed coffee more than I do. When I do drink it, I like simple, black coffee, decaf with no additives. (I drink decaf to protect my blood pressure.) I don’t want whipped cream in my coffee, or ice cream, or chocolate, or candy, or mint, or alcohol, or leaves, or foam, or anything else. Even though Cyndi uses our coffee maker (for making tea) significantly more often than I use it (to make coffee), I want it to work well and serve us. I like having the option.

The reason I get weirded out about something like limitations from a coffee maker is because it flags a deeper issue. Keurig is moving in the exact opposite direction from how I want to live the rest of my life. They want to increase limits and restrictions while I want a more open-source future.

Too many men my age load up their lives with rules and opinions and limitations, adding more each year. They have a growing list of ideas and people they complain about, and resist anything new or different.

I don’t want to live that way. I want to shed restrictions, not add more. I want to grow inclusive and not exclusive, generous and not needy, open and not closed, accepting and not combative. I want to embrace new ideas, not attack them.

How about you? What do you think? Maybe we should meet for coffee and talk about it.

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

 I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Watering Deep Roots

Last Sunday night we watered those deep roots again, attending a concert in Dallas, “Christmas with Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith.” It was our second time for this annual concert – the last was in the late 1990’s when both our kids were in high school. I don’t remember details of that previous concert so I can’t compare, but what I liked most about this concert was, well, I told Cyndi: This is a very grown-up concert. They aren’t trying to win us over. They’re just singing about what is important to them.

Amy Grant acknowledged the thousands of long-time fans who’ve traveled with her through life’s joys and disasters when she said: We are all here because we’ve logged miles together through music. She sang:

          All of us, travelers, through a given time.

          Who can know what tomorrow holds

          But over the horizon surely you and I will find

          Emmanuel, God with us

During the concert I scribbled on a 3x5 card from my pocket: “We have long threads running through our lives, and when you pull on one of the threads, stories fall out. The best stories - our favorite stories - the stores that paint our values and connections and hopes.

For example: I’ve been hot for the same woman since 1974, in love with her since 1977, and happily married to her since 1979. We were high school friends for three years, but finally discovered each other at a concert in Denton, Texas (the One O’clock Lab Band with guest Bill Watrous). Music has been one of the most trustworthy roots in our lives together ever since. It’s one of the things that binds us together.

Nothing tells the joy of our lives, and the weight of our hearts, like the music that holds us together. Almost every morning, as we get ready for our day, Cyndi and I end up discussing songs and lyrics. It is more than a shared ritual; it’s one of the ways we know each other best. Many of our happiest memories and meaningful conversations were born from sharing music with each other.

I’ve always loved the strength that comes from longevity. It’s the reason I save all our family calendars in a file folder, and keep my running/cycling logs in a binder, and write notes in my Daily Bible, and play the same trombone since 1970. I want those long threads and deep roots that produce a weighty life.

My point is I am blessed to have deep roots in significant things. Even more, I have the privilege to share those same roots with Cyndi. Knowing we have these long, consistent strings brings peace to my life; more than that gives me courage and strength. The fruit of those roots is the obligation to give myself away to my own kids and grandkids, for the sake of their kids and grandkids.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Who Do You Trust?

I remember the first time I used a computer spreadsheet. I remember the color of the room, the lighting, the chair where I was sitting, the direction I was facing (east). It was amazing. I went to engineering school during the final days of the key-punch card era, and computers were not a pleasant experience. We worked for hours punching out our programs, loading them into the card reader, then waiting around for the answers to come spitting out of the printer. Usually, they were mostly error messages.

I assumed my computing days ended with graduation. I thought I’d hand my work to some mysterious computer processing person and they would bring back the answers two days later.

But that day when I was playing with Lotus 2.0 for the first time, I realized I didn’t have to wait for answers. The spreadsheet calculated as fast as I could type. I saw a new future, and it was brilliant. I can still hear the angels singing and see the bright light filling the room.

In the beginning I used my computer as a fancy typewriter, producing prettier reports and clearer writing. Then I used it as a powerful calculator, solving problems and making predictions that would’ve been impossible with graph paper and pencil. Then my computer became my telephone – beginning with email, which allowed me to publish my writing to family and friends, and then to websites, which opened my writing up to strangers, and then to Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and all that. Social media opened up the greater world to this once cave-dwelling introvert.

Some people complain that social media takes over our lives and replaces old-fashioned face-to-face conversations. Not for me. I wasn’t having those conversations before, I wasn’t talking on the phone (something I still avoid), I wasn’t checking in on people and maintaining relationships. Instead I lived under a rock in my cave and I was happy that way.

But now I have regular digital conversations with people around the world, and I’ve discovered I am even happier.

Until Sunday night when Windows decided to push the November Update to me with no warning. By the time it was finished, I couldn’t find my files, my photos, or my music. And the update appeared to delete my most-used aps, including the entire Microsoft Office Suite (Outlook, Word, Excel, etc.).

It was heartbreaking. Microsoft not only did me harm, they did it with no warning or permission. And they did it with a smile on their face. The screen announced: “You will be happy with the changes.” Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

So I spent two days standing on the ledge deciding what to do next. Should I reinstall Office and hope for the best? Should I do a clean install of Windows 10? Or should I revert to Windows 7 and rest in the peace of a well-known and reliable, if ancient, operating system?

Now this is the point when all my Mac-using friends start firing up their emails to tell me to switch and my problems will be over. I did that already, for a year, and I was never happy during that experiment.

My friend, Vern Hyndman, one of several friends who talked me down off the ledge and convinced me to put away my sharp knives, said, “Whether you go Mac or PC you have to buy into a set of irritations.” He’s right. We find the irritations that we can live with and move forward.

The big question I have to ask through all of this, the big question we all have to ask every day, is this: Who do you trust?

Sometimes the person, or the company, we trust turns on us suddenly and without warning and we are left staring at a stupid message streaming across our screen.

We say we trust God but there’s always that fear that he will delete our favorite aps and leave us standing on the ledge with a restructured and unfamiliar life.

Trusting anyone requires a buy-in on our part; a conscious decision.

How do we learn to trust God? Here are two ways that have worked for me: (1) Pray “Teach me to trust you” every day, and (2) Stay close to godly friends who can pull you back from the edge and steer you back toward God.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Writing Stories

I always hesitate when people ask me what I write about. And since I’m deeply embedded in structural work of my next book, I’m more sensitive to the question than I might be otherwise. It feels too presumptuous to say I write memoir; who writes memoirs except famous or exception people. And since I am not famous, who am I to write one?

Except that the most influential memoirs on my bookshelf are meaningful to me precisely because of the ordinariness of the story rather than the previous fame of the writer. When I read memoirs of famous people, like Martin Short, Steve Martin, or Billy Crystal, I’m searching for insight into creativity, but I never relate personally to the writer.

However, if I read memoir by Cheryl Strayed, Jon Krakauer, Peter Matthiessen, John Lynch, Lane Belden, Lauren Winner, Gordan McDonald, and on and on, I find myself deep into their lives because I can see my story in theirs.

Maybe it’s similar to those Drugs-to-Jesus testimonies I used to hear at youth rallies when I was a teenager. I never related to the stories because the outlandish life of the speaker was so far from my own. But when someone simple, quiet rule-follower, stood up to talk, I listened. I knew that life.

The Bible tells us that “we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Those stories we tell aren’t merely a recounting of random events, but a description of God’s work in our lives. The reason good memoir works is because telling the stories of our life helps others recall their own stories, and it is in that connection that we find common truth, purpose, and meaning.

So why is it so hard for me to identify as a memoir writer? Why do I think I have to earn the title through something besides writing?

Maybe I would feel better saying I write “personal stories,” except I’m not trying to merely tell the story of my life, but find the meaning in all our lives. That motivation springs from one of my core strengths: I see patterns where others simply see complexity. As far back as I can remember I’ve been able to find the story, or joke, buried in the chaos. I believe finding meaning among the clutter is my defining skill as a writer and teacher.

And once I find the story, once I understand the punchline, I am compelled to repeat it to everyone I know. Those of you who spend time around me know this to be true. I can’t keep quiet about what I’ve learned.

So I should get over my reluctance to call myself a memoir writer and just blurt it out. To quote a line from the movie, Chef, “I may not do everything great in my life, but I’m good at this. I manage to touch people’s lives with what I do and I want to share this with you.”

QUESTION: What do you do to touch people’s lives? Write? Cook? Serve? Listen?

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Taking the Alternate Route

It a bright and cloudless day, 9:00 AM and 24*F, when I parked the at the Chamisa Trail trailhead on Hyde Park Road. We were in Santa Fe for the week while Cyndi attended a workshop, and I had planned a two-hour hike to judge whether my knees were ready for our Iron Men Guadalupe Peak hike in two weeks. As I gathered my gear and studied the map I noticed there were two mostly-parallel trails. Then I saw a sign reading “Alternate Route More Difficult.” I decided the alternate route was the one for me; after all, this was intended to be a test.

While the regular trail followed the fall line across the face of the mountain the Alternate Route climbed straight up the drainage, meaning there were several steep climbs. I was very careful to keep from slipping and banging my knees. The trail was still covered with snow from yesterday’s storm but I was using trekking poles and they kept me stable on the ice.

For the first thirty minutes my hands were uncomfortable cold, painfully cold, even with my gloves. Still, it was a beautiful morning and an incredible hike. After about 45 minutes I reached a trail junction where the Alternate Route joined the original Chamisa Trail, as well as the Saddleback Trail, which in spite of its name followed a ridge line.

I followed the Saddleback Trail to the southwest for another 15 minutes, sticking to my original plan which was to go out for an hour then return. I wanted to give my knees a good test, but I also wanted to be able to function the rest of the day - two hours seemed realistic.

On the way back toward the trailhead I kept thinking about that sign and the Alternate Route up the mountain. So often we willingly take the Alternate Route More Difficult in our everyday lives, not to make our journey harder but to it significance. We’re not satisfied with a simple easy hike through life, but take on challenging projects day after day.

I thought about how many times I’ve been driving across town to a potentially contentious church council meeting, or another late night Journey Group session, or even chewing over the Bible lesson I’m supposed to teach in two days and wondering where is the handle of the lesson, and wondered what it would be like to live a simpler life.

I remembered one time on the Guadalupe Peak Trail with Paul Ross, just as we finished the opening switchbacks and stopped to drink some water, when one of us said, There must be an easier way to do ministry. We both nodded in agreement even as we both knew neither of us would be satisfied following that easier way.

The alternate route, the more difficult route, the meaningful route, calls out to us. Following our calling is never the easier trail.

I spent years watching my parents live lives fully engaged with other people, giving away their talents and energy, choosing the Alternate Route More Difficult. And now, following that family tradition, I feel a deep-heart calling to help people live deeper lives with God. Even as I long for a simpler life I know I’ll never be happy if I’m not engaged with the Alternate Route.

And so, I’m encouraging you to choose the Alternate Route More Difficult. I’m urging you to find God’s calling on your life and live it out for the benefit of those who are following you. Why? Because that’s the harder way, the way that matters, the way that changes the world.

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Would you like to know more about God’s calling for you? I am hosting a men’s weekend at my house in Midland, April 29 - May 1, with Gary Barkalow from The Noble Heart Ministry. Gary explains and coaches God’s Calling better than anyone, and you don’t want to miss this opportunity. Write to me at berry@stonefoot.org if you are interested and I’ll make sure you’re on my mailing list for more information.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.