Rest and Patience

       I spent last weekend at a men’s gathering, and the words God spoke to me were “rest and patience.” It isn’t what I expected. I thought I’d hear something more like a bold call to action.

       The retreat, known as Base Camp Gathering, was hosted by The Noble Heart ministry and took place at Bear Trap Ranch near Colorado Springs. The opening night Gary gave us a list of words and asked us to choose a couple that described what our lives felt like at that moment. The two words I chose were exhausting and expectant.

       The fact is, I’ve been surprised during my three-months (so far) recovery from surgery how exhausting healing can be. I ran low on both physical energy and creative energy. The physical part wasn’t such a surprise since I was limited in the exercises I could do. But the creative side? Much to my surprise, I did almost no original writing. That isn’t what I expected. I’d hoped my down time would be full of ideas. Instead, I took naps.

       I also came to the weekend feeling expectant. With a new gait in my future, and the winding down of my current church leadership responsibilities, I saw an open field of opportunities ahead. I was anticipating some great commission from God.

       Monday morning, back at home in Midland, I rode thirteen miles on my bike. It took me a little over an hour – averaging 11.5 mph. It felt pedestrian and lazy, but it took all the energy I had in me.

       It was my fifth ride since Dr. Vineyard released me to the road twelve days ago. His only qualification when I asked about cycling was, “Don’t ride thirty miles the first day.” Little did I know I couldn’t have ridden that far that soon anyway. But I was happy to have his permission.

       My first ride was two days after the doctor visit. It felt great just to be outside moving and spinning my legs, even though the muscles in my left leg had dwindled into flab after three months of riding a knee-scooter. It felt tender to flex my ankle while pedaling, but that was the reason I was riding. I needed the therapy.

       What surprised me was how exhausting it was. I’d lost more than muscle mass; I’d also lost my energy reserve. I rode ten miles, slowly and deliberately, then came home and took a nap. I was wiped out. Happy, but drained.

       But being back on the road, riding outside felt like the future. I’ve already started dreaming of new adventures on my new foot.

       One of the speakers for the weekend in Colorado, Scott from California, asked, “What parts of life have you been gripping tightly but couldn’t hold on to?” I realized how dependent I am on my own plans, bullet points, and checklists, and how disoriented I get when those plans don’t work out. And specifically, in these past few months, my grip on healing, and my grip on my future as an engineer. Scott suggested that my disorienting might be God’s invitation to lean into him, and to trust him more with my future.

       At the end of the weekend I had two new words to describe what my life felt like: rest and patience. Don’t get in a big hurry to heal quickly and be prepared to rest and wait patiently for the life that lies ahead (whether I am employed or retired).

*  *  *  *  *

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

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Changing Places

       I have fond memories of sitting and writing in certain places (even if I don’t always remember exactly what I was writing at the time), such as at the trail junction in The Bowl, or in Plainview on the way home from the Amarillo Marathon, or in Veranna, Mexico, or on the dock in Granbury, or at a metal table in the garden in Italy. I’ve often traveled to workshops with Cyndi (as in, Santa Fe or Durango) knowing I’ll benefit from writing in a new place, even if I’m still writing at a table in a fast food restaurant.

       I have different thoughts when I’m in different places. Even a Whataburger off Greenville in Dallas affects me differently than a Whataburger in Midland. It’s true despite the fact both locations have identical booths and identical tables and identical food.

       I know if I go somewhere different, away from my regular haunts, I’ll notice different things and think different thoughts. I have a formula: ΔPL + ΔPA = ΔPE, meaning a change in place plus change in pace equals change in perspective. It works for me even when the new place is not exotic or far away. The smallest changes in pace and place can trigger my imagination.

       Part of what I’m doing when I travel is learning how to pay attention. Variety and change of scenery are important, but exotic change is not necessary. Even the most ordinary experience in a different place changes the way I think. It wakes me up. I pay attention.

       Annie Murphy Paul wrote (The Extended Mind: The Power of Thinking Outside the Brain), “All of us think differently depending on where we are … The field of cognitive science commonly compares the human brain to a computer, but the influence of place reveals a major limitation of this analogy: while a laptop works the same way whether it’s being used at the office or while we’re sitting in a park, the brain is deeply affected by the setting in which it operates.”

       One place where I go seeking change is an annual retreat called Base Camp Gathering with The Noble Heart Ministries at Bear Trap Ranch, in the Rocky Mountains near Colorado Springs. I’ve attended this event every fall since 2012, and this week I’m going again.

       I always go to Base Camp with a heart full of questions about life and ministry and what to do next. Remarkably, even though I don’t come home with something as tangible as a bullet-point list of action items, I always leave with a sense of what to do next.

       The questions on my mind this year are about ministry and timing. What should my teaching ministry and men’s ministry look like during the next few years?

       And now that I’m well on my way to recovery from ankle surgery in June, I’m looking forward to more time on my bike and more time on the mountain trails. What do either of those look like in my life of teaching and mentoring?

       Erwin McManus wrote (in Wide Awake), “You can’t just sit back and hope that the life you long for will simply come to you.” One of the things I do to seek that life I long for, the life God has for me, is to retreat into the mountains with men I love and respect. I’m ready for this change in my pace at a change in my place. I’m praying for a change in my perspective.

*  *  *  *  *

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

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Missing Outdoors

       When asked about my summer recovering from ankle surgery and how did I manage being inside almost all the time, I joked that at least I missed the Texas heatwave. My outside excursions seldom lasted longer than ten minutes, and never included walking around our neighborhood ponds or cycling across town. In fact, I missed both walking and cycling, no matter how hot it was. I missed them – as in I didn’t have the opportunity, and I missed them – as in their absence left longing in my heart.

       Alastair Humphreys wrote, “It’s normal nowadays to spend most of our lives inside, temperature-controlled, light-switched, water-softened, air-freshened, and double-glazed ... I’m more at peace with myself and the world when I spend an extended period outdoors.”

       Me, I’ve spent most of my life, at least 90% of my career, indoors. But I got outside as much as I could.

       I first started running in 1978, and for the next 42 years 99% of those miles were outside. I prefer running outside no matter how hot or how cold. I felt the same way when I started cycling in 2010, preferring to tackle the heat and wind rather than retreat inside.

       When I try running or cycling indoors, my brain surrenders after twenty minutes. It’s all I can handle. I’ve tried to extend my indoor training time knowing that indoors is probably my future, but so far, I haven’t been very successful. Running or cycling indoors feels like a cardio workout but going outdoors is an adventure.

       In her book, The Extended Mind: The Power of Thinking Outside the Brain, Annie Murphy Paul mentioned a promising app called ReTUNE (Restoring Through Urban Nature Experience). It is an app developed by University of Chicago psychologist Marc Berman and doctoral student Kathryn Schertz and it works like a conventional GPS system, but instead of providing its users with the speediest route, it offers them the path with the greatest number of trees, the largest proportion of flowers, the highest frequency of birdsong.

       Annie Murphy Paul wrote, “Natural scenes are more coherent, lacking the jarring disjunctions common in man-made settings … natural scenes also offer more redundant information. Colors and shapes are repeated again and again ... Fractal patterns are much more common in nature than in man-made environments. Fractal patterns are those in which the same motif is repeated at differing scales ... There is a building pile of evidence that our ability to think clearly and solve problems is enhanced by encounters with these nature-like fractals.”

       When driving my pickup through Midland I often take routes through neighborhoods rather than zipping around Loop 250 or any of the major streets, even though it makes the trip longer, requires stopping at stop signs, and limits speed. I couldn’t explain why I did it so I never tried. I simply said, “I needed a change.” But after reading Paul’s book I think I was subconsciously searching for nature’s fractals.

       Last Thursday morning I called up the ReTUNE app to plot my route home from Whataburger, but I learned it only works in Chicago. That’s too bad. I would’ve enjoyed the alternate routes home.

       From my very first office job in 1979 I kept plants in my room. I loved big bushy plants around my windows and creeping ivy that ran across my desk. I wanted plants to provide fresh air in my closed and highly regulated environment. Now I wonder if my eyes were longing for fractal images of plants to counter the visual landscape of graph paper, spreadsheets, straight lines, and square corners.

       I must admit, though, that I love air conditioning and indoor lighting. I’ve met people who spend their entire lives outside among the fractals, and I don’t want that life for myself. I’m fortunate to have landed in a lifestyle and location that gives me the choice to enjoy the outside when I want and enjoy the climate-controlled indoors when I want. I’m grateful for that choice.

       I’m hoping Doctor Vineyard will release me to walk and bike in a few weeks. It’s about time to get back outside.

*  *  *  *  *

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

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Guadalupe Pilgrim

This is an excerpt from my book, Practicing Faith.

*  *  *  *  *

       It was October 2003, and Cyndi and I were on our first hike up Guadalupe Peak, the highest elevation point in Texas. We were at the top enjoying lunch and looking through the logbook conveniently provided by the National Park Service, reading comments from other proud hikers. I asked Cyndi what she would write. Her eyes twinkled, and she said, “I wonder what sort of story we’ve stumbled into?” We had no idea we’d still be hiking this mountain seventeen years later. It turned out to be a big story after all.

Since that first hike with Cyndi, I’ve summited the Peak more than twenty times, yet the trail remains as hard as ever. It never gets easier. I keep asking myself the same question: Why am I still doing this?

Climbing to the top of a mountain is a satisfying experience. There is a definite goal to achieve, and the goal is easy to evaluate. You know for certain when you’re at the top. But hiking to the top of this mountain is not easy. The first hour is hot and steep and hard, a series of rocky switchbacks that gain elevation step after step. It is enough to send most casual hikers back down to their car. All you can do is put your head down and keep moving. There is no quick way to the top, no shortcuts, no secret passageways for people who buy the expensive tickets. You can’t conquer the Peak by reading or studying or going to workshops; you must hike with your own two feet, and it is hard work.

I enjoy taking groups up Guadalupe Peak; it’s a metaphor for how we achieve the most valuable things in life. The trail is hard and long with no shortcuts or quick fixes. Kathleen Norris described my own thoughts in her book Dakota: A Spiritual Geography: “Enlightenment can’t be found in a weekend workshop. There is no such a thing as becoming an instantly spiritualized person.” She continued, “Americans seek the quick fix for spiritual as well as physical growth. The fact that conversion is a lifelong process is the last thing we want to hear.”

I’m also attracted to the Guadalupe Mountains because of the view. It’s spectacular—breathtaking in its raw unconcern for the hiker. As you stand at the summit and gaze across the Chihuahuan Desert for a hundred miles, you see nothing friendly to man, nothing that cares whether humans cross. The desert is complete, self-contained, and stingy, offering no comforts to soothe a human being. Oddly enough, that indifference speaks to my heart. From Barbara Kingsolver: “Looking out on a clean plank of planet earth, we can get shaken right down to the bone by the bronze-eyed possibility of lives that are not our own.” I need to be regularly reminded that I’m not the center of life, and this desert convinces me better than anything else.

Hiking these mountains reminds my fellow hikers and me that we can push through almost anything hard, difficult, or painful if we have a compelling reason to not give up. During the last 25 percent of the hike, when we’re all exhausted, our feet are sore, we’re dehydrated and long out of water, and we can see the parking lot way down there, but there is no shortcut back to the bus and no faster way down the mountain—even then, we keep moving.

Later, once we are all off the mountain, settled into our seats for the long drive back to Midland, the bus buzzing with stories, injuries, photos, and hearts joining together—that part of the trip is one of my favorite times of the day. Sharing our stories makes us brothers.

I often say, “Without a scar, we don’t have a story.” It’s in the disasters, the injuries, the surviving, that our character is revealed, and what starts as a set of mere incidents morphs from timeline into story.

       Since that October day with Cyndi in 2003, the trail up Guadalupe Peak has become one of my most important paths. From it I’ve learned God speaks to me most often when I’m moving and when I’m vulnerable. Dirt trails have become a big part of my spiritual journey and being on top of mountains helps keep my eyes open to the larger, wider, wilder world.

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

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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