Be Good Stewards of Your Gifts

“When the world was all dark, your music got me to the sunlight.” I heard this on a TED Talk podcast, and while I haven’t had a lot of darkness in my life, most of my sunlight has come through music. I was in Tyler, Texas, last Saturday, for an event called the Instrumental Convergence. Eight of us traveled from First Baptist in Midland to join about 100 other musicians for an opportunity to play through the latest church instrumental music. It was my first band trip since the 1979 Orange Bowl.

It was a wonderful experience … to play with other good musicians … to be directed by an excellent clinician who not only inspired us to play well, but worship well.

We were led by composer/arranger Camp Kirkland, who said he no longer thought of himself as a conductor, but as The Unifier. He said all of us were the ones making music; his job was to unify our efforts.

For me, he was exactly that. He unified my love of playing good music with good musicians, with my life-long faith and Christian practice.

Camp quoted from the 1981 movie, Chariots of Fire, about Eric Liddell, the Olympic runner who later served as a missionary in China until dying in a Japanese internment camp in 1945. In the movie, Liddell told his sister: “I believe God made me for a purpose. For China. But He also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.”

That’s why we all gave up an entire Saturday to play together, because music is one of the ways we feel his pleasure.

Camp Kirkland said he regretted that most people stop quoting the movie at that point, but Liddell went on to say, “To give it up would be to hold him in contempt.”

It isn’t enough that we feel His pleasure … but  we are obligated to give back to God what he has given to us. Poet Jane Kenyon said it well when she wrote that we should “be good stewards of our gifts.”

The last line from Liddell in the movie scene is this: “To win is to honor Him.”

We are not only obligated to give back to God, we are also directed to perfect our art, to learn the skills, to honor God. Psalm 33:3 instructs us to “Sing to him a new song; play skillfully, and shout for joy.” (Special emphasis on the word “skillfully”)

So Saturday morning, as I looked around the room of musicians, I noticed at least half of them were older than me. I was firmly entrenched in the median age of the group. That was encouraging – reminding me I have lots of playing years left.

I told Cyndi that I was sitting with an entire row of vintage trombones held by vintage trombone players. (As for me, I was holding my favorite (of four trombones that live in my house), my King Silver Sonic 3B that I’ve played since 1970 (manufactured circa 1965). Cyndi has now decided my new Trail Name should be Silver Sonic, which is much better than my old Trail Name …Crotchety Bad-knees Gray-Head.)

As leaders, we wonder when we will age-out of personal ministry. I ask myself that all the time. How will I know when it’s time to step down from teaching and let the young bucks take over? But seeing so many fellow mature (in age, if not behavior … we were trombone players, after all; hardly known for mature behavior) musicians reminded me of what Dallas Willard wrote: “Aging is not loss; it is a time to add spiritual substance to the soul.”

I thought of Moses, whose life crashed at age 40, who was called into full-time ministry at age 80, and whose retirement plan consisted of leading the nation of Israel until the day he died.

Let’s all of us keep running fast and playing long, giving back to God to honor Him, for the rest of our lives. To do any less would be to hold him in contempt.

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

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Change of Plans

Monday at noon I hoped to take advantage of a beautiful day, 73* and no wind, by riding my bike for lunch. I was about halfway home when Cyndi phoned to say, Berry I think I broke my wrist. Where are you?

I was working at the studio and …

I am on my way.

She wanted to tell me the whole story over the phone but I had already shifted into problem-solving mode and no longer listening for details. When I arrived at the studio there were three students for the next class helping Cyndi wait for me. She was resting her wrist on a yoga block and had a plastic bag of ice on top.

I drove her to the Emergency Room and dropped her off at the door since I was in the ambulance entrance and had to move my pickup. By the time I parked and walked inside they had Cyndi in a wheelchair and ready to move down the hall. We went straight to her room and they put her in a bed and started installing lots of tubes and wires. She wouldn’t let them cut her Midland Yoga Works t-shirt so she pulled it off with her one good hand. The doctor asked questions, they did x-rays, and he confirmed the end of her left radius bone was broken.

They put Cyndi to sleep temporarily while the doctor manipulated the bone back into place. She appeared to be asleep but talked to the doctor all the way through the procedure. She kept telling him to be softer. Curiously, she also leaned forward toward me and said, Berry, I think you should buy that Specialized S-Works Tarmac Di1 road bike you showed me in the magazine.

I was surprised at her grasp of details in such a traumatic time as this; even more surprised that she no longer has any memory of the conversations with me or the doctor.

They released us to go home about 3:30 pm. We picked up her pain meds, went to Rosa’s for iced tea, and discussed how to get her car home from the studio. Since the studio is only about 3-1/2 miles from our house I decided to walk to the studio. Cyndi wanted to join me; so, left arm in a sling, she walked with me, maintaining her regular three-foot distance in front of me in case anyone wondered which of us was the faster walker.

We got her car and I drove to her satellite location so she could teach the beginner yoga class. I told her this was her chance to develop her own style, Riverdance Yoga, where you use your feet and not your arms.

Later, as I distributed our day’s story among the family, our daughter Katie wrote: This explains the pool of strong independent woman DNA I come from.

I would add that Katie has not only inherited that DNA, she’s passed it along to her own two daughters. Young Madden was visiting us last summer when she fell on the climbing bars at the playground across the street from our house. We found out later that she had a small hairline fracture in her collarbone, which we were totally unaware of. Even after falling she complained only of a sore shoulder when she took swimming lessons afterward. Tough girl.

Our son Byron wrote: So she does a handstand on top of Guadalupe Peak … no problem; but moving boxes … broken wrist. Mom doesn’t really do “ordinary.”

Our nephew Kevin once asked who was stronger, me or Aunt Cyndi? I said, It depends whether we are lifting weights or doing sit-ups and planks. Not only is she physically and psychologically strong, and tough, she is wide-open bright and creative. I am a lucky man.

After receiving a few eyebrow-raising texts about Cyndi’s decision to walk three miles straight out of the emergency room, I replied, it is our family tradition to not coddle each other, and not coddle ourselves.

Here’s the thing. It’s easier to be strong and tough and determined when you live with someone who believes in you all the way. Cyndi does. And I do. We are better, brighter, more creative, more loving, and happier, as a team, than either of us could even approach alone.

She will probably have surgery on her wrist next week. We are already changing plans for this spring to accommodate our new future. It should be exciting times ahead.

“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.

The Music of Your Heart

Wednesday morning at Body Pump (a group weight lifting class that focuses on small weights but lots of reps, designed for overall body fitness rather than increasing muscle mass (and we all know more mass is not anything I need), and which, at least the class I go to, is taught by my lovely wife Cyndi at Hero’s Gym) we worked out to legendary music. I am referring to the song “American Woman.” My relationship to that song goes all the way back to the original release by The Guess Who in 1970. When I was a freshman at Kermit High School, an upperclassman friend used to give me a ride home from school in his powder blue Ford Mustang. Being the youngest the car, I always sat in the back seat behind my friends. They loved an 8-track by The Guess Who, and it always seemed to be playing American Woman at the time when they dropped me off at my home on Shannon Drive. It was loud. The entire neighborhood could hear the music as I climbed out of the car. I remember the pained expression on my mom’s face as she wondered what was happening to her little boy now that he was in high school and hanging out with those guys.

I’ve loved that song ever since then.

But Wednesday morning we worked out to Lenny Kravitz’s cover of the song, which is an excellent recording in itself, and the pained expression this time was my own while trying doing endless bicep curls. Lenny seemed incapable of saying “Bye bye” to his girl quickly. We all suffered because of his slowness.

And if that wasn’t enough, Cyndi lead our stretching and cool down with the song, “I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends” as sung by Joe Cocker, which tops my list of songs by the Beatles but the cover version is significantly better than the original. When Joe Cocker sings, he really wants your help. He even screamed at the appropriate time during a hip flexor stretch. This song went on and on, too, but Cyndi cut it off since the class was over and everyone (at least the few grownups who stayed for stretching) wanted to put up their equipment and go home. It made me sad, though, because, well, it was Joe Cocker. How could she cut him off?

At a recent men’s retreat, one of the speakers was my friend Rabon Bewley, king of music at Midland College and the most fun guy to talk with music with. He played several pieces of music to illustrate how they mold our thoughts and emotions, even our hopes and dreams. And then, rather than asking the question, what is the heartbeat of this song, Rabon asked, what is the song of your heartbeat? What music illustrates where your heart resides? He asked us to list the characteristics of our heart, and then find a song that told the story of those qualities.

My first reaction was the same song that’s always my first answer when the question is about music, “It’s Too Late To Turn Back Now” by The Cornelius Brothers and Sister Rose. It’s been on my list of top five favorite songs since I first heard it in the summer of 1972. “It's too late to turn back now; I believe, I believe, I believe, I'm fallin' in love.”

But following Rabon’s instructions, I made a list of the characteristics of my heart: hope, belief in the future, optimistic to a fault, a light touch. Then I looked through the playlists on my phone and immediately landed on another song that told the story of my heart better than I’ve been able to tell it in 800 blog entries and three books. The song is “Life Less Ordinary” by Carbon Leaf.

“Live a life less ordinary, Live a life extraordinary with me. Live a life less sedentary, Live a life evolutionary with me.” These lyrics are an invitation to live an extraordinary life together. Perfect.

Music is an amazing force-multiplier. It’s no accident that that longest and richest book in the Bible is a collection of songs. God speaks directly into our hearts through the music that surrounds us, even when we are doing endless bicep curls to rock and roll.

Amy Grant wrote and sang, “It's not a song till it touches your heart; It's not a song till it tears you apart; After what's left of what's right and what's wrong, till it gets through to you, it's not a song.”

What about you? As Rabon asked, “What is the music of your heart? What is the song where your heart resides?”

“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.

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

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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

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.