Getting Better Soon

       The question I hear most often nowadays is this: “How much longer will you be using that knee scooter?”

       My standard answer: “My next doctor visit is September 8th. I hope he releases me to walk during that visit.”

       I had surgery on my left foot and ankle eight-and-a-half weeks ago. It has a handful of screws in it (they look like giant lag bolts to me) and two new tendons. I’ve been non-weight-bearing since the surgery, thus, the knee scooter. Now, after eight weeks of scooting, my right leg looks like Popeye’s and my left leg looks like Olive Oyl’s.

       It reminded me of a long recuperation I had back in the summer of 2013, after a bike accident where I skidded out on a righthand turn and crashed to the asphalt on my right hip. I goofed around for several weeks self-treating myself, until it blew up one morning at Gold’s Gym. My doctor set me up the following Monday with the Wound Management Department at the hospital.

       I was nervous about going to Wound Management. Friends used words like wire brushes and fiery antiseptics when they told their own stories.

       As it turned out I was wrong about all that. They were very efficient and reassuring. They didn’t hurt me at all. We all joked about what I’d done to myself, and they showed me how to clean and bandage my wounded hip every morning.

*  *  *  *  *

Gracious words are a honeycomb,
sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.
(Proverbs 16:24 NIV)

*  *  *  *  *

       The day after my first visit I posted on Twitter: “Wondering if my Monday visit to Wound Management Dept. at the hospital was a mistake. Should’ve held out for Wound Healing Dept.” Wound Management didn’t seem specific enough. I didn’t want to just manage the problem, I wanted to get better.

       And that turned out to be a big deal. The doctor and nurses and technicians in Wound Management told me how important it was for a patient to want to get better. Most of their patients were there because of the effects of diabetes, and they were not going to get better. All they could hope for was no amputations.

       I started noticing the other patients in the waiting room, and realized most of them, at least physically, were as healthy as they would ever be. And I was complaining about a few-weeks delay in my cycling habit. My self-pity changed to gratitude that morning, and I think my rate of healing improved as well.

       I noticed the same phenomenon during my August 22nd post-op visit for my foot. Most of the people in the waiting room were not going to get much better. Their physical state was as good as it was going to be. But I expected to be hiking, cycling, walking, working out, and playing with granddaughters in a few months. My heart must be patient and full of gratitude. I will get better soon.

*  *  *  *  *

Light in a messenger’s eyes
brings joy to the heart,
and good news gives health to the bones.
(Proverbs 15:30 NIV)

*  *  *  *  *

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

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Practicing Faith: Heritage

This is an excerpt from my book,
Practicing Faith.

*  *  *  *  *

       I was sitting on the back porch at a guest house in Angel Fire, New Mexico, reading from my Daily Bible in Isaiah 51:1:

       “Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness and who seek the Lord: Look to the rock from which you were cut and to the quarry from which you were hewn.”

       It’s one of my favorite things about reading through the same version of The Daily Bible year after year: passages come at me at the same time of the year and at similar events in my life. Some passages that I might not notice otherwise take on special significance because of the particular day I read them.

       I have these notes written in the margin of my Bible, each from a different era of my life:

*  *  *  *  *

I was cut from a quarry of Baptist preachers
I am a piece that was cut, that was hewn

*  *  *  *  *

As I get older, I want to be the rock itself, the quarry

*  *  *  *  *

Maybe I’d rather be the stonecutter.

*  *  *  *  *

       For several years I’ve read the very same verses in Isaiah just prior to attending our family reunion.

       I liked this notion of “the rock from which you were cut.” Isaiah went on to point out Abraham and Sarah, so we know he was referring to people—to ancestors, predecessors, parents and grandparents—when he wrote about “the rock.” He reminded those of us who seek the Lord to draw strength from our family.

       Sitting in a room with 130-plus members of a family, it is fairly easy to pick out those who married in (like me) and those who are part of the family gene pool. No one can escape the power of genetics or the influence of their raising. I’m sure we’d all like to think we’re self-made and independent, but we can’t deny the “quarry from which we were hewn.” It’s written in our faces and our actions.

       One thing about quarries: they are seldom homogeneous rock. There are always variations and fractures. Blocks of stone cut from the same quarry are never absolutely identical. They are all a little different.

       And so it is with a family quarry. We are not a homogeneous band. We may be alike, but we are also different, with many variations and shades and fractures. We unwittingly pass along some variations or impurities we wish would remain hidden, and we propagate fractures we wish would heal.

       At family reunions you often hear the phrase “He’s a chip off the old block” to describe how appearance and character are passed down. But I’ve never heard anyone use it about themselves, as in, “I’m a chip off the old block.” Maybe we like ourselves, and maybe we are proud of our lineage, but I doubt anyone wants to be a chip off of anything. We want to be ourselves, not someone else’s chip.

       However, unlike a block of cut stone, we humans can be choosy about whom we emulate. We can take steps to avoid the fractures. We can be picky about whom we admire. We can choose which blocks to be a chip off of.

       A few years ago, when I helped my grandmother write her autobiography and family history, I was reminded how many Baptist preachers, deacons, church officers, and women’s leaders are in my lineage. There is a rich vein of grace and strength that runs through my DNA, and I feel the blessing, even the obligation, that comes with that. It is my provenance, and I hope to live up to it. I want to be a quality rock, a source rock, a rich vein, a deep, long-lasting quarry.

       I wrote this in my journal: “I have been blessed because of the faithfulness of my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents. I hope my children are blessed because of my faithfulness. Thank You, Lord, for the strength You have put into my life.”

*  *  *  *  *

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

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Never Ending Song of Love

      Cyndi and I married on July 28, 1979, so this summer is our 43rd anniversary. A few years ago I realized one way to celebrate was to spread love around, give love away. We feel fortunate and blessed to have each other, and we want to share that with people close to us.

      Falling in love often feels like an accident, but staying in love is a learned response, maybe even a spiritual practice. Staying in love is an act of the will, intentional and specific. We all must find our own methods and practices to keep love fresh and alive.

      One of my practices is listening to love songs. I’m drawn to love songs on the assumption that they were all written about Cyndi and me. I don’t always agree with every lyric, or even the motivation of the composer or performer; I just want to enjoy the song and appreciate the fact they wrote it just for us.

      Music is a deep root for Cyndi and me. We first met in a high school band hall in 1973 in Hobbs, NM; we rediscovered each other and started falling in love at a NTSU One O’clock Jazz Band concert featuring Bill Watrous, in Denton, TX, in 1976. We’ve been playing music together ever since. It’s impossible for us to separate love from music.

      A few years ago (2007 to be exact) I started collecting love songs into playlists and giving them away. This is my 16th list. To find my playlists (I have them all, back to 2007), follow this link to Spotify, or this link to my webpage. It will make me happy if you listen to them, and let me know which are your favorites.

 Love Songs 2022

Good Lovin', The Young Rascals, 1966 … Every time I watch the movie, Joe vs. The Volcano, which is often, I wonder why I never included this song in one of my lists. Well, no longer – here it is!

How Do I Love Her, Steven Curtis Chapman, 2003 … Surprisingly, even after 43 years of marriage and at least 45 years of being in love, I still ask this question.

Just the Two of Us, Grover Washington & Bill Withers, 1981 … Just the two of us, we can make it if we try, just the two of us, building castles in the sky, just the two of us, you and I

Good Day for Marrying You, Dave Barnes, 2015 … It's good day, it's about to get better, every dream is about to come true, no reason to wait, we got the weather, we just need our "do's"

The Minute I Heard of Love, Jason Mraz, 2020 … No matter where I find myself, I find myself looking for you, yes I do

This Guy's In Love With You, Herb Alpert, 1968 … I’ve liked this song for a long time – I suppose since I first heard it in 1968

I Came to Love You, Alexander Rybak, 2016 … But then I see your smile, and suddenly I feel stronger, I feel proud, that's when I man up, and girl, there's a thing I gotta say out loud, you got my heart

How Sweet It Is, Stephen Day & Scott Mulvahill, 2019 … a nice version of a classic love song by James Taylor

Grazing In The Grass, Hugh Masekela, 1968 … I reengaged with this song while watching the excellent documentary: Summer of Soul. I know it isn’t technically a love song, but it makes me smile whenever I hear it, and that’s close enough

Just You 'N' Me, Chicago, 1973 … It’s possible I fell in love more than once while listening to this song.

For Sentimental Reasons, Glenn Fry, 2012 … a great song and a great singer.

I Can't Believe That You're in Love With Me, Dean Martin, 1960 … I look for a Dean Martin song every year, in honor of my friend Rabon Bewley.

Everything To Me, Mark Wilkinson, 2015 … Every time you smile, you take me on a ride, to where I want to be, because you're everything, everything to me

Never Ending Song of Love, Delaney & Bonnie, 1971 … Cyndi went backpacking last May and was surprised to learn the other couples on the hike didn’t sing to each other on the trail. We’ve been singing this song to each other, especially on ski slopes, for 43 years.

Fever, A Fine Frenzy (Alison Sudol), 2007 … from the soundtrack to the movie, Dan in Real Life

A Wink and a Smile, Harry Connick, Jr., 1993 … from the soundtrack to the movie, Sleepless in Seattle

Keep On Lovin' You, Steel Magnolia, 2009 … I’m gonna keep on, keep on, keep on loving you

Forever Like That, Ben Rector, 2013 … Well, I'll be your shade tree in summer, if you'll be my fire when it's cold, and whatever the season, well, we'll keep on breathing, 'cause we'll have each other to hold

You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To, Ella Fitzgerald, 1964 … Cyndi used this in a school project when studying music education at Texas Tech. We’ve liked it every since then.

Do Friends Fall in Love?, Rachael & Vilray, 2019 … I love the harmonies and laid back feel of this … reminds me of Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks.

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

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Practicing Faith: Staying Under the Radar

This is an excerpt from my book, Practicing Faith.

  “What are you doing early Thursday morning?” asked my dad. “Are you busy?”

“I’m teaching my Iron Men class at church. It’s our first session of 2016, and we meet at 6:30 a.m.”

“OK. I guess you’re busy.”

“Why are you asking?”

“I need a ride to the hospital at 6:00 a.m.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I’m having surgery on my carotid artery. You know—the one they’ve all been worrying about because of my high blood pressure. They’re going to do a Roto-Rooter on it.”

“You asked if I was busy before telling me you’re having surgery? Don’t you have that backwards?”

“Well, maybe.”

We had this conversation on our way to Saturday lunch at Rosa’s with Cyndi. Over our enchiladas we worked out a satisfactory plan where Cyndi would drive Dad to the hospital at 6:00, and I would come as soon as I was finished with my class.

I asked, “Have you told your Sunday school class you are having surgery next week?”

“No, I don’t want to be one of those people who have something wrong with them every week.”

“Have you mentioned anything before now?”

“Well, no.”

“I think you’re safe. But you’re going to get into trouble if you don’t mention it. They want to take care of you because they love you. That’s the job of Sunday school classes, to take care of each other.”

“OK.”

It’s our family’s way to fly low under the radar, to not complain, to keep our problems to ourselves. Not because we are especially tough or because we are martyrs—we just don’t want to be a lot of trouble. And we don’t need much attention to feel accepted and loved.

I had to learn how to let other people take care of me. It took a deliberate change in my thinking to allow people to serve me. It didn’t come naturally. I thought, as a leader and a teacher, that serving was my job. I was uncomfortable on the other side of service.

Even after knee replacement surgeries in 2015, I tried doing everything myself before asking Cyndi for help. I don’t think it was because I was so stubborn; it simply didn’t occur to me that I shouldn’t try it myself first. After all, how else would I learn my own limits?

Cyndi and I both have had to learn to let other people help us. Allowing other people to serve us is a significant part of leadership, a step forward in spiritual maturity. We’ve had to stand down and relax, and it hasn’t been easy.

A few years back, I was on a Guadalupe Mountains backpacking trip with my friend David Nobles. It was the first day of the trip, and we were carrying our heavy packs up Tejas Trail, which is four miles long and climbs 3,000 feet in elevation. For some reason, I started falling apart about halfway up, getting short-winded, faint, and sick to my stomach. I was taking way too many long rest breaks. So, David hustled up to the top of the ridge, dropped his pack on the ground, then came back to help me carry mine. I had done the same for other men on several occasions, but I’d never needed that sort of help myself. It would have been embarrassing if I hadn’t been so grateful.

Here’s the thing: If all we do in life is carry for others and never allow them to carry for us, that really isn’t relationship. If all we do is give and never receive, we must wonder about our motives. Are we truly serving the needs of others or feeding the needs of our own ego? We must be willing to receive if we expect to know the grace of God. Only empty-handed people can understand grace. Only vulnerable leaders can understand grace.

So, Thursday morning I visited my dad about an hour after his surgery, when he was just coming around from the anesthesia. A nurse followed me into the room and said, “Mr. Simpson, I need to take a blood sample.”

“You’ll have to ask the last nurse who was in here. She got the last of my blood.”

That’s another family trait I learned from my dad—there is always a joke.

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

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I Need Help

       Most of time, when I get into a bind, it’s because I don’t ask for help. I tend to take too long trying to fix things on my own - I want to try to do it myself first.

       I would rather stay up all night doing a project all by myself, than ask for help. I like to think it is because I want to maintain a high standard of excellence and I trust my own work.

       Does that mean I’m being a brave individual? Is it because I want to be easy to live with, or because I want to leave a small footprint in life? Maybe it’s because I inherited the family trait of not causing trouble for the people around me. Or... Is it about arrogance and pride?

       There are some advantages. When I do everything myself, I can compensate for my errors and no one else has to know. To let people help means opening my performance to their judgment. I would rather do all the work myself than be vulnerable to someone else’s scrutiny. I’m not comfortable with just anyone knowing what I can’t do.

       My core assumption about most things is that it’s all up to me and I just need to do better. Yet, my attempts to be self-sufficient and make myself more acceptable means I’m shutting myself off from love.

       If we deny we have needs, we can’t experience love. If we withhold our needs from others, we can’t receive the love they have for us.

       I wonder if that was the problem the Rich Young Ruler had when he walked away from Jesus? (Mark 10:17-31) I envision him holding a checkbook in one hand and a pen in the other hand while he waited for Jesus to give him an assignment.

       I think the young man had unlimited generosity and capacity to do good things with his life, and I’m sure he was sincere and would’ve done anything Jesus asked. Except, when Jesus asked him to give away all his wealth and simply follow, the man couldn’t do it. I always thought it was because he was afraid to give up his money and influence, but now I wonder if his hesitancy was about needs. Until the man understood how needy he was, he couldn’t receive love in return.

       Brennan Manning wrote about the man who is all exhaust and no intake. That’s what happens when we depend only on our own efforts. Being afraid to ask for help means we’re depending entirely on ourselves.

       The reason I’m writing about this is because I recently had foot/ankle surgery, and I’ve been restricted to using only my right foot for the past month (and probably for the next month or two). My mobility is restricted to crutches or a knee scooter. As it turns out, I need help from everyone.

       It isn’t my first time in this predicament. I’ve been limited to one leg before, ten years ago, and I remember how often I was scolded for not asking for help (well, scolded is too strong, let’s say admonished). I kept trying over and over to do everything myself, whatever it was, before asking for help.

       I liked it when someone helped me, and I didn’t want to scare anyone away, but neither did I want to be known as the I-always-need-help-guy. I didn’t want asking for help to become my default option. At least, that’s what I told myself.

       This time, before my surgery, I made a personal commitment – always say yes whenever help is offered. If I can do that, maybe the next step – asking for help – won’t be far behind.

       So I won’t get angry if you offer to help me. I appreciate the attention. And the longer I’m on one foot the more comfortable I get asking for help and getting help. Part of spiritual leadership means letting other people take care of me; if I always must be in charge, if I always must be the one who does stuff, I’m not living in grace and vulnerability.

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

Changes Ahead

       Cyndi and I decided to try out a new taco restaurant for Sunday lunch; it seemed reasonable enough since the line wasn’t out the door, a common occurrence in Midland whenever a new place opens.

       I was on my knee scooter – the result of recent ankle surgery – so I found a table and set up camp while Cyndi jumped into the long line to order our tacos. I felt a little guilty sitting at a table, without any food, all by myself, for twenty minutes, but not enough guilty to give the table away and risk standing on one foot for another twenty minutes.

       When Cyndi finally sat down with a tray of chips and queso, we talked about how we’ve traded back and forth through the years – one of us sits because we are exhausted or injured while the other gets food, or the one gets food while the other sits with their dad or mom who shouldn’t be sitting alone. We’ve learned to take turns without keeping score.

       I wondered all the ways our relationship has changed – matured – through the years into something we never imagined in 1979 when we got married. Back then I didn’t expect a lot of changes, mostly because I was simply happy to get who I was getting. I couldn’t imagine anything improving after that.

*  *  *  *  *

       Spanish Jesuit Carlos Valles’ wrote in his book, Sketches of God, “If you always imagine God in the same way, no matter how true and how beautiful it may be, you will not be able to receive the gift of the new ways he has ready for you.”

       At first, I was a bit nervous when reading this, the idea that God will change, or at least my understanding and relationship to God will change. I kept remembering that God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow. But now I know that not only should I be OK with the changes, but I should also expect them if I want to grow into the new ways He has for me.

*  *  *  *  *

       Last Friday I read Isaiah 48:6, which says, “From now on I will tell you of new things, of hidden things unknown to you.” (NIV)

       In The Message, it says, “I have a lot more to tell you, things you never knew existed. This isn’t a variation on the same old thing. This is new, brand-new, something you’d never guess or dream up. When you hear this you won’t be able to say, ‘I knew that all along.’”

       I don’t expect God to show me any deep secrets or hidden codes or secret handshakes, but I want him to open my eyes to see his deep truths hidden in the events of everyday life.

       Or as Eugene Peterson writes, in the everydayness of life.

*  *  *  *  *

       One of the surprising changes in my life as I get older is that instead of resisting change I look forward to it. I don’t want to stay the same; I want to grow deeper, broader, less opinionated, and fuller of grace. And that only happens if I embrace changes in the everydayness of life.

       Joan Chittister, a Benedictine nun and author, wrote this about change: “Certainty comes at the price of both liberty and creativity. It nails my feet to the floor and calls it a success.”

*  *  *  *  *

       My friend and mentor, Rabon, introduced me a book titled, God, Improve, and the Art of Living, my Mary Ann McKibben Dana. She wrote, “Church taught me there was a plan for my life; my job was to decipher the plan and fulfill it. Improve taught me that there was no master plan or single truth. My job was to listen and discover whatever truth was unfolding onstage.”

       I want to be present and aware as my relationship with God, and my relationship with Cyndi, unfolds.

*  *  *  *  *

       As it turned out, whatever cheese they put on Cyndi’s taco was not what she had in mind. So I traded with her. I gave her my taco and she gave me hers. I won’t order the taco she got if we come to this restaurant again, I didn’t like it that much, but it didn’t put off my feed.

       I’m glad we had a new place to go. Sometimes we feel like nestling into the familiar, whether it’s our understanding of God, or our interactions with each other, or where we eat lunch, which usually means Rosa’s, which makes us happy every time. But we both look forward to our changing future and the surprises ahead of us. I wonder what hidden things God will tell us next.

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

Classic Vulnerability

      I’ll just go ahead and say this right up front. I’m not the man I used to be. I’m more and more like a 1956 classic car, full of modern replacement parts on the inside but showing all of 66 years on the outside. And I probably don’t need to point this out, but I will anyway, the replacement parts cost more than OEM parts. 

        My friends have taken to calling me the Six-Million Dollar Man. But I didn’t get motors in my knees and telephoto eyes. Should have spent the 6MM, I suppose. 

*  *  *  *  *

      At home, the day before we left, I told Cyndi, “You don’t need to hang around the hospital during the entire surgery. I’ll be fine on my own.”

      She said, “I don’t intend to. I’m planning to spend the day having fun with my granddaughters.”

      On Wednesday morning (June 22) the girls traveled with us from Mansfield to Dallas. We stopped to have breakfast at McDonald’s (I couldn’t eat, but they could) and they went upstairs with us to check me into the North Central Surgical Center. The administrators gave me a code number that Cyndi could use to check on progress and all that.

      Then Madden said, “Look, you’re on the board.” She pointed to a big tote board showing where each patient was in the sequence, and she recognized my code number.

      A nurse came to fetch me, so my three girls took off. They figured I could handle whatever came up.

*  *  *  *  *

      When all of this started building momentum back in May, I knew I wouldn’t be allowed to put weight on my left foot for several weeks, so I dug out my crutches. I was offered a knee scooter but I turned it down. They seemed too awkward.

      However, at the last minute I borrowed a scooter from my friend Darrell, and immediately changed my mind. It was great. I realized the knee scooter is one of the finest inventions of this generation. It’s right up there with portable GPS, fleece pullover sweaters, and seedless watermelons.

*  *  *  *  *

      My inaugural ride on the knee scooter was at Love Field in Dallas. Cyndi dropped me off at passenger departures with my scooter and backpack, and she circled around to return our rental car. I scooted inside, through TSA Pre-Check, and into the security pen.

      They asked if I could stand up without the scooter and go through the scanner, but I said, “No, my left foot must stay off the ground, and I can’t reliably hop that far.”

      So they pulled me over to one side for a personal pat-down. The young TSA agent thoroughly searched my backpack, my scooter, and me. The searcher must’ve been new to searching and pat-down protocol because he was excruciatingly deliberate and detailed. He even called a supervisor over to witness the whole thing.

      The process took so long Cyndi caught up to me and cleared security before I did. She returned our rental car, rode the shuttle bus to passenger departures, worked her way through the ticketing line so she could check bags, and still won the race.

*  *  *  *  *

      Cyndi has taken great care of me these days in spite of our family’s reputation for expecting everyone to get better on their own. And also, in spite of my reluctance to ask for help (also a family thing).

      Part of my recent growing up has been learning to embrace vulnerable moments, to let God speak to me through them, and let my own heart speak to others. We have the greatest opportunity to change the world when we are willing to be open and vulnerable.

*  *  *  *  *

      Thanks, Cyndi, for holding my hand through these vulnerable moments. I’m glad I don’t have to do all this without you.

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

A Surprising Reminder

       I thought I would write about my post-surgery checklist, my attempt to keep my days full so I wouldn’t descend in binge-watching Seinfeld all day on the couch. I have four main daily goals: workout, practice music, writing, and estate planning. But I have nothing to say about those.

       Before my foot/ankle surgery two weeks ago, when I made my list of goals, I assumed this slowed-down recovery time would be rich with insights and ideas. But the truth is, my journal is surprisingly thin lately. Most of what I’ve written is about mobility and medication and daily details. I anticipated more. I’d hoped to be more productive.

*  *  *  *  *

       Cyndi once shared a poem with me by Danna Faulds, titled Walk Slowly:

It only takes a reminder to breathe,
a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens, makes
space for imperfection. The harsh voice
of judgement drops to a whisper and I
remember again that life isn’t a relay
race; that we all will cross the finish
line; that waking up to life is what we
were born for. As many times as I 
forget, to catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I am going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk
slowly into the mystery.

       “It only takes a reminder to breathe, a moment to be still, and something in me settles.”

       Those are good words. They took me back to a morning in the Guadalupe Mountains, at the junction of Tejas and Juniper Trails, when I sat on a fallen log planning to spend some time writing in my journal, but instead, I simply sat still and breathed and listened for a half hour and allowed the sounds of the forest to soak into my heart.

       The significance of the moment surprised me. I’m so process-driven in most of my life I seldom stop and listen just to stop and listen. It turned out that “doing nothing” was important to this “doing stuff” guy.

        That trail junction became a thin spot for me. I stop and sit every time I hike past that fallen log.

*  *  *  *  *

       Cyndi and I have been listening to a daily devotion phone app that my friend Jeff Andrechyn introduced to us, called Lectio 365. It begins each morning session the same way: “As I enter prayer now, I pause to be still; to breathe slowly, to re-center my scattered senses upon the presence of God.”

       Good words: I pause to be still.

       So here is my challenge to myself for this summer: to listen and breathe, not try to force the insights or plan good writing.

       Sit and breathe and wait.

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

What Should a Real Man Do?

       OK, I’ll admit it. I fret for months over which book to use in my church’s Iron Men class. I’ll also admit that it matters less that I make it out – our conversations are more important that any book. Not only that, but it also shouldn’t be hard to pick a book since the questions haunting men are universal and consistent: Do I have what it takes? Can I pull this off? Will I be found out? Am I enough?

       Part of the problem is our cultural definition of what it means to be a real man. I found nearly 50 versions of the “50 Things A Real Man Should Be Able To Do” list, and they included things like:

       Throw a punch

       Chop down a tree

       Jump-start a car

       Change a flat tire

       Build a campfire

       Clean a paint brush

       Point toward north

       Avoid boredom

       Tie a bowline knot

       Change a diaper

       Calculate square footage

       … and on and on (a real man should know when to stop making lists!)

*  *  *

       Reading this week from 1 Chronicles 5:24, it says: “These were the heads of their families: Epher, Ishi, Eliel, Azriel, Jeremiah, Hodaviah and Jahdiel. They were brave warriors, famous men, and heads of their families.”

       These are prime qualities for real men - brave warriors, well-known and influential men of importance, leaders, responsible decision-makers. Yet the Bible goes on to say these manly men failed at the most important thing.

       Verse 25 says: “But they were unfaithful to the God of their ancestors and prostituted themselves to the gods of the peoples of the land, whom God had destroyed before them.”

       Because of their unfaithfulness God allowed an enemy nation (Assyria) to swoop in and defeat these men and carry them off as captives, spoils of war. Their families, friends, and neighbors all suffered because these men failed to be faithful to God. Even courage, fame, and influence weren’t enough. They were like the foolish man who built his house on the sand: they were swept away. In the final accounting, they did not have what it takes. They couldn’t pull off their single most important task.

       It’s too bad. Men who could’ve changed the world for good wasted their turn by being unfaithful to God. And not that they just drifted away from God, but they actively gave themselves over - “prostituted themselves” - to the gods of the world, even gods they knew had been defeated.

       It happens too many times. Good men in leadership positions, even influential spiritual leaders, twist off, start believing their own press clippings, and sell out completely to the god of this world. It’s tragic.

*  *  *

       So what things should a real man (or real woman, for that matter) be able to do? What should be at the top of the list?

       The Old Testament prophet, Isaiah, gave this insight to King Ahaz when he asked for advice: “If you do not stand firm in your faith, you will not stand at all.” (Isaiah 7:9) It is our faith that gives us strength, gives us depth, and density. A person who professes no faith has little to stand on when the troubles come.

       I once heard Erwin McManus challenge an arena full of Promise Keepers by saying: “The shape of your character is the shape of your future. Not skill, but character. Not influence, but faith.”

       And there is the main point – if you don’t stand firm in your faith, it matters very little what else you do. In fact, you won’t stand at all.

       Few people leave faith all at once, as an act of independence or defiance. More people simply drift away, a bit at a time, forgetting what matters, until one day it is gone, they are gone too far away to want to come back. In order for that NOT to happen we have to stay engaged. We have to be careful. We have to take care.

       McMannus says, “God does not reject the sinful. He rejects the arrogant.” Being arrogant is the opposite of this passage. It’s leaning on self and smarts and skill, not God. Arrogance was the sinful failure of those heads of families in 1 Chronicles 5:24.

*  *  *

       Here’s another story, from 2 Chronicles 20:12. King Jehoshaphat ended a long prayer for guidance with this phrase, “We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You.”

       He was a king who understood the limits of his own wisdom, courage, influence, and power, and knew to stand firm in his faith.

       And so, my prayer, “Lord - I am asking you again to speak to my heart about teaching and writing and books and engineering and music and family cash flow and publishing and marketing and loving Cyndi and taking guys into the mountains and all that. I don’t know what to do, but teach me to keep my eyes on You.

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

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends or buy my books. You can find more of my writing, and learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at http://berrysimpson.com.

Tool Chest

      Have I mentioned how much I love containers?

      For me, the well-used full container represents success and efficiency. An empty container represents hope for the future. I know when the right situation arises, I’ll have a place to put the parts. It is the same feeling I feel when I look at my empty pickup bed – when the need arises, I can help.

      I have boxes of boxes, boxes of bags, and whenever we visit the Container Store, it takes diligent disassociation for me to avoid buying even more. The only things to stop me, really, is the knowledge if I bought everything, I’d have no way to organize and store it all.

* * * * *

      It’s occurred to me that if you did a close inspection of my stuff, you might not agree with my love for organization and structure. My books often seem to be randomly distributed on the shelves. My projects are piled on my desk. Even worse, and most embarrassing, my wrenches and sockets are loosely gathered in a toolbox. Anytime I need one I must dig through and separate the metric from SAE and find one that seems to be the correct size. I only do it when no one else is around since I don’t want to explain myself.

      I’m not obsessive about organizing. I’m not that interested whether other people could find what they are looking for because I would just as soon do it myself and I usually find what I need quickly. Even if the untrained eye sees only a pile of papers on my desk, I almost always know which pile has the piece of paper I need. I guess I am more of a functional organizer, and if my structure makes sense only to me, that’s fine.

      And yet, still, whenever I need to use a socket wrench, I am frustrated to dig through my own disorganization looking for the right one – embarrassed that it’s taken me so long to grow up. At least they were all together in one place.

      Which leads me the newest edition to my collection.

      Cyndi and family bought a rolling tool chest for my Father’s Day and birthday. (I’m happy to combine the two gift-giving occasions – It’s hard enough to think of one gift idea, certainly not two.) I was slow agreeing to a tool chest because, I suppose, I didn’t think I was worthy. It seemed to be too much money for someone like me who uses tools only rarely. I’m not a mechanic, and only a nominal home handyman.

      I changed my mind once I started researching big tool chests in hardware stores, I was all in. I couldn’t wait to have all those drawers. I even started watching YouTube videos telling how to best organize a tool chest.) I’ll welcome any tips or photos if you’d like to help me.)

* * * * *

      This morning I read Ecclesiastes 3:11, which says God put eternity in our hearts (the source of our pull toward the transcendent) yet did not give us the capacity to understand it all.

      I see this all the time in my own life. I’m drawn to big ideas, deep thoughts, epic views, long rides, life-changing adventures. It’s why I love looking out airplane windows and reading books about across-the-USA bike rides and dreaming of life-changing thru-hikes on two-hundred-mile trails.

      I understand the limits of my intellectual capacity and, dare I say it, my own attention span. Like the verse says, God did not give me (or any of us) capacity to understand it all.

      However, I’m comforted by knowing I can collect knowledge and ideas and store them in containers … in Word documents, Excel spreadsheets, notes I make in book margins, on 3x5 cards, and in journal after journal after journal. If ideas are organized and safe and retrievable, I can pull them out and use them. When the need arises, I can help.

* * * * *

      Cyndi is coming home today from a four-day three-night backpacking trip on the Ouachita Trail in eastern Oklahoma. It is a group hike, and weeks ago when I first signed us up, I fully expected to go, but since then my ankle turned to the worst and I had to stay home. Cyndi bravely represented the family by hiking the wilderness without me.

      All that is to say, I’ve had six days at home by myself. I worked on cleaning the garage, painting one set of wooden window blinds to see if the finished product would be acceptable, and organizing my new tool chest. I’m not yet finished, but I now have hope for a better, happier, brighter, and more structured future.

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

Thank you for reading! This is a reader-supported publication and it only works with your help. Please share with your friends or buy my books. You can find more of my writing, and learn about my books, or subscribe to this free blog, at http://berrysimpson.com.