Running on Friday

      “I can’t believe you were running in all that wind and dust,” was the first thing my neighbor said when I hobbled toward my front yard. They’d seen me somewhere along A Street.

      “Thanks for calling it running,” I said. “It feels pretty pedestrian.”

      “You had a huge tailwind when I saw you. You were flying.”

      “Thanks. Spread that around. Tell everyone you know.”

      My neighbor was correct to be astonished. After a couple of miles, when I was past the point-of-no-return, when it was quicker to keep on running toward home, I wondered about my decision and whether I was being prudent. I had swallowed enough dust and fought enough wind to question my own sanity.

      Friday was one of those February days designed by nature to send newcomers back home and cause natives to wonder if there wasn’t someplace better to live. The skies were brown with dust, it was 62*, and the wind was blowing a consistent 22 miles per hour. I was running because it seemed too dangerous to try cycling; some might say – my neighbor, for example – it was also too foolish to try running.

      Here’s the thing: While I love to run, even in bad weather, I’ve never been particularly good at it. My only native athletic skill is perseverance. I’ve never been quick, or agile, or graceful.

      And nowadays, what I call running is really a race-walk. I call it running because I want to be a runner, because I’m wearing my New Balance running shoes, and I keep track in my running log. I doubt I ever have both feet off the ground at the same time, which is one of the definitions for race-walking.

      I tried race-walking for a while; I researched technique and training and worked at it. But in the end, I found it frustrating and tedious. I spent too much time thinking about what I was doing instead of thinking about everything else, which why I enjoy running in the first place. So, one day I switched back to running. Right away I enjoyed it more and looked forward to it more. But I must admit … what I call running is indistinguishable from race-walking to anyone but me. The difference between the two is entirely mental.

      Whether I call it running or race-walking, it’s irritated me for the past five years that I can’t move any faster than a 15-minute pace. And then it occurred to me that maybe my plodding pace was an active defense on the part of my mind and body to protect my knees. Because I always have one foot on the ground, my body has eliminated shock waves from running through my knees. I should stop complaining. I should be thankful, instead.

*   *   *   *   *

      In his book, The Common Rule, Justin Whitmel Earley links our daily habits to liturgy. “Calling habits liturgies may seem odd, but we need language to emphasize the non-neutrality of our day-to-day routines … our unconscious habits fundamentally reshape our hearts, regardless of what we tell ourselves about what we believe.” I wasn’t sure if I liked using the word liturgies regarding habits, but I don’t know of a better word to describe how an activity like running can become a spiritual practice,

      I started running in 1978 because I wanted to impress a girl. I continued to run because I loved being alone inside my own head. Over time and miles that solitude morphed into my best meditation and prayer time. The repetition draws me toward God and has changed my heart. Now, I run because that’s what I do and who I am.

      It’s true: we become our habits. How about you? What long habits have shaped your life?

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

Keep Moving Forward

This is an excerpt from my latest book, Practicing Faith.

      When Cyndi and I got married, I’m sure I was not ready (since I had no idea what “ready” meant), but I spent a lot of time preparing. I probably thought I was ready.

      Then we had our first child, Byron. We were neither prepared nor ready. God blessed us with a sweet baby boy before we had a clue, and we had to learn on the fly. Had we waited until we were ready, it’s possible we’d still be waiting.

      For my first marathon attempt, I thought I was prepared and ready, but the race showed me I wasn’t. I came back a year later with essentially the same training and fitness but with a greater respect for the distance and demands, and I was successful.

      When I made my first solo backpacking trip into the Guadalupes, I was neither prepared nor ready. I had inadequate gear and scant knowledge, but I went anyway because I was tired of my own excuses.

      As a writer, it took me way too long to finally publish my first book. I never thought I was ready. Now, working on my fifth, I realize I will never be fully prepared, and I’ll have to keep learning what I need to know through the writing process itself.

      Ultramarathon runner Dean Karnazes wrote about his first attempt at the Western States 100 and his run up the summit of Emigrant Pass and the peak of Granite Chief, at 9,050 feet elevation. As he neared the top, he found himself in a short line of runners waiting to get water at the aid station. He was in the classic runner’s position, bent over at the waist with hands on knees gasping for breath. One of the aid workers filled Dean’s water bottles and then said, “You’re not going to be able to catch your breath standing here, no matter how long you stay. We’re too high up in the sky.” (Ultra Marathon Man) His only hope was to keep moving.

      It’s important to know that sometimes we will never catch our breath, never catch up, never settle down, and our heart will always be racing. We will never be prepared enough for the next part of the journey. Our best option is to keep moving forward. Keep our legs moving.

The reason I am writing about this is because it’s bigger than mountain climbing or marathon running. How many ministry opportunities have we squandered because we didn’t think we were ready? How many people failed to get the help they needed because we weren’t finished preparing? How many times have we failed to follow God’s will claiming the sorry excuse that we aren’t ready yet?

      Seth Godin asked the question, “I wonder if there’s also a moral obligation to start?” He continued, “I believe that if you’ve got the platform and the ability to make a difference, then this goes beyond ‘should’ and reaches the level of ‘must.’ You must make a difference, or you squander the opportunity. Wasting the opportunity both degrades your own ability to contribute and, more urgently, takes something away from the rest of us. To do less is to steal from them.” (Poke the Box: When Was the Last Time You Did Something for the First Time?)

      Moving forward while feeling unready and ill prepared can be scary, I know. But we should be more afraid of lifelong regrets than temporary uncertainty. A life without fear is a life without accomplishment. Cyndi likes to remind me, “Do something brave every day.” That usually means being scared and not being ready. If we have the means and ability and passion, we are stealing if we don’t act.

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

In the Snow

       The concept of looking out the window and thinking I’ve got to run in this is both indefensible and irresistible. (Feel free to substitute the word run with whatever fits you; we all do things that seem crazy to people around us.)

       Monday, when we were hunkered down in our house due to sub-freezing wind and snow, when we had friends all over town who were living in cold dark houses thanks to The Great Texas Power Failure, yet it was warm and cozy for us – we had heat and lights and hot water and no kids to entertain – Cyndi and I looked out the window and realized we were anticipating our daily walk and a run through the neighborhood.

       One advantage of walking around the park before going to run … you can evaluate your wardrobe choices before committing full on to the run. After our one-mile walk, Cyndi and I parted company. I took off on my regular neighborhood three-mile route and she left to check on her yoga studio and see if anyone showed up for class.

       Right away my iPod failed … the battery gave up trying to work in the cold. I should have put it closer to my skin to keep it warm, an engineering solution I’ll need to perfect. But the run was sweet. Not as slippery as expected. I broke trail most of the way, meaning my tracks were the first ones in the snow.

       Running in the snow is fun because it’s so quiet. Especially when there’s little traffic on the streets. And it’s anonymous - I’m wearing so much clothing no one can get a good look at me; especially when I have my hood pulled up over my head. The mystery makes me feel strong; no one gets a good peek at who I really am.

       Snow also dampens everything: the sounds, the light and visibility, even my field of vision. Running while the snow is falling reduces my thoughts to a very small sphere, and I withdraw into my clothes and huddle up. I feel alone and hidden – never open and exposed like I do in summertime running. The solitude is comforting.

       I know our inlaws-in-law from Wisconsin laugh at Texans reaction to two inches of snow and a little cold wind, but I don’t care. We could live in Wisconsin if we wanted to, but we don’t. I don’t want to live in a place where tolerance for snow and ice is a requirement. I’d rather live where snow is rare. In fact, one of the reasons I like winter weather is because I live in west Texas. I like our winters, not theirs.

       The Bible doesn’t have much to say about snow. I suppose the early readers were familiar enough with snow for Isaiah to use it to describe what can happen to our sins: "Come now, let us reason together," says the Lord. "Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow.” (Isaiah 1:18) But it was rare enough date the exploits of one of David’s Mighty Men: “Benaiah was a valiant fighter who performed great exploits. He struck down two of Moab's best men. He also went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.” (2 Samuel 23:20)

       Bible writers didn’t get much inspiration from snow itself. Maybe they would’ve spent more time considering snow had they lived near the Rocky Mountains instead of near the Mediterranean.

       I went running again Thursday evening. The forecast told us the cold would break and the sun might come out, but neither happened. It did warm up to 22*, but all the slush and snowmelt was refrozen and slick … much more dangerous than Monday.

       This time I encountered several other runners. Two, in particular, were running toward me, and both deferred to me, moving out of their way and off their trajectory to give me space. Either I (1) looked unstable and unpredictable, or (2) I looked like their grandfather. Maybe both.

       After all that, I’m looking forward to next week when the weather should be the type to remind us why it’s good to be in Texas in February.

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

Forty Ways to Keep Your Lover (Valentine's Day Special!)

This is an excerpt from my latest book, Practicing Faith. The original version first appeared on my blog in July 2019.

 * * * * *

      Paul Simon’s tune “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover” was a fun song back in 1975, but it didn’t describe the life I was interested in. I preferred Dan Fogelberg’s song from 1982, “Make Love Stay.”

      Love has done so. July 28, 2019, marked forty years of marriage for Cyndi and me. In 1979 when we got married, Cyndi was twenty-one and I was twenty-three; that seemed older then than it does now.

      We ask each other all the time, why have we stayed married for so long when others don’t? We aren’t so arrogant as to think it has all been up to us, though we’ve certainly worked hard at our relationship. We’ve seen too many other perfect marriages fall apart, often couples we knew well. The truth is, to each of us, no other life looks better, or more exciting or fulfilling, than staying married to each other. Our love grows deeper and richer year by year, and I can’t wait to see what it looks like in 2059 for our eightieth.

      I made a list of some of the things that have worked for us. They’re randomly sorted because I’m not smart enough to rank them. Of course, this is only a partial list. My first draft had sixty items. Playing off of Neil Simon’s tune, here are . . .

Forty Ways to Keep Your Lover

1.     Be proud and brag. Boast about your spouse’s accomplishments in public and let them overhear your boasting.

2.     Don’t complain. Never complain about each other to someone else. I don’t complain to my family or friends about Cyndi, and she doesn’t complain about me to hers. It’s hard to say, “I’m sorry, I was wrong,” once the group battle lines have been drawn.

3.     Trust each other. It isn’t easy for any of us to ask for help. Be vulnerable and ask.

4.     Be loyal. Cyndi and I see ourselves as a two-member team, back-to-back against all boarders.

5.     Grace. Don’t say, “I told you so.” There is nothing to gain from that except to feel like you’re the hero and your spouse is the loser.

6.     Flirt. Never stop flirting with each other—serious, frequent, grown-up flirting. She has often asked me, when in a store trying on clothes, “Come in the dressing room and feel me in this.”

7.     New. Read to each other from new books and share new things you just learned.

8.     Listen. Intentionally listen to each other. Cyndi will sit and listen to me read on and on from my journal, especially after I come down from a solo backpacking trip. It’s a rare gift.

9.     Dancing. I’ve learned the courage to dance with Cyndi, and she has the grace and patience to dance with me.

10.  Together. You don’t have to do everything together; however, we climb mountains, go to yoga class, ride bikes, enjoy study dates at Rosa’s, play music, run races and marathons, and hold hands whenever anyone is praying.

11.  Guard. Jealously guard those few opportunities to be close. Back in the day, we never let the kids sit between us at church. That was our space.

12.  Share. Let your spouse safely share their weirdest ideas, rawest thoughts, and edgiest philosophies.

13.  Space. Some of the best advice given to us before we married was to find our individual lives apart from each other. It seemed crazy at the time since being apart from each other was what we were trying to eliminate, but we learned to give each other space. We don’t have to do everything together.

14.  Learn. Take every personality test or compatibility survey you find. Learn more about each other, how to take care of each other, and respond to each other. Through the years, Cyndi and I have learned to enjoy our differences as an asset.

15.  Money. Don’t fall into the trap of “my money vs. your money.” We’ve always treated money as “ours,” no matter whose bank account it sat in. And yet, one of my favorite gifts was when Cyndi bought my road bike. The checkbook she used had both our names on it, but she made a point of writing and signing the check, endorsing my new adventure. I told everyone I knew.

16.  Always changing. Allow each other room to change through the years. No one stays married to just one person, even if we marry only one person. We all change and grow.

17.  Impression. Make it a point to never appear like you’re looking around for a better deal. Not even a hint.

18.  PDA. There’s nothing wrong with some public display of affection. Cyndi and I have even been busted in the church hallway. I remember one time at home when one of our teenagers saw us kissing and told us to “get a room.” I pointed out, “These are all our rooms.”

19.  Support. Support each other’s adventures, whether running marathons, playing trombone and congas, buying a yoga studio, or hiking the Colorado Trail.

20.  Music. Reinforce those deep bonds that first brought you together. Cyndi and I first met in a high school band hall in 1973 and fell for each other at a One O’clock Jazz Band concert in 1976. We’ve played together in the First Baptist Church orchestra since the late 1980s and have recently traveled on music mission trips together to Israel, Guatemala, and Hungary.

21.  Simple decisions. Work out a system for making those decisions that drive couples crazy, as in, where to eat or what to watch. For us, the first person makes three to five suggestions, and the second must pick from that list. We both end up satisfied.

22.  Abandon. Give up the notion that your spouse will make you feel completely satisfied all the time.

23.  Show up. Show up for each other every day.

24.  Assume good intentions. Give your partner the benefit of the doubt in all conversations and decisions.

25.  Side by side. Cyndi held me and believed in me when I got laid off . . . four times.

26.  Origin Story. Talk often of your early days, how you found each other, why you fell in love.

27.  Faith. Our shared faith is one of the first things that drew us together. Through the years, our best conversations have been about faith and theology and ministry, and some of our best times together have been worshiping and ministering.

28.  Attractive. Do the hard work required to stay attractive for each other. Don’t leave any opening for buyer’s remorse.

29.  Friends. Surround yourself with people who support your marriage. Avoid negative people and negative situations.

30.  Chores. Take time to make the bed or carry out the trash, even though you know if you don’t the other one probably will. Small gestures of tact and consideration add up.

31.  Advice. Be careful. Unsolicited advice always feels like criticism regardless of your intentions.

32.  Songs. Play love songs for each other often. Let them soften your heart like they did in the beginning.

33.  Lucky. Know that each of you is the lucky one.

34.  Hands. Lots of handholding, especially when driving down the highway.

35.  Never assume. Don’t take your relationship for granted just because you’re married. Courting and winning each other’s heart and attention is a lifelong adventure.

36.  Friends. Meet each other’s friends and coworkers. I assume no one knows me well until they know Cyndi too.

37.  Your song. Whatever your song is, respond to it. Anytime I hear the song Fallen, by Lauren Wood, I know Cyndi is moving toward me with arms outstretched, ready to dance.

38.  Rescue. Protect each other from long (or bad) conversations with crazy people. Cyndi was especially good at this back in my government days.

39.  Attention. Notice when your spouse enters a room full of people. Cyndi often walks across a crowded room simply to stand next to me within arm’s reach. I always take advantage and pull her in closer.

40.  Decide. Make the decision to be in your marriage for the distance. No detours, no turning back, no dropping out, no cutting the course.

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

Blocking the Wind

This is an excerpt from my latest book, Practicing Faith

One breezy February morning in 2018 I rode in a cycling club 100K fun ride, the furthest I’d even thought about riding for two years. Following my double knee replacement about eight months prior, I’d been making incremental increases up the distance ladder. That approach made good sense physically and helped me avoid injury, but it did little to energize my thinking. I expected this ride to open my mind as well as give my knees a substantial test.

Unfortunately, I made the rookie mistake of starting out too fast and trying to hang with the lead group longer than I should have. But I did that on purpose since most of my rides are alone; I seldom get a sense of how much more energy I should invest when I’m riding by myself. I knew I couldn’t stay with the lead pace all day, but I pushed hard to stay with them if I could.

The good news from the ride was 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 complete 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 than riding away. I fought against the strong southeast wind blowing against my right shoulder for miles, getting slower and slower, until another rider rode up beside me. Jeff is about eight feet tall and creates a formidable wind break. He maneuvered to the right-hand side of the road, between me and the wind, and motioned for me to tuck into his draft. He pulled me for the next ten miles and would not let me fall off the pace. In fact, whenever I started to fade, he slowed down to catch me and bring me back to speed.

By the time I finished the day I had fifty-eight miles, four miles shy of a 100K. I wasn’t disappointed; 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, and while my legs were shot, I could still stand up and walk around.

As I loaded my bike into the pickup bed, I heard the other guys talk about their Sunday morning plan. The next morning, they were riding to Kermit and back, about 140 miles round trip. It was a bit overwhelming to hear, knowing I was done for the weekend, but it gave me a better picture of what’s possible. I couldn’t do what they planned to do at the time, 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 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 in the extended time on her mat. She’s toughened up. And she’s let other people pull her up.

While my regular twenty-mile rides meet the need for cardiovascular exercise and weight management, they do little to inspire me. I learned in my old pre-knee-surgery life that it was the long training runs of two hours or more that reshaped my thoughts and opened my mind. I had to run far enough to find the meditation point. Now that I’m cycling, I must ride far enough.

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 headwinds 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. Pull up close and let your brother or sister block the wind.

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

Growing Through Failure

This is an excerpt from my latest book, Practicing Faith

      There are surprising advantages to growing older; each year is a slightly higher platform for viewing the past. I was thinking about that when I heard a podcast speaker ask, “What would you attempt if you knew you couldn’t fail?” He was implying that the fear of failure was stopping us from attempting what we truly wanted.

      By the time I arrived at my favorite writing booth in Whataburger, the question had morphed into this: How has personal failure changed me and shaped our family’s life?

      Of course, I started making a list.

What Would Have Been Different If I’d Gone through Life Never Failing

      I would be braver if I knew I couldn’t fail, but without the risk of failure what is the meaning of courage?

      I would never have learned humility from having to start over so often after losing my job so many times.

      I would believe our family’s destiny, safety, and success depended solely on my economic decisions and brain power.

      I would’ve never experienced the restless heart that’s pulled me toward God.

      I would’ve succeeded in my first attempt at the Golden Yucca Marathon, never fully appreciating how difficult it was.

      I wouldn’t have needed all those time-consuming and often painful training runs before each marathon. I could’ve simply lined up and run without preparation—and missed the deep spiritual meditations that came from those advance runs.

      I would still have the same misguided belief of self-sufficiency and invulnerability I had when I was twenty.

      I would’ve never experienced the strengthening, maturing, and seasoning that comes from a failure-laden journey.

      I wouldn’t have sought out sages for wisdom and advice. I would still think success was all about me.

      I would have no patience with those who are suffering and those who fail.

      I would have leaped up the corporate ladder moving to California, missing so many ministries and relationships in Midland.

      I wouldn’t know what it means to prepare.

      I would’ve jumped into teaching opportunities way too soon, before I found my voice or, more importantly, before I found my life message.

      I would never have needed, understood, or experienced forgiveness.

      I wouldn’t have learned to listen to advice.

      I would be worthless to anyone asking my advice, since failure is the only way we really learn anything worthy of sharing.

      I would’ve never learned to give credit to others.

      I would’ve never learned to recognize bad advice.

      I would’ve never learned the details of why success happens.

      I would not understand or know risk. And without risk, there is no room for love, only conquest.

      I would never have learned that Plan B is often better than Plan A.

      I would’ve never learned how to learn.

      I would’ve never known anyone smarter than me

      I would’ve never learned the joy of spontaneous improvisation in sticky situations.

      I would’ve never known how much I needed grace and never learned how to give grace away.

      We love to quote the movie Apollo 13: “Failure is not an option.” But the statement is wrong. Failure is not only a live option, but also a certainty. If the oxygen tank in the Apollo 13 service module hadn’t failed, turning a moon landing into a rescue mission, NASA would never have had their “finest moment.”

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

What's Your Favorite?

            Do you have favorite Bible verses, or lines from poems, or song lyrics, that follow you your entire life? Mark Batterson has a theory that he wrote about in his book, Chase the Lion: your favorite scripture will become the script of your life.

            Back in the summer of 1974, I had just graduated from high school and was on tour playing trombone with Continental Singers. We were encouraged to learn a certain set of verses to use when counseling at the end of our concerts. When our director first told us to memorize, and gave us a list of verses, I, like most of the others, rebelled. (That’s the trouble with a tour bus full of teenagers … lots of rebellion.) I've never handled ultimatums very well, and at first, I refused to be a part of his little memory cult. But my heart changed with time and I eventually decided to tackle the verses and prove to everyone that even a skeptic could do it. Surprisingly, I enjoyed it.

            I deepened my practice at the University of Oklahoma under the ministry of the Baptist Student Union. As part of a discipleship ministry, I launched into an aggressive memory program, carrying my small pack of verse cards, and reviewing verses while walking from class to class. During my three years at OU I learned hundreds of verses, sometimes entire passages. The compulsion of youth is a mighty thing.

            During that time, I took on 2 Timothy 2:2 as a life verse, “The things which you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses, entrust these to faithful men who will be able to teach others also.” I realized it wasn’t enough to learn more and grow deeper, I had an obligation to give away what I’d received.

            After College, as Cyndi and I moved into adult married life with a family, my favorite life verse became 1 Thessalonians 2:8, “Having so fond an affection for you, we were well-pleased to impart to you not only the gospel of God but also our own lives, because you had become very dear to us.” When I first started teaching adult Bible classes, thirty years ago, I assumed the value I brought was the information, insights, and background, … “the gospel of God.” But through the years I gradually began to use more stories than bullet points, as in, sharing “our own lives.”

            And since I’m throwing around verses, I can’t fail to mention Ephesians 3:17, “And I pray that Christ will be more and more at home in your hearts, living within you as you trust in him.” I love the notion of Jesus feeling at home in my heart, and I’m challenged to make my heart the sort of place where Jesus would be comfortable. This verse influenced my thinking so much I made it my license plate: EPH317.

            These verses have irrevocably changed who I am, what I think, and what I say. They helped me find my spiritual voice and kept my heart soft. They have become the script of my life.

            So why am I writing about this? Not to praise myself - in fact, there is a risk in announcing that I've memorized verses. People will expect me to be able to recite them. I write because Batterson is correct. Our favorite verses become our life script. It’s one of the ways we can intentionally shape our own future.

            What’s on your list? What has become the script of your life?

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

From From My Morning Run

      One of my favorite photographs is one I didn’t take myself, but one I found. It’s of a hero of mine – George Sheehan. He was a physician who started running in the 1970s and wrote about his experiences and the science of running for newspapers and magazines, becoming the philosophical voice of distance running for my generation. I discovered his 1975 book, Dr. Sheehan on Running, while attending a two-week engineering school in 1980, only weeks after the birth of our first child. The school was held at a private facility owned by Haliburton, and all I did after class was eat dinner, go running, and read my new book. It was way more interesting than hanging out at happy hour with half of the guys or watching ridiculous TV programs with the other half. I was a mostly new husband, a brand-new father, a young adult not long out of college, and for the first time in my life, enjoying doing something athletic.

      The photo shows Dr. Sheehan, still in his running kit, typing on an old manual typewriter while sitting in a rocking chair on an open-air porch that overlooked the ocean. He’s writing his column immediately after finishing his run, while his thoughts are fresh.

      Today, forty years later, the picture still resonates with my heart. I want writing, teaching, and mentoring to be so tightly integrated into my daily adventures there is no distinction. Running, cycling, backpacking, grandfathering, cartoon-sharing, writing, and teaching - all telling stories that put truth within reach and blaze a trail to a deeper life with God. That’s what I see every time I look at that photo. I want to be like George Sheehan.

      I was fortunate to meet Dr. Sheehan on a couple of occasions; my favorite was at the Hospital Hill Half-Marathon in Kansas City in 1991. A bunch of us from Midland were attending the annual Road Runners Club of America National Convention which included the half-marathon, and Sheehan was the guest speaker at the pre-race dinner. When I finished the race, completely exhausted from the hills the locals were so proud of, Dr. Sheehan was standing in the finish chute shaking hands and giving high-fives to everyone passing through. He shook my hand, slapped my sweaty back, and said, “If you can do this, you can do anything.” Those words return to me at least once a month, reminding me that I finished that race, and I can do anything. Thanks, Doc.

*  *  *  *  *

      It’s Tuesday morning and I’m writing, like Sheehan, fresh from my morning run, 25* and calm, pace slow but steady. But I’m in our kitchen and not outside; in front of our fireplace and not near the ocean; using my Moleskine journal with a Pilot fountain pen and not a manual typewriter. I’m writing at home instead of my favorite booth because I’m trying to adapt my daily ritual to this current season of life.

      The cold morning run left my mind racing with big questions: How do I structure my days to be sustainable yet effective? How do I integrate the things I love to do into something meaningful? Should we sell our house and downsize? Should I get a job at Walmart – I’d be the world’s worst greeter (who doesn’t care to talk to strangers)? How do I look for engineering work at my age? I don’t feel old, but I’m not naïve to the market or my old-timey skill set.

      For all my love and need of structure and process and planning, I’m often surprised how improvisational my life has become. I’m growing comfortable with unpredictableness, but I must keep asking God, “teach me to trust you.”

*  *  *  *  *

      Sometime last fall I decided to check for any verse 64s that spoke to me. I’ve done this in the past – looked up all the Bible verses or chapters that correspond to my age to see if God spoke to me personally through any of them. It’s an easier project if you are twenty years old. Almost every chapter in the Bible has twenty verses, so you have a thousand to choose from. There are fewer chapters with sixty-four verses.

      I finally settled on Psalm 119:64, “Your love, God, fills the earth. Teach me to live by your counsel.” (The Message)

      This morning while I was running through Solomon Estates, God used that verse to remind me who he is and show me how he wants me to live these peculiar days of life.

*  *  *  *  *

Thank you for filling us with your love,
for keeping us safe,
for keeping us healthy,
for keeping us together,
for blessing us with love for you.

Thank you for loving us through music;
music we can enjoy,
but even more
music we can participate in.

Thank you for loving us through each other,
through Katie and Byron and Angela,
through granddaughters Madden and Landry,
through the Iron Men,
our Bible Study class,
our church leadership,
the Noble Heart.
Thank you for surrounding us with brave, loyal, faithful, loving friends.

Teach me to live, know, and trust your counsel,
to be calm and patient while waiting for what’s next.
Teach me to trust you.

As you fill the earth with your love,
fill me as well.
Let me be known as a man of love, compassion,
grace, tolerance, courage, peace, patience,
adventure, and encouragement.
Let me leak your love everywhere I go.

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

A Life Story

      When I saw the YouTube video’s title: Chicago - Here We Come A Caroling (the making of), I was all in. I can’t resist behind-the-scenes videos or documentaries about how cools things are made, especially when the scenes they were made behind belong to one of the biggest musical influences of my life.

      I immediately devoured the video, and I was captured by those musicians once again. I watched the work out the vocals, discuss how to articulate the horn parts, and the timing and all that. Real workman stuff. And I loved it. It reminded me of my high school years when I listened to their first three albums over and over and over.

      Somewhere I bought a couple of books called Sketch Scores (I have no idea where I found something like that in 1973 in Hobbs, New Mexico) which showed the music from their albums written out, including horn lines. I listened to the albums and studied the scores for hours, fascinated how something so cool and innovative looked simple and obvious on paper.

      Up to that point in my musician’s life, which consisted of beginner band, junior high band, and high school band, I didn’t understand why individual interpretation of a musical score was so important. I just played notes the way the band director, Mr. Lane, told us to, and assumed everyone in the world who played music played it the same way. That is, if I even thought about it at all.

      But laying on my bed in our house on Thorpe Street listening to the music and absorbing the sketch scores, I saw how the band’s interpretations of simple lines made the pieces swing. How it gave them a definitive sound that has lasted for more than fifty years. (In fact, when watching the YouTube video, I mentioned to Cyndi that everyone in the band is new since we last saw Chicago perform live in 2017, except for the remaining three founding members, Robert Lamm, James Pankow, and Lee Loughnane. And yet, even with all the new guys, I could tell it was Chicago after only the fewest of notes.)

      From those Sketch Score episodes, I learned the importance of crescendos and decrescendos and precise articulations. But probably my biggest revelation was that the horn lines were usually played in unison. I was surprised how the intonation of the trumpet, saxophone, and trombone trio made a unison line sound like harmony.

      Those lessons have stayed with me ever since 1973. The idea that subtle interpretation and articulation make common ideas swing. And it isn’t true only for rock-and-roll horn bands, but for writing (one reason I love Calvin Trillin – he swings when he’s most subtle), teaching the Bible (more stories, fewer bullet points), or solving engineering problems (surprisingly more intuitive than logical, more ideas than math). The harmonic beauty of blended instruments morphed into my lifelong desire for consensus and variety of opinions … when divergent voices come together and swing in harmonic unison.

      Some people I’ve met don’t want to know what’s behind the scenes. Ether they simply aren’t interested (find it boring?), or afraid breaking down the details will spoil the wonder. They aren’t curious about the biology behind the beauty, physics behind the stars, or light refraction behind rainbows. They are afraid talking about details takes miracles away from God.

      Not me. Neither one, for me. I want to know all of it. It’s the story of my life.

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

100 Things That Made My Year 2020

      It’s the most wonderful time of the year, the time for making lists, and I’m still at it. Lists make me happy, calm me down, and push me forward into the future – especially lists of happy things and good times. The inconvenience and disruption of 2020 makes it even more important to document the good things that brought joy and added value to daily life.

      One reason we remember the bad over the good is because good things tend to stretch out over long periods of time, but bad things happen all at once. So the bad things stick in our memory while the good things fade to the back.

      Therefore, we must remind ourselves of the good things, the grace-filled things, the influential things, and the things that make us human, before the Enemy steals them from our memory. Living with gratitude is the secret to a meaningful life, and this exercise of listing people, events, and things that made the year better is a powerful move toward having a habitually thankful heart.

      Writer and artist, Austin Kleon, taught me to do this, and thanks to him this is my 6th edition. You may notice some repeats from my previous lists. That’s on purpose. I love the good things that stick year after year, and I want to call them out.

      I encourage you to put together your own list, and don’t stop until you can identify at least 100 things. You may have to find help to remember the best, so dig out your journals, comb through your calendars, review your reading lists and music purchases, and ask those who are close to you. It won’t be easy, but it’s worth the effort.

      And when you do, I hope you share. A big part of imbedding gratitude in your life is making it known.

      (By the way, this list has been randomly sorted using the magic of Excel. Trying to rank items by importance is paralyzing.)

100 Things That Made 2020

1.      Our new daughter-in-law – Angela Simpson

2.      Quote: “I strive to be as generous in my life as the person who serves the fries at Five Guys.” Jon Acuff

3.      Book editing sessions at the Midland County Centennial Library

4.      Riding the Paluxy Pedal, and successfully completing the 19% grade climb up The Wall

5.      Cyndi playing the congas

6.      Quote: “You have to carry a big basket to bring something home.” Francis Hesselbein (quoted by David Epstein, Range)

7.      Bill Britt with Integrity Massage – he keeps me straight and loose

8.      Spending a day with granddaughter Landry in Santa Fe, listening to her clever jokes and observations.

9.      Watching granddaughter Madden blossom as a gymnast

10.    Losing 15 pounds while quarantined

11.    Watching friends (teachers) pivot overnight to teach online

12.    Quote: “You will always belong anywhere you show up as yourself and talk about yourself and your work in a real way.” Brene’ Brown

13.    Base Camp Gathering in Colorado with my Noble Heart friends

14.    The Delta Flyer podcast

15.    Watching the entire Star Trek Voyager series on Prime.

16.    Trusting Cyndi’s advice, that celery juice is worth it.

17.    Summer Sunday lunches on our piazza with Cyndi and Deanna

18.    Quote: “The professional (cyclists) have an aloofness about their pedaling that shows true disdain for the wind, rain, or effort needed to propel themselves down the road.” (from A Dog in a Hat by Joe Parkin)

19.    Quote: “Perfectionism is just fear wearing a tuxedo.” Jon Acuff

20.    Movie: 1917

21.    Playing solos with the Midland College Jazz Band (Since I started this new adventure, my skills have only marginally improved, but I’ve transitioned from fearing the very idea of playing a solo to hoping for another opportunity.)

22.    Walking around the ponds across from our house (Cyndi and I accepted a challenge from our friend Fred Walsh, to walk every day … we haven’t missed a day since we started, November 1st)

23.    Hiking in McKittrick Canyon with the Compass Class

24.    Playing in our church praise band with Rabon and Craig, (We dubbed ourselves The High and Mighty Horns).

25.    Celebrating 15,000 days of marriage to Cyndi

26.    Movie: Dunkirk

27.    Hiking to the top of St Peter’s Dome.

28.    Book: Range (about generalists vs. specialists), by David Epstein

29.    My new gravel bike, a Cannondale Slate … I thought I’d have a half dozen gravel races on it my now, but … well … COVID cancelled them all

30.    Methodically blocking hateful people on Facebook

31.    Energel Liquid Gel Ink Metal Tip 07mm ball pens

32.    Finishing my next book: Practicing Faith (by the way, this one was the most fun to write)

33.    Humus and pita chips – our current go-to snack

34.    Playing in the FBC orchestra and Midland College Jazz Band with Cyndi

35.    Specialized Tarmac Elite road bike

36.    Byron and Angela’s wedding

37.    Finding my books on the Local Author shelf at the Centennial Library in Midland

38.    My Pilot retractable capless fountain pen – a gift from Byron and Katie

39.    Working with John-Mark Echols and The Field’s Edge staff

40.    Quote: “It was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well” Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

41.    Cyndi engaging the Zoom culture and changing her entire way of doing business overnight in her studio

42.    Sitting with Cory on the back row of our church orchestra

43.    Daily writing practice

44.    My Powerbeats earphones – a gift from my son and daughter

45.    Book: Creativity, Inc, by Ed Catmull, about Pixar movies and storytelling.

46.    The peace that comes from not watching 24-hour TV news … especially during election season

47.    Book: Every Tool's a Hammer, by Adam Savage

48.    Quote: “I grew up near Weberwood Hill. At least, in some of my stories.” (Bil Lepp, storyteller)

49.    Playing Words With Friends with Cyndi, Byron, and Joe

50.    Conversations with Jeff Andrechyn concerning our futures

51.    Book: Quite Enough of Calvin Trillin, by Calvin Trillin

52.    Sharing my cartoon collection on Facebook

53.    Meeting the Jaggers family, our new in-laws, and realizing we’d be friends even without a wedding between us

54.    Quote: “Compared to other scientists, Nobel laureates are at least twenty-two times more likely to partake as an amateur actor, dancer, magician, or other type of performer.” (David Epstein, Range)

55.    Quote: “When someone tells you something is wrong, they’re almost always right. When someone tells you how to fix it, they’re almost always wrong.” (Ryan Holiday)

56.    Blue Bell vanilla ice cream, my summertime reward for each bike ride longer than one hour and 95*

57.    Book: Dream Big, by Bob Goff

58.    Reading my Daily Bible

59.    Holding hands with Cyndi

60.    Poem:
Still married after all these years?
No mystery.
We are each other’s habit,
And each other’s history.
(From: I’m Too Young to be 70, by Judith Viorst)

61.    Fly fishing with son Byron and friend Dan Ainsworth, in Westcliffe, Colorado

62.    Cyndi Simpson in yoga pants

63.    Cubanos made by B&A from Christmas leftovers.

64.    Reading and writing on our small dock in the early morning at Lake Granbury

65.    Passing along my Sunday School class to a talented teacher, Cory Callaway

66.    Regular dinners with Britt and Patti Pyeatt

67.    Quarantine stories from families spending time together

68.    Our family gathering in Albuquerque to honor Cyndi’s uncle, Leon Aschbacher

69.    Late summer evening reading seasons with Cyndi on our piazza, sitting in our most excellent Faulkner Dakota Rocking Chairs

70.    Families out walking and biking together.

71.    Quote: "Ever my heart rises as we draw near the mountains. There is good rock here. This country has tough bones." (J R R Tolkien, spoken by Gimli in The Two Towers)

72.    Listening to Sam Payne’s stories and songs.

73.    Rocking a ponytail while cycling or yoga (no man buns, though).

74.    Fleece pullovers

75.    My Panama hat

76.    Green Chile Pork Stew at Bumblebee Grill in Santa Fe

77.    Book: Breath – The New Science of a Lost Art, by James Nestor.

78.    Beginning construction on The Field’s Edge village

79.    My Namiki T-shirt … perhaps the nerdiest piece of clothing I own

80.    Quote: “Do not think you can be brave with your life and your work and never disappoint anyone. It doesn’t work out that way. “ (Oprah Winfrey)

81.    Completing 30 years of teaching weekly adult Bible study classes

82.    People stopped hoarding toilet paper and started buying bicycles and home gym equipment.

83.    Bear Trap Ranch

84.    Walking five miles with Cyndi at the Walnut Creek Linear Park trail, in Mansfield and talking about our future

85.    Salvation Army bell ringers – putting a dollar in the bucket every time I pass

86.    Our large tribe of clever, intelligent, godly friends

87.    Reengaging with church leadership

88.    Regular phone calls from my brother, Carroll … and because he has a brand new hip, dreaming of future bike rides together

89.    Bombas Socks

90.    Hiking with the Iron Men on the Permian Reef Trail in the Guadalupe Mountains National Park

91.    Hiking the Chamisa Trail in the Santa Fe National Forrest

92.    Study dates with Cyndi

93.    Watching Cyndi pour her heart and creativity into the young yoga teachers at her studio

94.    Quote: “I used to think I was gonna change the world. Now I just let people onto the freeway.” (Brendon Leonard, Bears Don’t Care About Your Problems)

95.    Wrangler Relaxed-Fit jeans (I’m not interested in skinny jeans … I’ve heard they don’t work)

96.    Family ski trip to Santa Fe

97.    Song lyric: “25 pounds of pure cane sugar in each and every kiss.” Ann Peebles

98.    Listening to What a Wonderful World, performed by Delfayo Marsales

99.    Gentle yoga class

100. Playing my first trombone solo using a plunger

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