Scary First Steps

Why is the first step often so scary? What is it we are afraid of? I remember the first time I went rappelling at a Wild at Heart Boot Camp at Frontier Ranch in Colorado. It was, well, terrifying.

The scariest part was waiting for my turn. Could I do this? Would I chicken out at the last minute? Would I be the only one who froze-up halfway down the cliff and the belay-guy had to rescue me? I watched guy after guy take off in graceful ease like they were born to do this – the way cool guys can always do things when someone like me is watching. I tried to pay attention while the instructor explained what to do, but I was too nervous to listen.

However, once I cleared the platform, stepped over the edge, and had my feet planted on the rock face, I was no longer afraid. I fed the rope through my D-ring at a steady pace, making my way down the mountain with beautiful bouncing steps. I was amazing. I was one of the cool guys. I hooted so loud I could hear the echo off the opposite canyon wall. I was the man of unlimited courage!

That is, until we made our way over to the high ropes course. I immediately deteriorated from courage-guy to fraidy-cat-guy. It was pathetic.

I wasn’t afraid of falling to my death. I trusted the gear and construction and guides. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to finish the course and they’d have to stop everyone to pluck me from the scaffolding.

But once I moved past that first step on the cable, I wasn’t afraid. I focused on the task at hand, kept my eyes on the wire, inched my feet along, and held on to the overhead hand ropes. I didn’t worry how goofy I looked; I just kept going.

In his book Running With the Pack, Mark Rowlands wrote, “That is the magical thing about first steps. Before that step I was outwardly calm but inwardly riddled with doubt. Will my calf hold together? Will I be able to go the distance? How painful will this be? How humiliating? But with that first step, all my doubts are washed away by the quiet calm of certitude.”

I remember how afraid I was taking the first step to marry Cyndi - asking her. Not scared that she would say No, but scared to move into the great unknown life ahead. However, after that first question, after that December 1978 night, I’ve never been afraid of being married. Still not.

My first steps in my first marathon, in 1983, weren’t so scary, but only because I didn’t know enough to understand what I was getting in to. However, I remember several marathons later when I ran the Paper Chase in Amarillo in 1998, that first step was very scary. I’d piled too much emotional baggage on that race and made my fears even deeper. Until they fired the gun and I took my first step. Then I just kept running. As it turned out, I finished in a reasonable time (for me), on my own two feet, and I could still walk the next day.

Mountaineer David Lloyd George warned, “Don’t be afraid to take a big step if one is indicated. You can’t cross a chasm in two small jumps.”

When Cyndi and I left the adult Bible study class where we’d taught for fifteen years, a warm and safe class full of our own age-group peers, to begin a new class of 20-year-old newlyweds, well, the first steps were frightening. I loved teaching, and I knew I was good at it, but I wasn’t at all convinced what I did would work with these youngsters. Would they understand any of my cultural references? Would I understand theirs?

Yet, as soon as I started teaching that first Sunday morning it felt like the place where I belonged. But I had to dive in, cross the chasm, before it felt good.

How about you? What are the scary first steps in front of you that have you stopped in your tracks? Maybe it’s time to leap forward. James Lawrence says, “A better you lies just on the other side of fear.”

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

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Looking Forward to 60

As I write this, I’m 21,901 days old. The reason I know this is I followed Psalm 90:12, which tells us to “number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” I used Excel to count the days since I didn’t have time to actually count the pages on a calendar. What does 21,901 days mean? It means I’m 59.96 years old, firmly perched on the line of my 60^th year. Being true to my analytical self I’ve been trying to understand what that means.

I remember when I turned 50 people asked if it bothered me. In fact, it made me happy. It was a relief to no longer feel the pressure to be cool or stylish or hip. I went straight for eccentric, which is much more fun.

But that was 9.96 years ago; what about now? What do I expect when I turn 60? Who will I become?

Naturally, I did a Google search on the number 60 to see what showed up. I learned there are four Archimedean Solids with 60 vertices. The most interesting one in my opinion is the Truncated Icosahedron (think of a soccer ball, with 32 faces, 90 edges, and 60 vertices). It has the best potential for a birthday cake, or it would if I was a cake guy. I would rather have Cyndi’s homemade apple pie than a birthday cake, no matter what the shape.

I learned that the Latin term sexagena refers to 5 dozen, or 60, and was the typical ransom for a captured Teutonic Knight.

I read about the Babylonians who used a base-60 numbering system. Since I usually confuse myself when calculating non-base-10 numbers, I asked my go-to expert in all things, Daryl Jensen whether my Babylonian age would be 1 or 10. He wrote back, “If you were to translate Babylonian symbols to Arabic numerals, you would actually be 10. However, even that is problematic since the Babylonians had no symbol for 0. My understanding is that the difference between 1 and 60 (which would look identical using Babylonian symbols) had to be inferred from context.” I’m sure if you hang out with me you’ll get the context.

The Bible says in Genesis 25:26 that Isaac was 60 years old when his twin sons Jacob and Esau were born. Fortunately, Cyndi and I have put the birthing of babies behind us.

Sports cars are rated by how long it takes them to go from 0 mph to 60 mph. I don’t know what to do with this, though, since I  have never been an accelerator but a steady-stater.

I read too many magazine articles about how 60 is the new 40 (or even the new 30), but I’ve never heard any 30- or 40-year-olds say this. In fact, I don’t want to be 40 again. I am much more comfortable with my place in life, comfortable in my own skin, now, that I was 20 years ago. When I turned 40 I was just beginning my city government phase and it was still scary and uncertain.

The same magazine articles like to point out that 70 has replaced 60 as the normal retirement age. Maybe so. I’m afraid I would be bored if I completely retired from working … probably hole-up in my cave and never come out. Cyndi once told me my writing gets narrow and shallow when I’m not around people, working. If she’s correct, and she usually is, I should keep working as long as I plan to keep writing. That’s a long time.

I learned the number 60 represents the global Karma of the Universe, but I have no idea what that means and I don’t plan to study it any further.

Bible Gateway reminded me the gold statue which king Nebuchadnezzar commissioned, the same one that got Daniel in trouble, was 60 cubits high. I won’t be building a 60-cubit statue of myself. That too creepy. And besides, Nebuchadnezzar is a particularly lousy role model to follow.

       I wrote this in my book, Retreating With God: “I’ve never been afraid of growing older and never bothered if I looked older. I was not afraid of the future. As I got older I thought more people listened to me and trusted me. I liked the gray in my hair for that very reason. My prayer had been that my countenance would show the hope and joy I felt in my life. I wanted to be one of those graceful sparkling old guys who leaned boldly into the future with anticipation, not one of those crusty ‘Hey you kids get off my lawn’ sort of old men.”

And so, I am looking forward to turning 60, and to the next 60 years after that. I want my writing and teaching to be an invitation to a larger, more intimate, and deeper life with God. I hope to call out and record those moments that move us closer to God, that demonstrate his loving hand in our everyday lives.

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

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An Infinite View of Life

Friday noon, I ate my lunch while perched on a flat boulder in the shade of a giant juniper tree. When I am backpacking I become expert at finding rest spots in the shade, boulders with flat spots to take the weight of my pack and just the right height for sitting. I seldom pass one by. This particular find was near the South Rim of the Chisos Mountains, and in addition to shade and rest it provided a stunning view across the Chihuahuan Desert toward the Sierra del Carmen Mountain Range in Mexico.

I realize these desert views are an acquired taste. Not everyone enjoys them like I do, and I don’t enjoy them to exclusion of all else. Given a choice in backpacking trips I’d prefer green forests, mountain streams, and high-altitude cool air. I’d rather hike somewhere I don’t have to carry my own water, a gallon per day.

But there is clarity and honesty here. The desert doesn’t care if we like it, doesn’t try to be hospitable. It makes us feel like visitors, aliens, able to survive only if we plan ahead and bring food and water. There is no living off the land in this wild country. There is no shade, no shelter, no respite, no compassion. This is a take-it-or-leave it world.

The view from the South Rim is also striking because it is so abrupt. Standing on the edge, you are at 7,000’ elevation. The cliff drops instantly 1,000’, then another 3,000’ over the next few miles. It’s impressive in the complete lack of transition.

       I’m not a black-or-white thinker; not binary. While I value my own considered opinions, generally assuming I’m always right and always smartest (sorry), I actually change my mind about important things more often than you might assume. I’m constantly reevaluating and reconsidering what I know and believe. I spend most of my thinking in the gray areas, in the transitions, considering options and weighing opinions. That’s one reason I’m drawn to places in the world where there are no easy transitions; they touch the part of my heart that longs for absolutes.

I recently looked into my very first writing journal, from 1995, and on the first page I found this prompt: “Write about things without transitions and how I feel about them … such as the cliffs at Dover, Crater Lake, Manhattan, Palo Duro Canyon.” I’m sure I would have included the South Rim had I experienced it back then.

This past month I reread Calvin Miller’s book, Into the Depths of God, and in it he quoted Luke 9:23, “If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow me.” Miller asked: So why don’t we do it – why don’t we deny ourselves?

One reason is we focus too much on the braking system of our life rather than the steering wheel. We worry more about how to stop sinning than about how to live. Miller wrote, We should spend less time asking, Can I put the brakes on life? and more time asking, Where do I want to go in life?

There is deep magic in the Chihuahuan Desert. Even the gray-brown color palette is beautiful in its subtleties. The infinite view, blocked only by the curvature of the earth, speaks to the eternity God placed in our hearts. It makes me feel transcendent. It makes me want to do more with my life.

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

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Sheltered in Boot Canyon

I finally punched my South Rim ticket, checked off another of my 100 Life Goals, and I was not disappointed. The view was amazing; the energy on the edge of the cliff exceeded all my expectations. While getting my backcountry permit at the Chisos Basin Visitor Center, which in itself was a little disappointing since it was only a piece of paper instead of a tag wired to my backpack, I learned that Big Bend National Park does not allow hammock tents, which was exactly the type of tent I had with me. I had to make some last minute changes. I left my hammock in my pickup and took only my rain fly. I also bought four extra tent stakes in the Big Bend store in case I needed additional tie-downs.

The weekend weather forecast was clear sunny skies in the 90s, so I hadn’t packed any rain gear. Which means, it started raining while I was still in the parking lot. I dug a rain jacket from behind the back seat of my pickup and converted it to a pack cover. I didn’t much care if I got wet but I wanted to keep my sleeping bag and extra clothes dry.

Once I finally hiked in to the Boot Canyon campsite, setting up my rain fly as a shelter in was easier than I’d feared. Probably because I spent three hours on the trail thinking how to do it. Also because it wasn’t windy, raining, or dark.

Just as the sun was going down a young hipster hiker walked past my campsite and said admiringly, “Nice lightweight shelter.” I said, “Thanks,” as if that had been my plan all along.

As part of my original plan I had my Therm-A-Rest sleeping pad with me to spread my hammock for more comfort. It turned out to be a great idea; it was all I had between my sleeping bag and the dirt.

Remarkably, I slept better than any other first-night-on-the-ground ever. I was surprised considering how awkward it was to get inside my shelter and get comfortable

Friday morning, I hiked around the South Rim and it was stunningly beautiful. I even took time to sit in the shade and read and write a bit before moving back down the trail. And then, to my surprise, I arrived at my campsite at Laguna Meadows at 2:30 in the afternoon, much earlier than I’d expected. What should I do? Did I really want to pitch my shelter and hang around six hours until dark? Should I just hike on down?

I perched on a boulder and prayed, “Show me what to do. It makes logical sense to hike on down this afternoon, but will I miss something you want to say to me tomorrow on the trail that I won’t hear or understand back on flat ground? I’ve already tested my knees and legs, and I’ve already proved I can improvise a shelter, so there’s nothing more to prove. What should I do?”

And just then a man and three teenaged boys walked up, fresh from the Colima Trail. They had just seen four bears on the trail about fifty yards from my boulder. I finished my prayer, “Thank you for that confirmation, God. I am heading down now.”

Here’s the thing. I am always nervous during the week leading up to a trip like this. Not about danger or animals, but whether I planned my gear correctly, whether my knees and legs can take it, whether my trail craft will pass Paul’s scrutiny.

In fact, I often entertain secret wishes that something will come up and interrupt my trip and I won’t be able to go but it won’t be my fault and I’ll have a worthy excuse instead of fear. But once I’m in camp and gear is set up, and I sit listening to the wind in the trees, I’m so happy to be exactly where I am, grateful to God for keeping my safe and healthy, thankful that he has blessed me with the desire to do this sort of thing.

It is impossible to prepare for everything. There are simply too many things to consider: rain, park rules, wind, rocky ground, darkness, losing a job, financial ruin, disastrous relationships. Life can throw stuff at us so much faster than we can prepare.

All we can do is depend on experience, insight and grace from God, and plan to accept the discomfort that comes from improvising. The only alternative is to stay inside our safe lives, in our safe circles, among our safe tribes … but trying to live a perfectly safe life comes with its own dangers – we too easily lose heart.

The Bible reminds us to watch over our hearts with all diligence. I don’t know all that means, but I do believe it means occasionally sleeping in the dirt under a makeshift shelter.

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

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Into the Depths

Do you consider yourself a disciplined person? Do you like to dig in, practice, train in all kinds of weather, study, work hard to get better and understand more? I learned a phrase from Eric Weiner (Man Seeks God): “Insights unearned don’t stick. It’s our sweat and blood that provide the glue, preventing these wisps of clarity from floating off into space.” One morning this week I read from my Daily Bible, from 1 Chronicles 28, where David was moving his son Solomon onto the throne to succeed him as the king of Israel. He gave Solomon lots of advice:

Be careful to follow all the commands of the Lord. This was a call to intentional living, to not merely float through life. Applying yourself to know God’s word and be careful to do what it said was not as an academic exercise but a way of life.

If you seek him, he will be found by you. Sometimes it feels as if God plays hard-to-get, but he wants us to seek him. David, for all his problems and mistakes, sought God his entire life.

Be strong and courageous. Throughout the Bible followers are encouraged to not be afraid, but stand up in strength.

Do the work. While it’s true that salvation through grace is absolutely free, the Bible also tells us to work out our salvation. It takes work to go deeper; work is the stewardship of free grace.

I just finished reading Natalie Goldberg’s newest book, The Great Spring. I’ve read almost all of her books because she inspires me to be a better writer, and to be more honest and transparent about my faith. Her book, Writing Down the Bones, was the first writing book I bought. I remember standing in the bookstore in the mall and showing the book to Cyndi, trying to talk myself into buying it. Cyndi encouraged me to buy it right then.

It wasn’t that I was afraid to spend the money, or that I didn’t read books, but it was my first move toward a life of writing as an ongoing activity. It was the beginning of my study and pursuit and discipline. Somehow, as I stood in the bookstore, I knew I was at a crossroads. Buying this book was a step over the line, moving from curiosity into serious pursuit.

When I read Goldberg I am struck by her description of Zen practice. She will sit for days in silence listening to her own breath. It seems fruitless and mind-numbing to me; yet the hard-core discipline invested into spiritual understanding is attractive. I wonder, what do I do to intentionally draw myself closer to God? What are my meditation-on-the-pillow practices?

Several years ago our Iron Men group went through Calvin Miller’s book, Into the Depths of God. He wrote, “We would like to appear to be like Jesus without the discipline of really being like him. Reading several dozen fill-in-the-blank self-help manuals, we talk ourselves into a spiritual reputation we never really earned.”

Maturity requires going deep into spiritual formation, disciplines and practices, intentional engagement in a relationship with God, setting aside time and energy to pursue God, repeated behavior to convince our own self we are serious. It isn’t because we have to prove anything to God, or earn his acceptance. There is nothing we can do to make him love us more. But we do it in order to change our own thoughts, dreams, feelings, so that we have the desire and capacity to love him more.

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

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Solving Problems

Does God ever expect us to try solving problems ourselves before he comes to the rescue? I don’t mean – God helps those who help themselves – since most of the time we don’t know how to help ourselves, don’t even recognize the best solutions when we see them. But is it part of trusting God to come to him with ideas? There is a story in the Bible, from Luke 9, about a time when Jesus spent the day with over 5,000 people. As evening approached, the disciples saw a problem looming that they assumed Jesus had overlooked while he was distracted teaching, healing, and ministering. What would these people eat, and where would they sleep?

The disciples were trying to be helpful when they suggested to Jesus, Sent the crowd away so they can find dinner and a place to spend the night. It was the sort of problem-noticing and suggestion-offering that leaders hope to get from their team.

However, instead of offering a suggestion, Jesus caught them totally off guard by saying, You give them something to eat.

What did Jesus expect them to do? Go to town and come back with wagonloads of food? Maybe bring a taco truck caravan? They couldn’t create food out of thin air, and if they suspected Jesus could miraculously create food they didn’t presume on him doing it, so what could they do? Where could they go?

We recently hosted a men’s workshop at our house, and finding enough food for fifteen men was hard enough in a world of grocery stores and food delivery. Finding food for 5,000 people in a 1^st-Century world was impossible.

I doubt Jesus expected his disciples to be successful. He knew it was an impossible assignment for anyone but him. But he wanted them to try. He wanted them to come up with a plan instead of simply pointing out an obvious problem.

And so I wonder … how often does Jesus say to me when I confront him with a major life problem, See what you can do? Probably more often than I realize.

I remember one Saturday afternoon with our nephew, Kevin. It was October 2010, and I spent the morning running the Crossroads Marathon in Odessa. Afterward, all I wanted to do was sit down the rest of the day. Cyndi left for a workshop in San Angelo the minute I got home from the race, so I was on Kevin-duty the rest of the weekend.

He was in the front bedroom working on a new Lego kit he’d received when he brought me his box of parts and instructions. Can you help me Uncle Berry?

Sure. Show me how much you’ve done so far.

He hadn’t done anything so far. He hadn’t even opened the instruction book. He was used to getting more hands-on “help” than I was willing to give in my post-marathon condition.

I said, You start working by yourself, and go until you can’t go any further. You can sit here at my table if you don’t want to be alone.

I want you to help me.

I am helping you. I am helping you learn how to put this together.

I want you to help me.

No, you’re asking me to do it for you, which I won’t do. You start building it yourself and let’s see how far you get. You’re better and smarter than you think you are.

He frowned and moped, but built the first two or three pages himself. When he got stuck I fixed one piece then handed it back to him.

We went through about a dozen iterations of working and asking until the project was finished.

Is that how God wants to solve problems with us? Does he want us to try before asking? Does he hold back from helping us because he wants us to try harder?

I don’t know. I don’t think God holds back so he can see how good we are, but I do think he often wants us to engage in solutions as a form of trust in him. But I believe God is more interested in the process of growing our character and spiritual maturity than in our actual destination in life.

“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.

Branding

Some things we do because we love them and can't imagine life any other way (writing, backpacking, music, running); other things we do to develop particular skills (cycling, shooting); some because we were told they were good for us (weight lifting, taking vitamins); and then, finally, there are things we do for the person we love (yoga, branding cattle). Cyndi and I spent last weekend with lots of family, branding calves. We were near Des Moines, New Mexico, firmly in the Great Plains, in the shadow of two ancient volcanos, Sierra Grande and Capulin.

It's stunning country. The dominant view is infinite grassland and open skies. Looking north you see nothing standing between you and the Arctic Circle except the curvature of the earth. This is country where all things are open and laid bare, where you can critique a misplaced fence line for miles while standing in one place.

Cyndi and her three cousins started this cattle raising venture and have referred to it as the Four Chicks Ranch. Since one cousin doesn't want anyone calling her a chick, I suggested Three Chicks and a Hen. She didn't like that name, either.

During the branding operation it was my job to pin the calf down from the front by pushing on its neck with my right knee and pulling up on the top front leg, while my cousin-in-law Bob grabbed both rear legs and pulled outward. We held the calf on the ground while it was tagged, vaccinated, branded, and castrated, hoping no one got kicked in the process. It was my first time to use these new knees for something besides walking, hiking, or cycling, and it all went better than I expected. I could even walk normally the next morning.

Maybe the reason my knees performed so well was I didn't have to think about it. Once a calf was roped everything occurred too fast. There was no time to consider whether I should jump up or down. No time for trepidation. Is it possible I've babied them too much?

I assumed they gave me the head of the calf because the job depended more on body mass than skill level. I changed my mind after watching the real cowboys. Even Ginger, Cyndi's cousin, a young mother of two, flipped calves better than me, and I outweigh her by 100 pounds.

I told Cyndi I would add branding to my bucket list so I could check it off. Was it on your list before today? Oh no, of course not, I never considered it, but I'm taking credit for it now. Maybe I'll also make a life goal to learn a new skill every year since 2016 is accomplished.

Bill Farrel writes “It's a sign of maturity when you admit you're not good at some things.” I would add it's also a sign of stupidity to claim you know more than you do - about anything.

I learned early, when I first joined this family, not to pretend I knew anything about ranching life. Now, after 37 years, I've at least acquired enough terminology to hold a conversation, not that these cowboys talk much. Unfortunately, I've learned few skills. However, I doubt any of them can wrangle a spreadsheet like I can, so I can be proud of that.

I wonder what's next. We hiked Guadalupe Peak one weekend, and then branded calves two weekends later. My knees appear ready for anything. It makes me happy to have so many options open I once considered closed.

I'm not sure where learning to flank calves fits into my life plan and 100 Life Goals and all that, other than I want to say Yes more often than I say No. But I’m certain all of life matters every day. Everything we do, tells the story God has put into our hearts. We have to embrace the adventures God puts in front of us so that his message spills out of us as we engage in life.

“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.

Trail Markers

Buffalo Bill once said, “I could never resist the call of the trail.” Well, neither can I. I love trails. I wish I had more opportunities to run, hike, and bike on dirt trails; I seldom miss squeezing trail time into my schedule whenever I get the chance. I enjoy the unpredictability of a trail verses a city sidewalk, maybe because my life is routine and predictable, admittedly of my own making.

I started working on this next book (working title, Trail Markers) because I was fascinated by the idea of trail building. I even bought a Forest Service Trail Building Manual to read their expert opinions. I spent months writing my thoughts on trail guides and ministry.

Trails are irresistible invitations to the unknown. A trail that disappears into the woods or climbs a ridge or curves around an outcropping is a trail I fall for. I have to try it out. I want to see where it goes.

When the most beautiful backcountry seems impenetrable and inaccessible a trial is an invitation to give it a try. A trail makes hiking the most impassable terrain a possibility. Having a trail to follow is a gift. It means you don’t have to bushwhack. You are not on your own.

A trail means someone has prepared the way for you. Someone you’ll never know built this trail, maybe decades ago. So even when hiking alone you are hiking with someone unseen, the trail builder.

However, merely having a trail doesn’t mean the hiking will be easy. You still have to climb the switchbacks, go down the ravines, avoid the rocks, and skip over the roots. But a trail means you are not lost. You have a path to follow.

When hiking in the wilderness, every step we take leaves a mark on the trail and helps to define it for those who are following. Any trail seldom used becomes overgrown and lost to the surrounding terrain. Every hiker becomes a trail builder, a trail guide, simply by walking. Other hikers who come later, those we’ll never meet, will follow our footprints.

Building a trail is an act of faith – like planting a tree – faith that someone someday will use it.

God once told his people to leave an intentional trail for the next generation to follow back home. He was speaking through the prophet Jeremiah at a time when the people of Israel were being carried away into exile in Babylon. God wanted them to know the captivity wouldn’t last forever, there would be a day when they could return home. Jeremiah 31:21 says, Set up road signs; put up guideposts. Take note of the highway, the road you take. (NIV)

God told the Israelites to make sure they could find their way home when the time came to return. This was not about wishing and hoping, but actively setting up road signs, guideposts, bringing a map. The people had some responsibility to find their way back home. It was their obligation to be trail guides to the next generations.

In my early years I followed the clear and obvious trail left by my family. They were consistent, dependable followers of Jesus, and the path they blazed through life was easy to see and follow, hard to lose.

As I got older and more of life’s choices were mine to make, I needed new guides to show the way. Once again God put people in my path who served as trail markers, delineating the best way to live, reminding me I was still on the correct trail.

And today, I know that I have become one of those trail markers for many others. It isn’t an obligation I take lightly, but the most important thing I do.

Being a trail guide means being entrusted with people, entrusted with the trail itself, and it turn entrusting my own guys with belief and insight and calling. A trail guide is less a mentor and more like a fellow traveler … as in, we are in this 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.

On Top Again

Last Saturday I stood on top again, a happy man. We were at the summit of Guadalupe Peak, the highest point in Texas. In my old life, I summited sixteen times, usually with a posse of friends. But since May 2012 I haven’t been able to complete the climb even with multiple attempts. My original stock knees couldn’t do it, even when I was mainlining Advil.

The Iron Men group at First Baptist Church hike at least twice a year (unless we get weathered-out), and even though we continue to hike the same three trails over and over the men keep coming back. Why? The trail turns men into brothers. Once a guy spends that sort of time with friends it changes all their future conversations. They learn to trust each other. They’re more honest. I don’t know any better way to get to that point in a relationship. There are plenty of other ways to bring guys together and commune with God, but for me hiking with my guys has become a prime ministry. It may be the most effective thing we do.

A year ago I thought my hiking days were behind me. The last time I attempted this same hike up Guadalupe Peak was two years ago and I struggled painfully to make it even halfway up. Sometimes, willpower isn’t enough.

And so, last Saturday was a big test for me, only nine months after double knee replacement. I’d been walking and cycling about two or three times a week, pushing the pace and trying to rebuild the strength and endurance I once took for granted, training for this hike.

It was a great day. My legs felt better than I expected. My knees felt better than they should have. I was short-winded most of the day due mostly to poor cardiovascular fitness. I have a lot more training to do. And my feet got sore and ached by the time I got to the bottom; I’ve lost the marathon-running toughness I used to depend upon.

I felt strong the first two hours of hiking as long as we stopped every twenty to thirty minutes to breathe. But after the bridge I started to fade. I was weary and lightheaded. My post-surgery workouts hadn’t been enough to prepare me for this level of stress.

I’d been hiking with Cory for about an hour, but I let him slip off ahead of me. I was slowing down so much I was afraid he’d miss the turnaround time because he was staying back with me.

Finally, I’d had enough. I couldn’t imagine going all the way to the top as bad as I felt. I was about halfway between the bridge and summit when I pulled off my pack and sat on a large flat rock. I’d just wait there until the rest of the group came back down. It was easy to make reasonable arguments why I should give up for the day: I had been up on top plenty of times and had nothing to prove, I’d already hiked further than most people expected, there would be plenty of chances to try this again after more training, I don’t have to touch the top to hear from God, I don’t have to touch the top to be a man. And, like that.

But I remembered something I read in Martin Dugard’s book, The Explorers, how the Navy SEALS believe once someone comes to the conclusion that giving up is an option, there is no turning back. Their mind transitions away from managing the discomfort and begins to imagine how good it will feel when the discomfort ends. Once quitting seems noble and reasonable it becomes inevitable.

I was deep into that scenario when I prayed, What should I do?

The thing about prayer is you often know beforehand the right answer. So I stood up, put my pack on my back, and shuffled the rest of the way to the top.

From trailhead to summit it took me 3:20 to make the climb; I was happy that I’d kept going. Most of my group was waiting at the top, and they continued to wait while I ate my PB&J sandwich. It was cold and windy and some of the faster hikers, including my loving wife Cyndi, had been up there for an hour already. Waiting for me was not a small thing.

Hours later, once we were all off the mountain, settled into our bus seats for the long drive back to Midland, the bus was filled with a buzz of stories, scars, photo sharing, and hearts joining together. That part of the trip always makes me happy. Maybe it isn’t the trail itself that makes men brothers as much as the bus ride home.

I am blessed to have these men in my life; guys who will hike with me, who will wait for me in the cold wind at the summit, who believe in me and listen to what I say. I never take for granted the valiant men God has entrusted.

I prayed, Thank you for keeping us safe today, thank you for giving us the desire and ability to do this, and most of all, thank You for giving us one more turn.

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

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Secret of Life

At the intermission when the lights brightened and I could no longer hide the tear tracks on my cheeks I asked Cyndi, Why am I emotional? I don’t even care that much about going to Carolina? She said, When someone sings clear and pure it pushes straight through to your heart, no matter what they are singing.

The secret of love is in opening up your heart.

We were in Lubbock at the United Arena for a sold-out James Taylor concert, and it was amazing. He sang two hour-long sets with a twenty-minute intermission. His voice sounded like it did the first time I heard him sing on TV in 1970. How does he do it? (Maybe he was given the choice to give up his hair or give up his voice. If so, he chose wisely.)

 I've been wandering early and late from New York City to the Golden Gate, and it don't look like I'll ever stop my     wandering.

I’m always inspired then someone takes over a room simply by throwing themselves into their music. That usually occurs when the music is loud and confident and bold.

But James Taylor took control of the entire arena singing softly while playing his acoustic guitar. He came out with no introduction, sat on his stool, and started playing while the band slowly worked their way onto the stage. Amazing.

I've seen fire and I've seen rain. I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end. I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I'd see you again.

After he sang Fire and Rain the entire arena got out of their chairs and clapped for three minutes. It was a standing ovation for longevity as much as for that one particular song.

In the time we have here; This time we have it all

During the intermission, Taylor sat on the edge of the stage and signed autographs and posed for photos. He stayed at it until his backup singers pulled him away, and even then he kept grabbing one more poster to sign. The man is sixty-eight years old, he’s won five Grammy Awards and sold more than 100 million records worldwide, he’s been touring for more than forty-five years … and he’s still giving himself away to his fans, his people.

Isn't it amazing a man like me can feel this way,tell me how much longer, it could grow stronger every day.

James Taylor is a significant contributor to the soundtrack of my life and Cyndi’s life. We discussed this while lying in bed after the concert, after driving the two hours home to Midland, after watching the clock pass 1:00 am, about how blessed we are to share music. It’s one more strand that ties us together. A strong and resilient strand.

Every day, it's getting closer, going faster than a roller coaster. A love like yours would surely come my way

I don’t fear getting older (at least at this point, while I’m healthy, I’m looking forward to it) and I don’t fear dying (although I don’t look forward to that (I still have too much investment to make into grandchildren)), but what I fear is living a life that doesn’t matter. I fear getting to the end of it all with regrets for holding back when I should have stepped further up and further in. Listening to James Taylor communicate with clarity and joy after all his years on the road stirred hope in my heart that my own voice will be unambiguous and hopeful for the next twenty, thirty, or forty years.

The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time. Any fool can do it, there ain't nothing to it. Nobody knows how we got to the top of the hill. But since we're on our way down, we might as well enjoy the ride.

“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.