Asking For Help

Most of time I get into a bind it’s because I won’t ask for help. I take too long trying to fix it myself. I hurt my right shoulder last June, before the two knee surgeries, when I fell in the garage after cycling. It turns out I injured it way more than I suspected at the time.

I should have known I was in serious trouble when I couldn’t raise my right arm above horizontal without using my left arm to lift it. I couldn’t turn on light switches, push the garage door opener, put my keys into the ignition, adjust the radio, or reach across the table for chips and salsa. It was pathetic. However, in spite of the pain and inconvenience, I assumed it was merely a bruised or strained the muscle and would get better with a little time.

Two months later, after mid-summer distractions of knee surgeries, I finally asked Cyndi what I should do about it and if she knew anyone who could help. She sent me to Paul Hamels at GreenTree Day Spa, who specializes in neuromuscular therapy.

He said, You don’t have a torn rotator cuff because you’re too young, you haven’t been in an auto accident, and you aren’t a professional athlete, and you don’t have any broken bones since there’s no swelling. He knew exactly what was wrong with me. The long-head bicep tendon had slipped out of its groove in my shoulder, leaving my bicep without the leverage necessary for my arm to function.

Using his hands, he pulled the tendon back into place, a procedure that sounds more painful than it was, and I regained my range of motion immediately. My shoulder was still sore due to the lingering trauma, but my arm worked. He told me to ice it and be careful.

So I started working out in the gym and apparently pulled the tendon out of place again. And again I waited too long before recognizing the seriousness of the problem and returning to Paul to fix it. I finally went back, and he put me back into place. Again.

I went back to working out as usual and, I hate to admit this but, it seems I pulled the tendon out a third time. I went to Paul in December and he fixed me again as well as lecturing about strengthening it slowly and now that I’m older it takes longer to heal whether I like it or not. You will not heal this with willpower, he said. Bummer.

I uncharacteristically followed his instructions this time because I didn’t want to waste another six months. I stayed completely away from Pump class, the one that Cyndi teaches, and worked my biceps at home with only five pounds each arm, just like Paul told me.

My next follow-up visit was better; the tendon was still in place. So by mid-January I eased back into Pump class using only five pound weights. If felt silly to have so little weight on my bar, hardly worth the drive to the gym. Even with squats and chest I kept the five pounds since I had to use my shoulders to hoist the bar. For flys and shoulders I used only 2-1/2-pound weights.

After I got over my embarrassment from working out with unmanly weights, I discovered I felt great the rest of day. I was finally on the road to recovery.

Then I went to yoga for the first time in forever. In fact, it was only my third class since new knees. I had been nervous about putting my knees on the floor, which happens a lot in yoga, but I decided I was babying myself too much and it was time to get over it. The yoga class was hard, and everything we did hurt because it had been so long since I’d tried, but I enjoyed it and felt better afterwards than I expected I would.

So the next morning I went to Pump class again. Three workouts in three days, something I hadn’t done in months. I kept the low weights, deciding my manhood could stand this for a few weeks longer.

It has now been a full month and I’ve gradually increased weight and my tendon has stayed in place. Even Paul Hamels said he was proud of me.

The reason I’m writing about this is to point out how my shoulder injury was exaggerated and even encouraged by my failure to take it seriously sooner. I should have realized right away it was a debilitating injury and gone for help. Has something like that ever happened to you?

Why did I make such a mess of this simple injury? Because I didn’t ask for help sooner. I should’ve learned better by now after all these years.

“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.

Persevering Together

Saturday morning I rode in a cycling club 100K fun ride. It was the furthest I’d even thought about riding since 2014, but I wanted to make the leap to a different distance plateau to see how my knee surgery was healing. Incremental increases up the distance ladder make the most sense physically, and for injury avoidance, but do little to energize thinking. I wanted to open my mind. I made a rookie mistake of starting out too fast and trying to hang with the lead group longer than I should have. But I really did that on purpose since most of my rides are alone; I never get a sense of how much more energy I should invest. My friend Fred Walsh used to say about marathon training: Run alone, run slow. It’s the same with cycling: ride alone, ride slow.

The good news from the ride was that my knees felt great. They weren’t the limiting factor for the day. What slowed me down were my lungs. I couldn’t ride the pace with the rest of the group and still breathe.

In truth, with full disclosure, I didn’t make the entire 100K. I was tired and defeated at the two-hour mark, which was also when the ride director suggested everyone turn around and head back home, so I uncharacteristically followed instructions and turned around.

Riding back toward Midland was much harder. I fought against the strong southeast wind blowing against my right shoulder for miles, getting slower and slower, until Jeff Brammer rode up beside me. He maneuvered to the right-hand side of the road, between me and the wind, and motioned for me to tuck into his draft. Jeff is about eight feet tall and creates a formidable wind break. He drug me for the next ten miles and would not let me fall off the pace … he kept slowing down to catch me and bring me back to speed

By the time I finished the day I had 58 miles, just four miles shy of a 100K. I wasn’t disappointed, though; this was a significant jump in distance for me and I was happy to finish on my own two wheels. I accomplished all my objectives of the day: my knees felt great, my legs were shot, yet I could still stand up and walk around.

While my regular 15-20 mile rides meet the need for cardiovascular exercise and weight management, they do little to light up my brain. I learned in my old life it was the long training runs (2 hours or more) that reshaped my thinking and opened my mind. I had to run far enough to find the meditation point. Now that I’m cycling I have to ride far enough.

As I loaded my bike into the pickup bed I heard the other guys talk about their Sunday morning plan. The very next morning they were riding to Kermit and back, about 140 miles round-trip. It was a bit overwhelming to hear this knowing I was done for the weekend, but it gave me a better picture of what’s possible. I can’t do what they planned to do, now, but someday.

There is a hardness that comes only from extended time in the saddle. I don’t mean butt or quad hardness, but mental hardness. And it doesn’t come any other way except from riding long distances on a regular basis and letting other riders pull you up to speed.

It’s also true for running, backpacking, and even for yoga. My wife Cyndi can do back-to-back day-long workshops, at a master level, when I can barely last through a one-hour class. She’s put the extended time on her mat. She’s toughened up. And she’s let other people pull her up to speed.

Perseverance, endurance, is highly underrated. Most of the victories in our lives come because we simply keep going. Every time we stick it out, don’t quit, we get stronger for the next time.

The Bible says, “When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.  For you know that when your faith is tested, your endurance has a chance to grow.” (James 1:2-3, NLT) We cannot grow without trouble, and we will not grow without perseverance.

The good news is, we don’t have to endure on our own. We don’t have to fight the head winds always by ourselves. We can draft behind those who are stronger and let them pull us. We can borrow faith from each other when life gets hard. Just pull up close and let your brother or sister block the wind and pull you up to speed.

“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.

Chosen

I once said it feels the best to be chosen by someone, and you asked: How do I choose you? I said: You choose me when … …you send me a cool text

…you flirt with me

…you invite me to lunch to be with you around your friends

…you walk across a crowded room to stand next to me so I can reach out and touch you

…you brag about me and the word finds its way back to me and I feel like king of the world

…you show up at my door after I thought I’d lost you forever

…you want me to join you on out-of-town workshop weekends and don’t feel like you have to entertain me

…you say: Putting up with each other is another way of saying I love you

…you look at me with delightful eyes across the gym during Pump class, because of the song lyrics, and everyone in the room knows why

…you ask me to join you in the dressing room at Title Nine, saying: Come in here and feel me in this dress

…you tell a room full of skeptical women that you have given me your heart and I hold it very gently

…I discover to my delight that trying to sit beside you at pizza in Denton with the NMJC band is easier than I thought because you are trying to do the same

…you tell Patti not to get mad at Jim for bossing me around during filming because I can handle it and I wouldn’t have survived 12 years of government unless I knew how to be cool about those situations

…you tell someone to read or subscribe to my journal or pitch my books

…you play (and dance to) Aerosmith’s Walk This Way while I take my first post-surgery walk down the hospital hallway

…you take me to Rosa’s after I get home from the mountains and sit across from me and put your feet up on my bench seat, one foot against each of my hips, with searching curiosity in your eyes because you want to know about my time on the trail and you intend to wait until I tell it all

…you make me sit down and listen to the Seton Medical presentation at the Austin Marathon

…you press the issue of Wild at Heart Boot Camp knowing I thought it a selfish indulgence, because you don’t want me to think only the cool guys go to things like that, and you make sure I register even on a cruise ship during our family vacation

…you buy an Arc'teryx Bora 80 backpack for me and encourage me to use it

… you write the check for my Specialized Tarmac Elite road bike

…you wait patiently for me at the OKC Marathon finish line and do not say, I can’t believe it took you so long

…you bravely follow me while I leave a high-paying job and take off on my own

…you tell me, That was a Jack Ryan move, whenever I bring together scattered data to form a new insight

…you encourage me to go forward with knee replacement and take great care of me during recovery and rehab

…you tell Ronnie: Don’t worry Berry doesn’t get upset over things like that

And today, after 36.54 years of marriage, I can’t wait to see how you’ll choose me again

“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.

Calculating the Risk

When I saw the weather forecast for Dallas I started making plans for a

Comfortable long walk at White Rock Lake

When I analyzed Cyndi’s workshop schedule

Friday evening from 3:00 until 8:00 pm

Enough time to do something significant

When I considered my last time to circle the lake

February 2012 nine miles on bad knees

It couldn’t hurt worse this time

When I wondered about walking all the way

I could settle into a steady 20:00 pace

Without concentrating too hard

When I calculated the risk

Not a small thing since there are no shortcuts

Knowing I’d hobble in on sore legs in the dark

When I remembered that hobbling in the dark

Described my 2012 run

My knees are stronger now than then

When I considered the running truism

You shouldn’t increase distance more than 10%

But that was for regular people

When I leaned back and howled

A road warrior since 1978

What is a 200% increase to me?

When I knew the effect this trail has on my heart

How many times God has spoken to me here

I expected it to happen again

When I thought about spiritual thin places

Most of mine are on urban or mountain trails

White Rock Lake trail is one of my thinnest

When I considered I just published a blog

“Longing to be Courageous”

Tipping my hand to family and friends

When I finally finished walking in the dark

Clicked my key fob to see happy yellow lights

Blinking on each fender welcoming me home

At Chick-fil-A for an exorbitant yet well-deserved

Vanilla milkshake

It was wonderfully satisfying

When I could walk the next day

Without the anticipated crippling stiffness

That’s when I was a happy man

“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.

Longing to be Courageous

“There is a piece of every man’s heart that longs to be courageous.” That was the theme of a men’s retreat that I facilitated last fall, something that required little courage on my part since all I really had to do was start and stop a DVD player. The quote is from “Stepping UP,” by Dennis Rainey, and his call to live courageously has been howling in my head every day since the retreat.

That call isn’t a new thing. I remember lying in my bed when I was no older than 9 or 10, dreaming up scenarios where the world around me fell apart and I stepped up to save the day. The solutions usually involved weapons. Even as a young boy I longed to be the hero.

It hasn’t changed. I still want to be the hero and I still have dreams of saving the day. I’m more realistic about methods or weapons, nowadays, and I’m pickier about which battles I’ll engage, but I still long to be the hero.

As an adult, I have a long list of things I wanted to do but waited to do until I was ready, meaning I waited until I was fit enough, skilled enough, or geared-up enough. Which also means, I never did most of them – at least the physical ones. Before I reached the “enough” level my knees gave way to arthritis and, it seemed, I lost my turn.

To give one example, I never attempted a 100-mile trail run, even though my heart was pulled strongly in that direction. I didn’t think I was ready, and I was afraid of failing in front of the people I love. But isn’t that the point of attempting things bigger that we are? Aren’t we at least partly drawn in by the uncertainty of success? Isn’t that what makes it courageous?

I’ve never spent much time or energy looking back over old decisions with regret, but I do spend a lot of time wondering if it’s possible to live differently going forward? Can I be more courageous during the upcoming second half of my life (assuming I live to 120, which I do)?

I recently read Elizabeth Gilbert’s book, Big Magic, and she gave this challenge: Live a life that is driven more strongly by curiosity than fear. I asked myself, how might living with more curiosity show up? What would I do differently?

Well, regarding writing, I would write more boldly to see what comes out rather than worry so much whether anyone reads it or people think it’s childish.

With music, I would dive directly into jazz and volunteer for every turn at a solo instead of planning and scheming until my attempts are foolproof and certain.

With backpacking, I’d go deeper into the mountains on longer trips. I’ve already started dreaming of a Colorado Trail hike in 2017. Want to join me?

I would enter bigger and longer bike races. I might join the 100K club ride next week, even though the furthest I’ve ridden since knee replacement surgery is half that distance.

What about that 100-mile trail race? I’m not sure. As my recovery from surgery progresses I don’t know how much I’ll be able to run. And walking 100 miles is even more daunting than running. However, I don’t want to waste another turn, so I’ll keep dreaming.

What do you think? Are you interested in living more courageously this year? Do you have a list of things you’ve been putting off until you’re ready?

Bob Goff says heaven’s leaning over the rails wondering if we’ll be as courageous as God thinks we are.

We should get started.

“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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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.

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

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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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