25 Good Books I Read in 2021

      It’s no secret – I’m a man of lists. I love making lists, whether shopping lists, to-do lists, book lists, running and biking lists, hiking lists, blood pressure and heartrate lists, and even list lists. I agree with the sentiments of Sheldon Cooper, from The Big Bang, who once said, “If there were a list of things that make me more comfortable, lists would be at the top of that list.”

      Way back in 1986 I followed the advice of motivational speaker Jim Rohn and started keeping a list of books I’d read. It wasn’t a hard decision. I love to read, and my reading habit precedes my list-making habit by decades.

      I don’t expect everyone to love reading as much as I do, or like the same books I like, but I know all of us would be better people if we read a book or two every year. And so, here are some suggestions. These are listed in the order I read them; I didn’t try to rank them by importance or enjoyment … that’s a paralyzing and pointless exercise. However, if you’re interested, give me your email address and I’ll send you my entire Excel reading list for 2020. In fact, I’ll send you my complete list going back to 1986 if you want, but it isn’t a quick glance. And send me your own list. I’m always searching for ideas.

      I read non-fiction almost exclusively. But my audio books are almost all fiction, and most likely spy thrillers and the like.

      This is my list of 20 Good Books I Read in 2020, the books that turned out to be the most meaningful for me over the past twelve months. Reviewing my spreadsheet to find these particular twenty books helps me remember God’s providence throughout the year. What was it I thought I needed to hear or to learn, or to remember, that caused me to choose that particular book? Sometimes these lists give me a clue.

      Should you choose to read one of these books, I’d love to hear from you. I enjoy hearing different takes on books that made my year better. And if you have any recommendations for me, I’d love to hear those, too.

      (By the way, this list is in the order I read these books. Trying to rank them by importance would freak me out, so I went with straight chronology. 

1.     Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy: A George Smiley Novel, by John LeCarre … Ex British spy, George Smiley, searches for the Soviet mole buried within the highest level of British Intelligence. I enjoy the audible version of LeCarre’s books – The reader’s British accent matches the prose.

2.     Everything Happens For a Reason: And Other Lies I’ve Loved, by Kate Bowler … A deep dive into the prosperity gospel and it’s conflict with the author’s diagnosis of stage IV colon cancer.

3.     Tribes: On Homecoming and Belonging, by Sebastian Junger … about the human instinct to belong to small groups defined by clear purpose and understanding.

4.     Grandma Gatewood's Walk: The Inspiring Story of the Woman Who Saved the Appalachian Trail, by Ben Montgomery … In 1955, Emma Gatewood hiked the 2,000+ mile Appalachian Trail at age 67.

5.     Running the World: Marathon Memoirs from the Seven Continents, by Nick Butter … In 2018-2019, the author ran 196 marathons in every one of the world’s 196 countries.

6.     Little Drummer Girl, by John LeCarre' … A young British actor is recruited to infiltrate a Palestinian terrorist group.

7.     Jesus is the Question: The 307 Questions Jesus Asked and the 3 He Answered, by Martin Copenhaver … considers the questions Jesus asked - what they tell us about Jesus and, more important, what our responses might say about what it means to follow Him.

8.     Ten Marathons: Searching for the Soft Ground in a Hard World, by Doug Schneider … a memoir of a mid-pack runner who tracks the ups and downs of his life with marathons.

9.     Fred Rogers: The Last Interview and Other Conversations, by David Bianculli … Demonstrates Rogers’ impact on us all even twenty years after his death.

10.  We Need to Hang Out: A Memoir of Making Friends, by Billy Baker … the author’s search to understand the modern loneliness epidemic.

11.  This Old Man: All In Pieces, by Roger Angell … a collection of the authors writings for the New Yorker.

12.  Fearless: The Undaunted Courage and Ultimate Sacrifice of Navy SEAL Team SIX Operator Adam Brown, by Eric Brown … a biography of courage, persistence, redemption, and rescue.

13.  Being Gary Fisher: And the Bicycle Revolution, by Gary Fisher … The story of a maverick kid bike racer who went on to transform the cycling industry by selling mountains bikes to the world.

14.  King Richard: Nixon and Watergate: An American Tragedy, by Michael Dobbs … An excellent account of the events and characters of the Watergate scandal (the first national news story I paid attention to besides the Viet Nam War).

15.  The Contemplative Pastor: Returning to the Art of Spiritual Direction, by Eugene Peterson … words of wisdom and refreshment for pastors caught in the busyness of preaching, teaching, and running the church.

16.  The Optimist: A Case for the Fly Fishing Life, by David Coggins … makes a case for the skills and sensibility of fly fishing

17.  On The Road Bike: The Search for a Nation’s Cycling Soul, by Ned Boulting … A search asking how Britain become so obsessed with cycling.

18.  This Odd and Wondrous Calling: The Public and Private Lives of Two Ministers, by Lilian Daniel and Martin Copenhaver … An honest look at the challenges and joy of pastoring.

19.  Half a Life: A Memoir, by Darin Strauss … examines the far-reaching consequences of a tragic moment that shadowed the author’s whole life.

20.  The Illusion of Separateness: A Novel, by Simon Van Boy … How one man’s act of mercy during World War II changed the lives of strangers, and how they each discover the truth of their connections.

21.  The Genius of Jesus: The Man Who Changed Everything, by Erwin McManus … Examines the person of Jesus not simply through the lens of his divinity, but as a man who radically changed the possibility of what it means to be human.

22.  My Mother Was Nuts, by Penny Marshall … A memoir from the movie director and TV star who was funnier than all the rest.

23.  All the Places to Go … How Will You Know?: God Has Placed Before You an Open Door – What Will You Do?, by John Ortberg … Opens our eyes to the countless doors God places before us every day, teaches us how to recognize them, and gives us the encouragement to step out in faith and embrace all of the extraordinary opportunities that await.

24.  Think Like a Rocket Scientist: Simple Strategies You Can Use to Make Giant Leaps in Work and Life, by Ozan Varol

25.  The One Year Chronological Bible, published by Tyndale … I read through this every year, and nothing has influenced my relationship with God more.

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

Giving Thanks

      Thanksgiving was a good time. We had, at the peak of the crowd, ten people in our small lake house in Granbury, and most of us stayed for five days. Ten people, even people we like, felt a bit like we were always on top of each other, especially for the introverted branch of the family – namely, me, Katie, and Madden.

      Besides cooking excellent food and deserts, we finished several projects: replaced a broken and dead washing machine, assembled and put into service two bunk beds, and repaired (rerouted) the washing machine drain pipe.

      Our son Byron was in charge of preparing Thanksgiving dinner, Cyndi and daughter-in-law Angela made pies, Cyndi handled breakfast (including some improvisatory pancakes that contained none of the expected ingredients, but were very tasty), daughter Katie made gooey delicious sandwiches. Me – I mostly took care of the ice. Thanks to me, we had plenty of ice. Especially since I was the only one who used it.

      We watched two football games in which the wrong teams won, a Christmas movie or two, and Cyndi guided our granddaughters through a series of Christmas crafts.

      We attended the annual Granbury Christmas parade, which is always short in length but deep in small-town-Texas values. It was crowded. We arrived an hour before parade start and nabbed the only remaining frontage to set our lawn chairs. All the rest of the courthouse square was occupied, all the way around, both sides of the street.

      This year, I brought a project of my own for everyone to do together. It was something I found in a newsletter by Austin Kleon, one of my most significant influences nowadays. He published a tiny Gratitude Zine and instructions for making your own. I printed enough pages for us each to have one.

      Kleon wrote, It is possible to have everything and feel nothing! It’s possible to be alive and feel dead! Here are some exercises that help me cultivate gratitude and be awake to what’s good in my life.

      I wrote, I’m thankful for:

      (1) Cyndi

      (2) B & K & A & T & K & M & L & D

      (3) movement

      (4) dirt trails

      (5) music

      (6) playing music

      (7) my Daily Bible

      (8) books

      (9) cycling with a tailwind

      (10) Cyndi’s homemade apple pie.

      My list of people I’ve learned from and what they taught me:

      Thanks to my dad, who taught me to find the joke in all things and all times.

      Thanks to my mom, who taught me to pay attention to details and to read and observe.

      Thanks to Cyndi, who taught me to be open to wacky ideas and spontaneous fun.

      And what do I love to do (not nouns, or objects, but verbs that give joy)?

      Move – run, bike, hike

      Read – lots of books

      Write – express personal thoughts

      Music – play and improvise

      Teach – give away what I’ve received.

      I encourage you to download this Gratitude Zine and answer the questions. Being intentionally grateful takes courage because so many things come at us unexpectedly. It’s easier, lazier, to simply complain about everything, but who wants to live a sorry life like that?

      Why does it matter? Because the grace of God follows, even chases after, hearts full of gratitude. I hope this holiday season is a grateful, thankful, worship experience for you. Thank you for reading these blog entries. I am grateful for you.

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

Another Conversation with Myself, Part Two

 (To read Part One, click here)

       Don asked, “So, how’s your ankle, now? Did you try praying?”

      Berry answered, “It’s mostly all I did last weekend – prayed for healing and understanding.”

      “That’s all you did all weekend?”

      “Well, I limped around a lot. And watched college football.”

      “What happened?”

      “The Sooners won.”

      “What happened with your ankle?”

      “When the pain in my ankle moved from the outside to the inside, I knew this wasn’t a muscle or tendon injury. They don’t move around. And when it started to swell and turn red, I knew my typical treatment - suffer until it goes away - wasn’t working, either. I started asking around about Podiatrist recommendations, planning to make an appointment as soon as possible.”

      “What happened?”

      “Sunday morning, I stayed home while Cyndi went to church. I knew I couldn’t play in the orchestra and negotiate my way on and off the stage in either worship service. I also knew it would take the entire Sunday School hour to hobble my way to class and back. So, I stayed home.”

      “You seem to be working up to a big story. What happened?”

      “Cyndi told my sad tale to the other guys in the orchestra, and they jumped on it. Thought it was an infection, and I should go to the neighborhood clinic for a shot to clear it up.”

      “Leave it to the boys in the band to recommend pharmaceuticals.”

      “I went to the neighborhood clinic. It was surprisingly quick and inexpensive, and it took Jeff, the NP (Nurse Practitioner), only seconds to rule out infection and rule in gout. That was something I ruled out in the beginning because I thought it only happened in toes.”

      “I remember you were pretty sure of your analysis about it not being gout.”

      “Well, yes. Of course.”

      “But once again, always thinking you are right led you down the wrong path?”

      “Yeah, whatever. The point is, a nurse gave me a shot of anti-inflammatory and sent me home.”

      “Did you feel better?”

      “The first thing I did was sleep for five hours. Like a stone. “

      “Did you feel better?”

      “When I finally woke up, I was surprised how much better I felt, how much smaller my ankle was, and how well I could walk. It was the miracle I had been praying for.”

      “I thought you got a shot, not a miracle.”

      “Miracles happen in all forms. God works through science and medicine, not against it.”

      “So, you got a miracle in your butt.”

      “Sure. But that would be a terrible title for the sermon.”

      “What happened next?”

      “By Monday I’d forgotten my ankle had ever hurt. I was walking everywhere. I might’ve broken out into a happy dance if I were the sort of person who does that sort of thing.”

      “Did you learn anything, except to diagnose gout quicker?”

      “I calmed immediately when I had a professional diagnosis and plan. Even if the plan turned out to be wrong, I was following expert advice. I needed that.”

      “What about prayer?”

      “Well, I believe the miracle I was praying for turned out to be more than healing my ankle. It was about healing my heart. It was about laying down my self-sufficiency and allowing God to answer through someone else. Someone I’d never met before.”

      “Well done, Mr. Simpson. That was indeed a miracle.”

      “Thank you, Mr. Simpson. You guided me well.”

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

Another Conversation with Myself

      Berry asked, “Did you sleep well last night? I noticed you got up and went to the living room couch at 2:00 am.”

      I answered, “You know I didn’t. My right ankle throbbed all night. Kept me awake.”

      “I thought your left ankle was your bad one.”

      “That was yesterday. Today, it’s my right one.”

      “What happened to your ankle? Did you overuse it again? Isn’t that what usually gets you into trouble?”

      “I have no idea what happened. I don’t remember doing anything out of the ordinary all-day Monday. I rode my bike for a couple of hours, but there’s nothing unusual about that.”

      “Maybe it was the Finance Committee meeting Sunday afternoon when they released the members who were rolling off and you bolted from the room?”

      “Cyndi would laugh if she heard you use the term bolted to explain anything I do.”

      “So, what happened? Ankles don’t go bad on their own.”

      “Well, firstly, maybe they do. Maybe injury without warning is more common than you think. I have a friend whose eyes blew up on him this past summer, with little or no warning. And secondly, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m older than I used to be. Maybe it is a natural part of aging to get new pains in the middle of the night. In fact, it happened to me about a year ago with my big toe.”

      “If I remember, that was gout. Not an injury. Do you think you have gout in your ankle?”

      “No. Ankles aren’t susceptible to gout. Toes are. And if it were gout my ankle would be swollen and red.”

      “Did you feel any other soreness? Were you especially tired? As if you had been wrestling all night?”

      “You are referring to the Bible story of Jacob who wrestled all night long with an angel? I have no memory of that, which would defeat the purpose. Also, I’m sure Cyndi would have noticed had I been wrestling all night.”

      “Because Jacob ended up with an injured hip. It bothered him the rest of his life.”

      “That’s right, he did. That isn’t what happened to me.”

      “So, you’re saying you weren’t touched on the ankle by God.”

      “No, not saying that. God might very well have touched my ankle. But I am saying there was no wrestling match.”

      “What are you going to do about it?”

      “I have a giant bottle of ibuprofen and a drawer full of ankle braces. I’m going to start with those and see what happens.”

      “What are you afraid of?”

      “Who said I was afraid? I’m in problem-solving and making compensation mode.”

      “What are you afraid of?”

      “I’m not afraid of anything. I expect this to be gone in a couple of days and I’ll be back to running and cycling. I might even be able to do a long ride on Saturday.”

      “What are you afraid of?”

      “I’m afraid of being the weakest link. I’m afraid of being the one everyone waits for. I’m afraid of explaining why I’m limping.”

      “Really, that bothers you when people ask why you’re limping?”

      “No. I appreciate people caring about me. But I don’t want to be answering that question for the next thirty-five years.”

      “What are you going to do next? Today?”

      “Well, besides the ibuprofen and ankle brace and all, I’ll spend most of the day sitting down. I want to give my ankle time to heal.”

      “You aren’t going to a doctor?”

      “Not yet. I don’t have a podiatrist anymore, so I don’t know where I’d go. And I won’t consider going to a doctor unless I see swelling or discoloration.”

      “I see you’ve thought a lot about this.”

      “I think a lot about everything. You, of all people, should know that.”

      “Do you think you’re immune to the aches and pains of aging?”

      “Is your name Bob? He always asked me that.”

      “Do you think you’re immune?”

      “Yes. And no. Yes, because being immune is always my default assumption. No, because I’ve learned of the past few years that I’m not immune to anything. I’m way more vulnerable than I’m comfortable with.”

      “Have you prayed about this?”

      “I was about to. Now I’m waiting for you to stop chattering in my head.”

      “Maybe you should have started with that, instead of waiting for me.”

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

Garage Door Blues

        It’s Tuesday and I’m sitting at my desk in my library, typing on my laptop, with the door to our garage standing open in case the gentleman doing all the work needs my help.

       I finally broke down and called Overhead Door to fix the big double door on my side of the garage. Yesterday, even my secret personal magic couldn’t make the door go down, and by the time I was finished, it was hanging crooked and disconnected from the chain track. I was so much at a loss of ideas I resorted to the last thing I wanted to do … ask someone else for help.

       I waited around all morning at home knowing he might arrive at any time. While waiting I replaced the taillight assembly on Cyndi’s car so I can get it inspected for her. That was more of a project than I expected. It eventually required pulling loose the interior cover of the hatchback. This made me nervous. Pulling it loose was easy. Pulling things loose is almost always the easiest part. Putting it back so that it stays in place from now on even when your wife is driving on a bumpy road or loading treasures in Canton and she isn’t embarrassed when it all falls off is the hardest part.

       So far, I got everything back in place, no extraneous parts, and nothing has fallen off. Of course, I haven’t moved the car yet.

       When the Hector the garage door repairman drove up, the very first thing he noticed – I should say, the very first THINGS he noticed – were all my previous repairs to both doors. It didn’t take him long to understand the improvisatory nature of my work and, I have to say, to my regret, he wasn’t impressed with any of it. None of it.

       The first thing he did was replace all my work with correct pieces and attached them properly. I’m glad Cyndi wasn’t here to witness my disappointment, after the bragging I’ve done through the years showing her my ad hoc repairs and boasting about all the money I’d saved. Hector had them off the doors and new parts back on in only minutes.

       Of course, in my defense, he had an entire truck loaded with correct parts and correct screws and proper glue, not to mention the fact he knew what he was doing and had done all of it many times before. So, he definitely had the advantage over me. I should have invited him inside to work on a spreadsheet or two, or maybe type an essay, or how about this, play some jazz licks on my trombone. Who’d be the boss then, huh? Me, that’s who.

       Well, the thing is, I know that when Hector drives away both doors will work better, and Cyndi (and I) will be happier than ever. I expect our neighbors will be happier, too, since they won’t have to wait behind me in the alley while I try four or five times to lower the door.

       I keep waiting for the day to arrive when all my stuff stays together. I hate constant maintenance, fiddling, or adjusting. I want to put in the effort to make something I like and then know it will stay that way from now on. But instead, the lawn wants to be mowed again (that one, I’ve taken care of), the sprinkler heads want to pop off and blow water into the street, the air conditioner filters want to be changed again, the room wants to be painted again, the clothes want to be washed again, my bicycle tire needs air again … there is no end to it all.

       Sort of like me. I keep waiting for the day to arrive when I know the right thing to do every time, when I treat people the best and most loving way possible, when my calendar comes together and stays together week after week, when, all my joints settle into their present pains and don’t introduce new ones, when all writing is easy and all lessons a joy to learn and study and teach.

       I don’t know how old I have to live for all those dreams to come true, but I know my dad was eighty-eight when he died and none of those things were true for him. Apparently, constant maintenance is the way of the world. From now on.

       There is good news, however. As my friend David reminded me this morning over coffee, Philippians 1:6 says, “being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (NIV). That means it isn’t all up to me. I don’t have to improvise and fake my way through life with wrong parts and marginal techniques. I have help from the maker of all things, and his desire is to finish his work in me.

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

Living a Monk's Life?

This is an excerpt from my latest book, Practicing Faith

       I’ve wondered if I would enjoy the monastic life. Being alone and spending my days reading and studying, writing and praying, sounds pretty good to me. The idea of unlimited time to develop my thoughts and work through ideas is very attractive.

       But real monks don’t seem to spend that much time reading, writing, and studying. If that was all they do, they would starve to death within a few weeks. Monks spend most of their time working, just like everyone else. Everyone has to earn a living. Most accounts of monastic life tell of hard labor and hot work in the fields or the kitchen all day, every day - and of rising at 4:00 a.m. for morning prayer - and of meeting for worship five or six times daily. Monks may be isolated from the outside world, but they hardly live in solitude. A monastery is a tight community of people living their whole lives close to each other.

       That isn’t what I wanted. A monk’s life didn’t seem to leave much room for expression or individuality, and I would have a problem with that. And besides, wives aren’t allowed in monasteries, and I would be miserable without Cyndi. The whole celibate thing trumped all the benefits, if you ask me.

       But the idea of holing up by myself had always sounded good.

       One Thursday morning I found myself sitting on a big rock perched on the lip of a box canyon in the badlands southwest of Iraan, Texas. I was under a tree, in the shade, watching for rattlesnakes and waiting for a wireline truck to finish running the perforating guns into the casing of a gas well I was working on. A cool breeze was blowing, and I was writing in my journal. It was so quiet and peaceful and stimulating to be sitting there by myself, I wondered if I could be happy living as a hermit in the back of one of these canyons. That is, if I had an ample supply of food, water, shade, books, and of course, running shoes.

       Louis L’Amour wrote, in his autobiography Education of a Wandering Man, about a time when he was hired to guard a mine that lay in a basin at the end of thirty-odd miles of winding, one-lane dirt road in remote southern California. There was a concrete bunkhouse to live in. L’Amour’s boss dropped him off in front of the bunkhouse and drove away, leaving Louis all by himself. He wrote, “It was not Walden Pond. There was no water here except what came from a well. There were no forests. There wasn’t a tree within miles.” But there were boxes of books left by the previous occupant, and Louis L’Amour devoured them. He said the loneliness never affected him because he was so busy reading.

       Well, that sounded a lot better than being a monk: minimal obligations, plenty to eat and drink, unlimited time to read, and time to go for a long run every day. I wouldn’t even have to fight for survival, like Tom Hanks in the movie Cast Away, and I wouldn’t have been without books or paper. I could really be alone, thinking and reading.

       But as I sat on that rock and contemplated the uninhabited canyon in front of me, I knew I wouldn’t be happy living that way for long. Besides the fact that I couldn’t be happy without Cyndi, I realized I was never totally happy learning and studying and analyzing unless I had an opportunity to share what I’d learned. It wasn’t enough to do something; I wanted to tell my stories afterward. Somehow the sharing was part of the learning process, as if I wouldn’t have room to learn more unless I passed along what I already knew.

       So, while I dreamed of a hermit’s life of solitude, I knew it was a mythical, idealistic image I’d created. Sure, I could live alone—but I didn’t want to live alone. I couldn’t imagine a life without Cyndi, and I couldn’t imagine learning anything new and different and not having someone to share it with. What a waste that would be. It was in the sharing that I really learned what I knew, and it was the opportunity to share that made me want to learn more. That was the source of my joy in teaching—the chance to give away what I’d learned. It couldn’t be done living alone in the desert.

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

Hearing God in the Drive-Thru Lane

      I was in the drive-thru lane at Rosa’s on Andrews Highway a couple of days ago and, I don’t know what I was listening to that prompted this but, I started praying while I waited.

      “Lord help me through this transition stage of mostly unemployment but sort of being retired, until I land with enough work to keep me active and busy. I can envision an ideal solution and I’m asking you to make it happen. Prepare my heart and mind for the future by giving me peace, contentment, and patience.”

      And then, as I made the hard 90* turn to the left continuing toward the ordering station, I considered that, maybe, probably, what I call transition isn’t transitory at all, but is here to stay for a while. In the past, when I’ve told myself I’m in a temporary situation waiting for the next step, often I discover what I considered temporary was God’s answer all along. He wasn’t waiting for my perfect scenario or for all the details to fall into place. He was actively engaged and had me where he needed me.

      The problem of transitions is I’m seldom fully invested in projects and chores. I’m always holding back. There is a cost to living that way. I miss the present because I’m looking to the future.

      Later, when I told Cyndi about this, she reminded me what Legolas said to Gimli in The Return of the King, “Do not spoil the wonder with haste!” In other words, don’t race through the present on your way to the future. Leave space for wonder.

      As I turned in my order – two #12s beef and a large Diet Coke – I remembered something I’d noticed recently while reading my Daily Bible. In Jeremiah 29 God told the Jews to settle into their captivity in Babylon, to make a home and plant food and accept the bad situation. Settle in; you’ll be here for a while.

      And then, only ten pages later, in Jeremiah 51, God warned them not to remain in Babylon, but be prepared to move on. Pack up; it’s time to move on.

      In my reading plan, the two seemingly mixed messages were only three pages apart. In real time they were separated by seventy years.

      I thought – what if the present, which feels unstable and unsettling to me, is not transitive, but where God wants me. What if this is it for now, whether three days or seventy years, so settle in, and also prepare to move on?

      I was so moved by my mental journey I pulled into a parking place so I could scribble notes on a yellow sticky pad. I considered going inside the restaurant to tell Rosa’s they should put up a sign saying, Listen to God speak while in the drive-thru line, but decided against it. It was noon and they were too busy to listen to my advice.

*  *  *  *  *

      P.S. Here’s the thing. It’s easy to tell stories about the drive-thru lane and write about what I learn from Jeremiah; it’s harder to do something about it. If I intend to take this present transition, season, interval, or maybe the rest of life, seriously, then I need a plan.

      The first two things I thought of were very practical: (1) finish putting away my boxes of office stuff and make a workspace upstairs, stop waiting until I get busy enough that I need to do it; and (2) finish the painting we never got around to because we were too busy stumbling through 2020.

      That’s a good start.

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

Makes Me Want to Slow Down

      Monday was a surprisingly relaxing day even though Cyndi and I spent it, essentially stranded, in Houston.

      It started the day before when we were trying to return from a family beach vacation in Florida but got ambushed by tropical storm Fred. I say ambushed, even though we knew for several days the storm was approaching. But being from West Texas we tend to disregard weather interruptions of our plans since storms typically dissipate before we make changes. Not this time. Not in Florida.

      Our first delay was in Panama City when our flight to Houston was delayed two hours. First because of weather in Florida, later because of weather in Houston. By the time we finally left Florida we knew we had (1) missed our flight to Midland, then (2) learned the flight had been canceled.

      It wasn’t a big upset until we discovered that, no, we couldn’t catch the sunrise flight home, but our only option was 6:50 pm. Cyndi lost color in her face and said, “I’m in trouble.” She immediately started working her Monday schedule in her mind, counting the number of substitute teachers she would need and the private sessions she’d cancel. The sweet Southwest Airlines gate attendant in Houston rebooked our flight to Midland (there were only four seats remaining for Monday). She told us to grab our suitcases at baggage claim.

      I mingled with several hundred other stranded and delayed passengers in baggage claim for an hour while Cyndi filled her classes. The entire crowd was frustrated and tired. Then, as it turns out, we learned we’d been misinformed about our suitcases; they were being held back and would be put on the first available plane to Midland.

      So, we shuttled to a hotel and settled into our room, which went quickly since we had no luggage.

 *  *  *  *  *

You make want to slow down
Baby, make it easy
I'll take the long way around
Just as long as you're with me
In a city full of neon burnin' too bright
Baby, you're my yellow light
You make me want to slow down

(Slow Down, by Caillat, Young, Reeves, Joy, and Kenney.)

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      We both woke up about 7:00 am Monday morning, pondering how to spend the next twelve hours until our flight home. Thanks to the Around Me ap we discovered a Whataburger within walking distance, our closest choice for spending time. We grabbed our books and iPad and walked the two miles, arriving hot and sweaty but happy to be somewhere else, ate our taquito and pancake breakfast, absorbed the air conditioning, and did a bit of work (scheduling, reading, web maintenance, writing, that sort of thing). Cyndi and I have had study dates at fast food restaurants frequently during our forty-two years together, so we have learned to not only redeem the time, but to enjoy it.

      After about an hour we walked back to the hotel and showered (it was August in Houston, after all). I tried using a hair dryer to dry out my only clothes with limited results; they were still damp when we shuttled back to Hobby.

      Well, it was 1:00 pm when we cleared TSA. We found a table near an electrical outlet in the food court and set up office. And there, in that place, we spent the next five hours – again, reading and writing and computing and watching yoga videos and taking notes and occasionally walking around to exercise or find food. It was a surprisingly relaxing day. We knew it was impossible to get home any sooner so why worry about it. Some of our best moments as a couple, our most repeated stories, come from being stranded somewhere.

      Granted, it would have been a different story if we’d had young children with us. Or if we weren’t prepared with projects to work on. Or if we hadn’t discovered a perfect location to set up camp. But, instead, it was a good day.

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

Oh, How The Years Go By

       Cyndi and I married on July 28, 1979, so this summer is our 42nd anniversary. A few years ago, I realized one way to celebrate our anniversary was to spread love around. We feel fortunate and blessed to have each other, and we want to share that with people close to us.

       So, in 2007 I started giving away love songs. I searched my archives and the internet and found twenty songs I wanted to share - twenty because that’s how many fit on a CD. I burned a stack of CDs and started handing them out.

       And so now, I’m doing it again. This is my 15th collection to give away, but my second to give away as a playlist rather than actual CDs. This playlist is on Spotify – I will burn a physical CD for anyone who wants one, but as Cyndi reminds me, most people don’t have easy access to CD players like they did when I started in 2007. She’s right. Neither do I.

       The move from CDs to playlist was surprisingly difficult for me. Sharing a playlist instead of a CD is like giving an elbow bump instead of a handshake; it might be better and more in keeping with the times, but much less satisfying. Burning CDs was time-consuming but giving them away made my happy. It reminded me of giving away mixed tapes back in the 1970s.

       I’m sorry. One of my life goals to not become that Cranky Old Guy who goes on and on about the past. And here I am, doing it.

       Bummer. I’ll stop complaining.

       The only way to stay together in love for forty-two years is to constantly adapt to changes, and moving from CD to playlist is a tiny change compared to our lives these past months. At least when you listen to one of these songs on Spotify, the artists will receive a few pennies. I can be happy about that.

       Falling in love often feels like an accident, but staying in love is a learned response, a spiritual practice. If listening to love songs reminds us how to be in love, shouldn’t we all listen more often?

       I expect there will be many more of these since I intend to stay with Cyndi for a long time. If you have suggestions for future lists, please send them to me. In the meantime, play these and dance with the one you love.

       To find my playlists (I have them all, back to 2007), follow this link to Spotify, or this link to my webpage.

1. Anticipatin’, The Explorers Club, 2012. These young men must have listened to their parent’s Grass Roots albums when growing up, because they have the same vibe. It makes me smile.

2. Wouldn’t It Be Nice, Trousdale, 2020 (This is a sweet version of the 1966 hit by The Beach Boys.) “Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up in the morning when the day is new? And after having spent the day together hold each other close the whole night through.” Yeah, it is nice. Looking forward to more of this.

3. Faster, Matt Nathanson, 2011. Mrs. Simpson, “You make my heart beat faster.”

4. Anyone At All, Carole King, 1998, from the movie, You’ve Got Mail. Sometimes it feels inevitable that we ended up together married, but most of the time when I tell my story it feels fragile and improvisational. “You could have been anyone at all, A net that catches me when I fall, I'm so glad it was you”

5. Can’t Help Falling in Love, MountainCity, 2016 (Originally by Elvis Presley, 1961). It is a gift from God that even after 42 years together I still can’t help falling in love with you.

6. If I Love You, Gabe Dixon, 2016. “If I love you will you love me, too?”

7. Look For The Good, Jason Mraz, 2020. I know this isn’t precisely a love song, but the biggest part of love is looking for the good in each other, giving benefit of the doubt, always assuming good intentions. “Look for the good in everything, Look for the people who will set your soul free.”

8. Oh How The Years Go By, Amy Grant, 1994. Forty-two years have gone by amazingly fast, but it makes me happy that we’ve shared them with each other. I’m looking forward to the next forty-two. “And when the storms came through, they found me and you back-to-back together.”

9. Could It Be I’m Falling in Love, The Spinners, 1973. This song was recorded three years before I started falling in love with Cyndi. It must have had an impact on me. “You've made me such a happy boy.”

10. Slow Down, Gone West, 2020. Sometimes you make my heart beat faster, as in song #3, but other times you slow me down. “Just a minute layin' next to you and time stands still; You make want to slow down.”

11. Stuck On You, Meiko, 2012. “You are the one, I could see having fun with.”

12. Til I’m Ninety Nine, Nathan Angelo, 2013. I have thirty-four more years until I’m ninety nine. “When I'm deaf / and you're going blind; And when we're buying teeth to help us smile; Even if I lose my mind; I'll love you / I'm gonna love you til I'm ninety nine.”

13. Whatever It Is, Zac Brown Band, 2011. “She got a gentle way that puts me at ease; When she walks in the room I can hardly breathe; Got a devastatin' smile knock a grown man to his knees.” Yes ma’am, that’s correct.

14. Wherever You Are, Kodaline, 2020. “Wherever you are; That's where I'll be.”

15. You’re Still the One, Ben Rector, 2018 (originally by Shania Twain, 1998). “You're still the one I run to; The one that I belong to; You're still the one I want for life. You're still the one that I love; The only one I dream of; You're still the one I kiss good night. You're still the one.”

16. Your Smiling Face, James Taylor, 1977. “Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, Because I love you, yes, I do … No one can tell me that I'm doing wrong today, whenever I see you smile at me.”

17. Loving You, Loving Me, Dave Barnes, 2018. “What I say out loud is only half of what's in my head; Tonight, I'd rather look at you instead; And I can't get enough of you.”

18. Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You, Jadon Lavik, 2017. “And I can’t take my eyes off of you.” Yep.

19. Meant to Be, JJ Heller, 2015. This is a song about inevitability, the flipside of song #4. “When God made you, He already knew, That we were meant to be; With love as deep, As the big blue sea, We were meant to be.”

20. Dance with Me Tonight, Hugh Grant, 2007. This is from one of Cyndi’s cookie decorating movies, Music and Lyrics. I’ll admit the lyrics aren’t the cleverest, but the song makes us want to get up and dance.

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

Baptism

      I was in a church committee meeting recently when Doug told everyone it was the anniversary of his conversion and baptism, his spiritual birthday. Several others in the room quickly rattled off the date of their own, and it was a fun exchange among people who’ve been following Jesus for many years.

      Except, I had nothing to share. I know that I was seven years old when I made a decision and was baptized, but I never knew the date. I don’t remember anyone in my family talking about a specific date. We had stacks of Bibles around our house but not one of those giant family Bibles full of recorded births, conversions, and deaths. As I heard my fellow committee members call out their dates, I wondered why I didn’t know my own.

      I’m actually a great chronicler of events and important dates. This may come as a surprise to you, but I have a spreadsheet titled Family Timeline where I list events by date. I use it to track backpacking trips, music events, Guadalupe Peak ascents, Iron Men retreats, births of granddaughters, and all that.

      So why don’t I know the actual date for my baptism?

      Not because I wasn’t sure about it, or unconvinced that it really happened, or that the experience might not have been genuine. I come from a tribe of highly observant Baptists. We attended church twice on Sunday (even on vacation) and once on Wednesday, along with a wide assortment of regional and associational meetings – even weeklong revivals. My mom was the church secretary, so I spent days with her at the church entertaining myself. Our family was littered with preachers, deacons, worship leaders, WMU leaders, RA and GA camp directors, so things like baptism of the oldest grandchild, which I was, were not taken lightly. I’ll admit being seven years old means I didn’t go through much of a life change but being baptized still mattered a great deal to me.

      I’ve been a member of a Baptist Sunday School since I was born. Well, almost. There may’ve been a day between birth and membership. My dad enrolled me in the Cradle Roll Class of East Fourth Baptist Church (I think – my memory wasn’t that solid as a newborn) while I was still in the newborn wing of Malone Hogan Hospital in Big Spring, Texas. With that early start there has never been a time in my life when I was not a believer, not an observer, not a follower. It took me several years, decades, to convert that family faith to my own personal faith, but it’s one of the deepest roots of my story. I suppose the fact I didn’t have a life-changing experience might account for not knowing the date.

      I do remember this: my father, who was the worship leader at Grace Temple Baptist Church in Kermit, Texas, our home church during most of the 1960s, asked me how I wanted the service to go. I chose to be baptized by Rev. Harold Scarbrough, pastor at Grace Temple, following a sermon from my grandfather, Rev. Roy Haynes, pastor of First Baptist Church in Ira, Texas.

Grace Temple as it appeared in the 1960s

      After the church committee meeting, I was curious about my own history, so I looked up Grace Temple Baptist Church and sent an inquiry. I knew there would be records buried in a dusty archive somewhere, and while I didn’t expect a quick answer, I knew the right person would find the records. And then, sure enough, Wednesday night, two nights after my inquiry, at my poolside birthday party dinner, a friend and current member of GTBC, Deonna Hardaway, told me her friend at church got the message and she was working on it.

      The next morning Deonna wrote to me with the date, January 19, 1964. She said a copy from the handwritten ledger book would follow.

      How cool is that? Digging out fifty-seven-year-old data in three days. My thanks to Anita at Grace Temple.

*   *   *   *   *

      Because of an exercise I do with other men, called Journey Group, I tell my life story often. It usually takes about an hour-and-a-half, so it includes a lot of details. It’s become more important to me as I get older to remember those long threads that run through my life, especially the ones that go all the way back to the beginning. It feels deep, permanent, and significant.

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