Do You Need Help?

Being reminded of your limitations is not pleasant. It’s hard being the one who needs help. It doesn’t seem very leaderly. And yet, it’s a blessing to be surrounded by friends and family willing support those limitations. That is good news; that is grace, indeed.

Early Friday morning a couple of weeks ago Cyndi and I noticed one of our two Pistache trees leaning against our house. I was driving home from early morning pump class at the gym and caught the non-vertical anomaly in my peripheral vision.

It had apparently rotted from the roots just below ground level. The trunk was not broken, but leaning at the surface, and there was no disturbance of the ground around it. The tree seemed somewhat stable in its lean, it wasn’t hurting the house, so we left it alone to drive to New Mexico for a family wedding.

That Sunday afternoon our friend and tree-whisperer, Miles, came over to look at the tree and give advice. He confirmed our fears. The tree was a goner. Even though the leaves were still green, its days were limited. He said we could straighten it up and stake it vertical but it would fall again someday, and it might be bigger, and it might land some something or someone we care about.

Since we are several months away from planting season we decided to leave our leaning tree the way it was for a while. At least it was throwing off shade.

And then last Wednesday night a fierce storm blew through the neighborhood. The next morning we noticed the tree was still standing, but it was now leaning a different direction, against the porch. It seemed more unstable than before. It was time to take it down.

Remarkably, with no regard to my personal history, in full optimism, I borrowed a chainsaw from Clark. I say all that because my experience with chainsaws is they don’t start when I am holding them. Maybe they start and work all day for you but not for me. It is a glaring hole in my man card.

So Friday afternoon, even though Clark’s saw was almost new, used only once, I couldn’t get it started. I even put in a new spark plug, drained the fuel and replaced it, read the manual and followed all the steps. No joy.

My across-the-alley neighbor, Randy, saw my dilemma and loaned his electric chainsaw. I was able to start it, but smoke poured out of the motor, so I returned it before I destroyed it.

We borrowed another electric chainsaw from Cyndi’s sister, Tanya, but it was too dark to do anything safely so I decided to attack the tree the next day after my bike ride.

Saturday morning I rode a long way, getting home about noon, only to discover my tree had been cut down and the branches piled on the sidewalk near the street. Some lumberjack elves (I was going to say wood elves, but no one likes wood elves) did the job for me.

I went to eat lunch and do some writing before hauling away the tree branches. But, afterward, when I drove up to my house, there was Randy and his son pulling away. They had put all the branches in Randy’s pickup and were about to haul them off. I barely arrived in time to catch them. Randy jumped out of his truck, shook my hand, I told him thanks, and he took off to finish his good dead.

Besides being a good guy and great neighbor and the kind of friend we all hope to have, I think Randy fixed my problem partly because he felt sorry for me. Cyndi told him I was a chainsaw loser, so he took care of me.

Letting other people help you is often the hardest thing in the world. We are more comfortable giving than receiving. It is hard to accept help, even harder than admitting chainsaw incompetence.

One of the things I’ve learned these past few years is how I overrated self-sufficiency in my younger years. I used to consider it one of my best features. I liked that I could sneak through life without asking or needing much from anyone else. And while I still work hard to not be needy, I have learned the value of letting people help me. I was never as good at stuff as I thought. I need help. We must be willing to receive if we expect to know the grace of God. Only empty-handed people can understand grace.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Keep Exploring

As strange as it sounds, I don’t have a list of New Year’s Resolutions this year. It may be the first time in twenty years I haven’t published a list. Not because I’ve been so resolutely successful accomplishing all my past lists that I no longer have anything left to do, but because this is a landmark year for me and it’s put me to reflecting rather than goal setting. In 2016 I will turn 60 and I’m looking forward to it.

When I turned 50 it felt like freedom and release. I said goodbye to all expectations of being cool or hip or fashionable and started crediting my idiosyncrasies as eccentricities. It was great. I was finally living up to my gray hair and beard.

When I turned 40 I finally felt like an adult. (No, that’s not entirely correct. Even today I only feel like an adult about 50-60% of the time. I always think of adults as the men my dad’s generation, whatever age that happens to be.) But at 40 I could no longer hide behind my age. I was old enough to know stuff, old enough to stop blaming behavior on my upbringing, old enough to formulate my own opinions without basing them on some talk radio host or what the guys at work say, old enough to settle into my reading list and read the books I enjoy, old enough to learn new ideas.

When I turned 30, well, that one‘s still a blur in my memory. We had a six-year-old and a three-year-old and dadhood took its toll on my brain cells. The summer of my birthday we moved but didn’t move to California due to a promotion I got and then didn’t get. A few months later I was with my son Byron when he was hit by a car while we were all riding bikes one Saturday afternoon, and it changed my understanding of being a father and spiritual leader. It was the first time in my life I called upon God out of desperation and fear.

The year I turned 20 was my last of three summers touring with Continental Singers as a bass trombonist, and my segue into big-time college life at the University of Oklahoma. It was the beginning of my lifelong journey with personal discipleship, my introduction to daily spiritual practices and teaching, my first experience with leaders who deliberately invested in my life, and my first date with Cyndi Richardson. Little did I know I was starting the adventures that would define the rest of my future.

And so I’ve asked myself, what will it mean to turn 60. I’m not sure, we can only know lasting effects after the passage of time, but I have some ideas.

Last year my daughter, Katie, gave me a red and white patch that says “Keep Exploring.” In the 1970s I would’ve sewn it on my bell-bottomed blue jeans so that everyone else could see it, but this week Cyndi sewed it on my black backpack so that I would see it every day ... a permanent reminder of how I want to live.

The Keep Exploring movement was created by Alex and Bret, two young men from Flower Mound, Texas. Their webpage says this: “Keep Exploring is the simple idea that adventure can be found anywhere. We are trying to be better explorers by seeking out opportunities in everyday life. This is a collaborative movement - Everyone is invited. Start looking for new roads to take, old mountains to climb, and wild food to chew.”

Well, that’s who I want to be. Maybe not the chewing of wild food part, but I want my 60s to be years of exploring new ideas and trails and mountains and techniques and books and movies and relationships and influences and music.

A few Sundays ago I was cycling with my friend, Wes, and we were working through our increasing list of athletic ailments when Wes changed everything by saying: This is the best time of our lives. We’re finally old enough people listen to us. We can really make a difference.

I thought about what he said for a long time. Through the years I’ve been motivated by this thought: If I apply the weight of my life toward the people God has entrusted to me, I can change the world.

But now, as I enter my 60^th year, even that seems too small. I no longer want to merely change the world … I want to change The Future. I am finally old enough, finally weighty enough, to speak truth into hearts and change the future.

And so I suppose I do have a New Year’s Resolution for 2016: Keep Exploring. I hope you’ll join me. Let’s explore together.

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

I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Coffee and the Future

I’m nervous writing about coffee knowing my serious coffeephile friends who go to great lengths to make the best just roll their eyes at what I drink. But it’s become a topic again in our house since our coffee maker picked a fight with us. When we moved into our new house, seven years ago, one of the first additions was a Keurig single-cup coffee maker. Cyndi and her sister Tanya bought it for me since I seldom drank more than one cup when home, meaning I never wanted to make an entire pot.

The irony is that Cyndi and Tanya used my coffee maker at least 90% of the brews, Cyndi making her tea and Tanya making her coffee. In fact, they wore out that first Keurig before I had consumed 100 cups. That’s a guess, by the way. I didn’t log my cups.

Then they confiscated a Keurig that my dad wasn’t using, and wore it out.

A couple of weeks ago our third Keurig stopped flowing water, and the company agreed to replace it under warranty. Cyndi unpacked the new one – which will make a carafe of coffee as well as one cup – and tried making her tea. She immediately ran into Keurig’s new business model, which is to allow only official K-Cups to be used in their machines. Apparently they decided they were losing too much money with people buying coffee pods anywhere they chose, so they built something similar to Digital Rights Management (DRM) into their new machines. They will only work when the pods are authentic Keurig-brand K-Cups.

I can’t argue with their decision. They’re just trying to stay in business, and it’s the same strategy used by most printer manufacturers. But since their original machines did not have DRM, it now feels offensive and abusive.

Coffee is a big deal. People around the world drink more coffee than any other drink besides water: four hundred billion cups a year. A cup of Starbuck’s costs at least $16 per gallon, or about $672 per barrel. Even at that price, 24% of Starbuck’s customers still visit 16 times a month

Coffee also has nutritional value. Walter Willett, chairman of the department of nutrition at Harvard School of Public Health and a leading investigator of coffee, said, “Coffee is rich in antioxidants – substances in vegetables and fruits that deactivate disease-causing byproducts of the body’s metabolism.” In tests conducted at the University of Scranton in Pennsylvania, “coffee topped the list of foods that are densest in antioxidants, surpassing blueberries, broccoli, and most other produce.” Only chocolate, dried fruits, and dried beans ranked higher.

I wish that I enjoyed coffee more than I do. When I do drink it, I like simple, black coffee, decaf with no additives. (I drink decaf to protect my blood pressure.) I don’t want whipped cream in my coffee, or ice cream, or chocolate, or candy, or mint, or alcohol, or leaves, or foam, or anything else. Even though Cyndi uses our coffee maker (for making tea) significantly more often than I use it (to make coffee), I want it to work well and serve us. I like having the option.

The reason I get weirded out about something like limitations from a coffee maker is because it flags a deeper issue. Keurig is moving in the exact opposite direction from how I want to live the rest of my life. They want to increase limits and restrictions while I want a more open-source future.

Too many men my age load up their lives with rules and opinions and limitations, adding more each year. They have a growing list of ideas and people they complain about, and resist anything new or different.

I don’t want to live that way. I want to shed restrictions, not add more. I want to grow inclusive and not exclusive, generous and not needy, open and not closed, accepting and not combative. I want to embrace new ideas, not attack them.

How about you? What do you think? Maybe we should meet for coffee and talk about it.

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

 I need your help. The primary reason people read these articles is because people like you share with friends, so please do. And thank you. Also, you can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

From Weak to Strong

My recently repaired right knee, still tender and stiff from surgery in late June, went from being my weakest link to one of my strongest links, just like that. How did that happen? I didn’t actually increase its capacity or flexibility. I didn’t do any hyper-effective leg workouts that transformed overnight. I didn’t get a visit from the knee fairy who tapped me with her wand.

What happened was, I was crawling around on the floor of Katie’s house in Mansfield trying to find a graceful way to stand up without putting my knees down. I didn’t fall. I was on the floor on purpose so I could do rehab exercises with 5-year-old granddaughter Madden. I could’ve, maybe should’ve, called for help, but part of rehab is learning how to do stuff, and I was determined to get up on my own. I knew this wouldn’t be my last time down on the floor. I needed to learn new techniques.

Finally, I gave up and put my right knee on the floor with full body weight and stood up. It was amazing. It was easier than I’d expected.

The thing is, only three days before, I was babying that same knee and I would never have pushed off the floor with it like I did. It was too weak and too sore, and I was too nervous and afraid. But now, after having the left knee worked on, what was once my bad knee became my good knee, and what had been my good knee (although not that good) became my bad knee. What was weakest became strongest, just like that. It was instant phase change.

Most of life’s changes take months or years. As in training for a marathon, or learning to speak French, or graduating from engineering school.

But some phases change in the blink of an eye. For example, in 1970, Apollo 13’s mission changed in one moment. In 2001, the future of the United States change in one Tuesday morning in September. In 2010, I changed from goofy fun-loving dad to patriarch, with the birth of one granddaughter.

And now, in 2015, my right knee went from weak to strong. It went from being the dependent leg to being the supporting leg. Why? Not because it literally gained strength, but because its role changed.

And since I was forced to depend on my right leg more and more, even before it was ready, it actually did get physically stronger. The process was self-fulfilling; being used added strength.

Of course, I wouldn’t write about this if it was just about knees. It’s really about us.

How do we get stronger? We change our place in community – become supporters instead of dependers. Changing places makes us stronger.

Spiritual leadership is not about being the smartest, boldest, or strongest on the room. It is about being the most loving. It is about serving. About giving yourself away every day.

What to be stronger? Find a new role. Serve others more.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Walking Distance

I saw this quote from comedian Stephen Wright: “Everywhere is within walking distance if you have the time,” and so to prove the point I asked the mapping app on my phone to give me a route for walking from our house in Midland, Texas, to our daughter’s house in Mansfield, Texas, 319 miles. The app said it would take 4 days and 13 hours to walk. I assume that does not include rest breaks, eating, or sleeping. Like the man said, everywhere is within walking distance. Which reminded me of one of our great family stories, a vacation to Washington DC in 2002. In order to save money I found a hotel outside the actual city and planned for all of us to ride the subway, the Met, from our hotel to the center of DC. When I phoned to make the reservations I asked, “How far is your hotel from the nearest Met station?” The young man answered confidently and convincingly, “It’s within walking distance.”

But our first morning we discovered our hotel was a solid thirty-minute drive from the station. And most of the road had no shoulder or sidewalk, so walking alongside was dangerous if not impossible. Hardly what a reasonable person would call “walking distance.”

The other part of the story, and an added observation that might explain the “walking distance” misunderstanding, was the gentleman who checked us into the hotel when we first arrived. He was the slowest person any of us had ever seen.

I don’t mean slow in the sense of dim-witted, although we had our suspicions. I mean slow in that every single one of his actions, like typing on his keyboard, moving his hand from keyboard to mouse, reading data from his computer screen, was so slow it was all we could do to keep from laughing. It was all we could do to keep our balance and not fall to the floor. He was so slow he was even slower than that. I don’t think anyone could be that slow on purpose, even if he was being forced to give us the room he’d hoped to keep for his fiancé when she arrived from France and it was the only room left and if he didn’t have a room for her she would fly back home and the wedding would be off. He was slower than that.

It occurred to us that maybe he was the one who told me over the phone that the Met station was within walking distance. Maybe he lived in a wrinkle of space-time so that normal distance and normal pace were different for him than for everyone else in the world.

I’ve been thinking about walking a lot, lately, being between knee preplacement No. 1 (right) and knee replacement No. 2 (left). One of the reasons I opted for this procedure was so that I could enjoy walking again. And today, three weeks after No. 1, I’m already walking even better than I expected. Better, in fact, than before surgery, which I suppose, was the point of replacement.

I recently finished a book by Jim Forest titled, The Road to Emmaus: Pilgrimage as a Way of Life, and he wrote: “Walking is a physical activity that is meant to have spiritual significance.”

Walking is so simple and common, and one of the earliest things we learn how to do as human beings. We learn to walk long before we learn to talk, or go to the potty, or find our own food.

For me, walking includes running and hiking … at least, the spiritual significance of it. Some of my richest spiritual conversations with God have come while walking, hiking, or running on a dirt trail.

Forest wrote, “Unimpeded walking is one of life’s most ordinary, least expensive, and deeply rewarding pleasures … Putting one foot in front of the other and going forward can provide a foretaste of heaven.”

Well, walking didn’t feel like heaven a few weeks ago when we spent seven hours on the medieval stone streets of Florence. It was fun, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, but it felt far from heaven.

However, I can already see a brighter and deeper future ahead of me. I am glad to be walking again. Ready to converse with God again on the trails.

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

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

A Promise to Breathe

“What are you going to write about this week?” asked Cyndi. She was taking my happy birthday peach cobbler out of the oven (I’m not a cake man (the cobbler was amazing)). “I don’t know yet. I’m at a loss. And forgot today was Wednesday and my piece is due tomorrow.”

“What do you think I should write about?” I asked.

“Just don’t write about the lowering-your-pulse-contest-with-yourself you had in post-op. Nobody wants to hear about that.”

Before my surgery last week I assumed this slowed-down recovery time would be rich with insights and ideas. But the truth is, my journal - where I write daily - is surprisingly thin lately. Most of what I’ve written is about rehab exercises and medication and daily details. I anticipated more. I’d hoped to be more productive.

Cyndi pulled out her iPad and read this poem to me by Danna Faulds:

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 rely

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. As she read, my mind traveled 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 am 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.

I told Cyndi, after she finished reading the poem, “That trail junction, sitting and breathing, became a thin spot for me. I stop and sit every time I hike past that fallen log.”

So what does that tell me about surgery rehab? Will it be one of my thin places if I’m prepared to slow down, sit, and breathe? How can I make this time as productive as I’d imagined?

For the past three months I’ve been looking forward to knee replacement surgery, or more accurately, to my new life on the other side. It’s hard to be patient and let the healing take place. I want to heal faster. I’m ready to be back on the trail.

Sit and breathe and wait.

I am so in love with the idea of a lifelong search for God, which for me is an active process, I forget about silence and listening.

So here is my challenge to myself for this summer. I will continue to work hard at rehab and recovery, but I’m determined 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

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Time for Restoration

Let me just say right up front: I’m having knee surgery next week and I can’t concentrate on much of anything else. Actually, it’s knee replacement, the first of two. And they tell me I’ll be home-bound for three weeks after each one. Counting the minimal interval between knees, I’ll be on injured reserve until September.

People ask if I’m nervous about it and my consistent answer is “no.” I don’t feel nervous, but the fact that it takes up a significant amount of my mental RAM tells a different story. It’s been hard for me to concentrate on normal projects, like paying bills, daily writing, cycling, and paying attention to Cyndi.

Not only that, but Cyndi gave me my Father’s Day / Birthday gift early – a Big Green Egg grill – and it’s even been hard to engage with that. Hard to see through the fog of distraction.

Usually when I get nervous about something my first defense is to start making lists … lists of things to do beforehand, lists of things to take with me, lists of things to consider and think about, and lists of projects to do afterward, and like that. A list is a plan of action, and having a plan to follow is more satisfying than fretting over what I might be forgetting. In fact, having a list in my hand relaxes me. A list lets my brain floaters settle. I know what to do next, I don’t have to keep guessing.

But my list for this surgery consists of only two items: (1) show up at the hospital on Wednesday, and (2) see what comes next. That isn’t enough list for me. I need more. It isn’t satisfying or soothing.

Don’t misunderstand my apprehension. I’m looking forward to this surgery. Or rather, looking forward to life on the other side. I’m ready for restoration, ready to get moving again, ready to stop limping, ready to go to the mountain trails again with my guys, ready to chase God into The Bowl, ready to go on walks with Cyndi, ready to play with granddaughters without my knees being my first concern.

I’ve already been invited to join the Senior Cycling Group that owns the highway on Saturday mornings. “We have several artificial joints,” was what I heard them say.

We just vacationed in Italy, where I calculated I spent 35 hours on my knees over five days. It was brutal by the end of each day, but I decided I could recover and heal when we got home … I didn’t want to miss out on anything. The trip proved to me that I could do more than I thought, especially when doing it with great friends. It also confirmed that knee replacement was the right thing to do. I’m looking forward to many more trips like this one, with less pain.

I’m not complaining - I’m doing what writers do – I’m settling in, and finding my way, by putting thoughts on paper. Nowadays I’m more comfortable with winging my way through the near future than I used to be, but the idea of eight weeks of improvisation is stretching my newfound flexibility. I wish I had a better list.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

How Big

Do you have gifts and talents that you underestimate? The answer is: Yes, you do. We all do. We typically don’t recognize or understand our most powerful talents on our own, we need to hear from friends and family. In fact, it is unlikely we’ll ever understand our calling or purpose without the advice and counsel from people who are close around us. But we get glimpses, and for me that often comes through music or movies.

Cyndi and I often watch a movie in the evening while working on stuff (like family finances, writing the next book, managing a mobile home park, running a yoga studio, etc.) We tend to pick movies we’ve seen many times so we can follow along without being distracted by a story we don’t already know. And much to nephew Kevin’s dismay, when he is with us, as he often is, we typically choose non-exploding non-fighting movies.

This week we watched August Rush again. I’ve now seen this movie many times since my first viewing at a Wild at Heart Advanced Camp in May 2008, where it changed almost everything about my life, so I didn’t expect it to affect me in the same way as it has in the past. I supposed I’d built up some immunity.

I was wrong. The movie nailed me, once again, and I had to go sit by myself in my closet (I have a rocking chair in there) and absorb the message. Specifically, I internalized what God was saying to me before I let it get away.

There are a lot of movies that dig emotional responses out of me - no, that’s too weak a statement - there a lot of movies that make me cry. And each year the list of movies gets longer, either because I’m better at picking out movies, or because I’m getting softer. August Rush is one of those; it slips past the bare patch of my armored chest like Bard’s black arrow and sticks directly into my heart.

The movie is about a young orphaned boy named August Rush, a musical prodigy, who uses music to reach out to the parents he hopes to find. Only, when I watch it, it isn’t about music, but about writing and teaching.

In the movie, when a man asks August, “What do you want to be?” he answers with one word, “Found.” Not being lost is profound, and watching this movie helps me realize it’s my job to find people and lead them on the trail so they won’t be lost.

But the scene that penetrates my armor is when the head of a music conservatory asks young August, “Where does the music come from?” He answers, “It’s like someone is calling out to me. Writing it all down is like I’m calling back to them.” This is exactly what writing feels like to me.

Wednesday night after the movie finished I sat in my rocking chair with tears rolling down my cheeks, praying, again, “I’m sorry, I don’t know how big it is.”

“I’m sorry I continually underestimate what You’ve given to me. Because I don’t speak to big crowds or sell tons of books or have thousands of readers I underestimate the gift, and the result. Thank You for giving me so many turns, Thank You for lighting the fire inside to teach and write and give away and improve. Thank you for sharing insights and connections. I want to give them back to You.”

Here’s the thing. None of us understands our own influence. None of us knows how big it is because we don’t pay attention to the same things God pays attention to. We don’t notice the same results God sees. We don’t see hearts the same way God does – we are stuck in this present day and God sees the long-term benefit. All we can know is that we aren’t the heroes of our own stories, no matter how big. The heroes are the people who respond, who stand up and step forward, and we are simply lucky to be part of that.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

Who Are Your Influences?

“I’m jealous,” said John. “I want your library.” “It’s my favorite room in our house. I spend more time in there than anywhere else.”

I had cleaned it up for the party, but in truth, I like the fact that our library is always full of projects and mail and stacks of books and movies and computers. It may look like clutter, but if you squint your eyes it looks like a vibrant life.

I have been in the process of arranging and rearranging my books for the past year, one of my 2014 goals, but all I’ve done so far is make a mess. Since I keep adding to my collection, organizing is a dynamic target. I can’t decide which shelves should hold which topics, so I end up restacking my piles over and over. Maybe I should break down and use the Dewey Decimal System, or the Library of Congress system? Seems too structured, even for me.

And to be honest, this round of organizing is for my downstairs books only. Our house is full of books. The upstairs books have to fend for themselves. They should be happy they are still in the house and not given to Friends of the Library. At least two bookcases of children’s books in our hallway belong to Cyndi, not me. She has her own organizing project to look forward to.

My conversation with John took place last Friday at our annual Deacon’s Soup Night. I was standing in the front yard greeting guests and reminding them that we’d moved the party from the neighborhood clubhouse to our house across the street. John and his wife arrived before most of the other guests, meaning they had time to explore our house, although I’m not sure he made it past the library.

I could tell right away he was a fellow reader since he didn’t ask, “Have you read all those books?” but rather started immediately into common authors and topics, zooming in to Shaara, McCullough, and Ambrose.

We didn’t get to finish our conversation before Cyndi called me inside to get the party started – apparently the Deacons were getting restless – but I’m sure John and I will pick up where we left off now that we know we have books in common.

I used to worry that I’d read so many books but couldn’t remember specific details from very many. As British author Penelope Lively wrote, “I have emptied each of these into that insatiable vessel, the mind, and they are now lost somewhere within.” I thought I should have a better working memory of what I’d read. What happened to all that information?

But then I decided not to worry about that any more. I realized I don’t read as much for new information as to be influenced by other voices. I would guess the reading for information vs. reading for influence ratio is about 20/80. Again, from Ms. Lively, “A fair amount (of what we read), the significant amount, becomes that essential part of us – what we know and understand and think about above and beyond our own immediate concerns.”

So I pick authors and read all they’ve written, hoping their insights and skills will seep into my subconscious, and maybe someday when I am teaching or writing they will trickle back out.

I read Erwin McManus, Donald Miller, Leonard Sweet, Phillip Yancey, Charles Swindoll, John Ortberg, and C. S. Lewis, to influence how I think about God and shape the way I talk about spiritual things.

I read Sara Miles and Anne Lamott to understand what Christianity looks like through the eyes of someone who lived most of their lives on the opposite side from me.

I read Steven Pressfield, Austin Kleon, Seth Godin, and Jon Acuff to open my eyes and my thoughts, to dream big about writing, and to finish what I start.

I read Calvin Trillin, Roy Blount, David Rakoff, and Mary Roach to remind myself a writer can be funny and entertaining no matter the topic as long as he tells the story well.

I read history and biography to put life in context. I read adventure books to enlarge my vision of what’s possible. I read cycling books to confirm my growing love for the sport and to learn how to write about it better. I read books about running and ultramarathons because I’m not yet ready to give up on those dream.

I’d love to hear who you read. I am always searching for my next influences, and I like reading new voices and young writers. Send me your list.

And feel free to come over and visit my library any time. Maybe you can influence how I go about arranging all these books.

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

I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.

I Need More of That

You might be happy to know I’ve already made opening steps toward one of my goals for 2015: “Make modifications to our seldom-visited westerly side yard.” The space I’m talking about, it’s an exaggeration to call it a “yard;” it is actually the small strip between our house and the fence on the west side, about five-and-a-half feet wide. It used to be weeds and dirt and we never thought about using it until last spring when Cyndi had it filled with cement, making a continuously smooth sidewalk-type surface. I have been thinking about how to use the space ever since Cyndi’s modification.

And my first idea was to set up my hammock. Once I put up a shade screen it would be a perfect place for swinging naps.

Cyndi and the kids gave this hammock to me back in the 1990s, and for years I had it set up in the shade under our Honey Locust tree in the backyard. I loved to lie in that hammock and read the Sunday paper while gently swinging myself by pulling on the slender rope tied to the porch post. I learned to swing and sleep at the same time. Sometimes I wrote in my journal and contemplated on spiritual things. It was wonderful and peaceful. It was home.

In my opinion, there are two marks of adulthood: (1) looking forward to naps; and (2) being happy when a phone call is for someone else. I’m always happy when the phone isn’t for me, but not as happy as I am when I’m taking a nap.

Nowadays, I typically take only one nap per week, on Sunday afternoons, and I have to work to keep it. There’s always something else important to do, even things I enjoy doing, like riding my bike with the cycling club. But if I miss my nap I feel cheated all week. I won’t be as creative, or as smart, or as friendly.

Unfortunately, napping in my hammock in the shade ended when I cut our Honey Locust tree down after bores attacked it in the summer of 1999. It broke my heart to lose the tree.

Cyndi and I planted it ourselves when it was just a one-inch diameter youngster, and through the years it grew into a trunk of 18 inches. It was a significant tree; the biggest and oldest impression we'd made on earth. I was inspired by that tree.

And without my favorite shade tree I didn’t know what to do with my beloved hammock. I tried setting it up around the yard and under the porch, but it took up too much space. With stand, it is about twelve feet long. Eventually, reluctantly, I put it into storage.

When we moved into our present house in 2008 I stashed the hammock and stand behind the freezer in the garage, hoping I would soon find a place to set it up.

And now, finally, our newly remodeled side yard seems perfect. There is plenty of privacy (No one wants to take a nap out in public), and I knew I could manufacture enough shade.

Last Saturday, in keeping with my 2015 goal, I pulled the pieces of the hammock and stand from the garage and set it all up. It was my first of many modifications to the side yard.

But the hammock was too wide. What I mean is, it fit inside the space, and with deft maneuvering I could climb in, but there wasn’t enough room on either side for swinging. It was quite disappointing.

I didn’t give up, though. I ordered a narrower net-style hammock and I’m planning to make it work.

Why does it matter, you may ask? Because having a hidden corner of the yard that feels like home is a big deal. Because a hammock that doesn’t swing is just another bed. Because, not only do I crave adult naps, but I need to move. Because swinging in a hammock settles brain floaters, calms storms, reduces to-do lists, and brings peace and tranquility. I need more of that,

And Because I’m certain that using my reborn hammock will open my mind and jump-start my creativity toward the accomplishment of all the rest of those 2015 goals.

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

 I need your help. If you enjoyed reading this, please share with your friends. You can find more of my writing on my weekly blog, read insights on Tumblr, and follow me on Twitter and Facebook.