Last Sunday night we watered those deep roots again, attending a concert in Dallas, “Christmas with Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith.” It was our second time for this annual concert – the last was in the late 1990’s when both our kids were in high school.

I don’t remember details of that previous concert so I can’t compare, but what I liked most about this concert was, well, I told Cyndi: This is a very grown-up concert. They aren’t trying to win us over. They’re just singing about what is important to them.

Amy Grant acknowledged the thousands of long-time fans who’ve traveled with her through life’s joys and disasters when she said: We are all here because we’ve logged miles together through music. She sang:

          All of us, travelers, through a given time.

          Who can know what tomorrow holds

          But over the horizon surely you and I will find

          Emmanuel, God with us

During the concert I scribbled on a 3×5 card from my pocket: “We have long threads running through our lives, and when you pull on one of the threads, stories fall out. The best stories – our favorite stories – the stores that paint our values and connections and hopes.

For example: I’ve been hot for the same woman since 1974, in love with her since 1977, and happily married to her since 1979. We were high school friends for three years, but finally discovered each other at a concert in Denton, Texas (the One O’clock Lab Band with guest Bill Watrous). Music has been one of the most trustworthy roots in our lives together ever since. It’s one of the things that binds us together.

Nothing tells the joy of our lives, and the weight of our hearts, like the music that holds us together. Almost every morning, as we get ready for our day, Cyndi and I end up discussing songs and lyrics. It is more than a shared ritual; it’s one of the ways we know each other best. Many of our happiest memories and meaningful conversations were born from sharing music with each other.

I’ve always loved the strength that comes from longevity. It’s the reason I save all our family calendars in a file folder, and keep my running/cycling logs in a binder, and write notes in my Daily Bible, and play the same trombone since 1970. I want those long threads and deep roots that produce a weighty life.

My point is I am blessed to have deep roots in significant things. Even more, I have the privilege to share those same roots with Cyndi. Knowing we have these long, consistent strings brings peace to my life; more than that gives me courage and strength. The fruit of those roots is the obligation to give myself away to my own kids and grandkids, for the sake of their kids and grandkids.

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

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I remember the first time I used a computer spreadsheet. I remember the color of the room, the lighting, the chair where I was sitting, the direction I was facing (east). It was amazing.

I went to engineering school during the final days of the key-punch card era, and computers were not a pleasant experience. We worked for hours punching out our programs, loading them into the card reader, then waiting around for the answers to come spitting out of the printer. Usually, they were mostly error messages.

I assumed my computing days ended with graduation. I thought I’d hand my work to some mysterious computer processing person and they would bring back the answers two days later.

But that day when I was playing with Lotus 2.0 for the first time, I realized I didn’t have to wait for answers. The spreadsheet calculated as fast as I could type. I saw a new future, and it was brilliant. I can still hear the angels singing and see the bright light filling the room.

In the beginning I used my computer as a fancy typewriter, producing prettier reports and clearer writing. Then I used it as a powerful calculator, solving problems and making predictions that would’ve been impossible with graph paper and pencil. Then my computer became my telephone – beginning with email, which allowed me to publish my writing to family and friends, and then to websites, which opened my writing up to strangers, and then to Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, and all that. Social media opened up the greater world to this once cave-dwelling introvert.

Some people complain that social media takes over our lives and replaces old-fashioned face-to-face conversations. Not for me. I wasn’t having those conversations before, I wasn’t talking on the phone (something I still avoid), I wasn’t checking in on people and maintaining relationships. Instead I lived under a rock in my cave and I was happy that way.

But now I have regular digital conversations with people around the world, and I’ve discovered I am even happier.

Until Sunday night when Windows decided to push the November Update to me with no warning. By the time it was finished, I couldn’t find my files, my photos, or my music. And the update appeared to delete my most-used aps, including the entire Microsoft Office Suite (Outlook, Word, Excel, etc.).

It was heartbreaking. Microsoft not only did me harm, they did it with no warning or permission. And they did it with a smile on their face. The screen announced: “You will be happy with the changes.” Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

So I spent two days standing on the ledge deciding what to do next. Should I reinstall Office and hope for the best? Should I do a clean install of Windows 10? Or should I revert to Windows 7 and rest in the peace of a well-known and reliable, if ancient, operating system?

Now this is the point when all my Mac-using friends start firing up their emails to tell me to switch and my problems will be over. I did that already, for a year, and I was never happy during that experiment.

My friend, Vern Hyndman, one of several friends who talked me down off the ledge and convinced me to put away my sharp knives, said, “Whether you go Mac or PC you have to buy into a set of irritations.” He’s right. We find the irritations that we can live with and move forward.

The big question I have to ask through all of this, the big question we all have to ask every day, is this: Who do you trust?

Sometimes the person, or the company, we trust turns on us suddenly and without warning and we are left staring at a stupid message streaming across our screen.

We say we trust God but there’s always that fear that he will delete our favorite aps and leave us standing on the ledge with a restructured and unfamiliar life.

Trusting anyone requires a buy-in on our part; a conscious decision.

How do we learn to trust God? Here are two ways that have worked for me: (1) Pray “Teach me to trust you” every day, and (2) Stay close to godly friends who can pull you back from the edge and steer you back toward God.

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

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I always hesitate when people ask me what I write about. And since I’m deeply embedded in structural work of my next book, I’m more sensitive to the question than I might be otherwise.

It feels too presumptuous to say I write memoir; who writes memoirs except famous or exception people. And since I am not famous, who am I to write one?

Except that the most influential memoirs on my bookshelf are meaningful to me precisely because of the ordinariness of the story rather than the previous fame of the writer. When I read memoirs of famous people, like Martin Short, Steve Martin, or Billy Crystal, I’m searching for insight into creativity, but I never relate personally to the writer.

However, if I read memoir by Cheryl Strayed, Jon Krakauer, Peter Matthiessen, John Lynch, Lane Belden, Lauren Winner, Gordan McDonald, and on and on, I find myself deep into their lives because I can see my story in theirs.

Maybe it’s similar to those Drugs-to-Jesus testimonies I used to hear at youth rallies when I was a teenager. I never related to the stories because the outlandish life of the speaker was so far from my own. But when someone simple, quiet rule-follower, stood up to talk, I listened. I knew that life.

The Bible tells us that “we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” (Ephesians 2:10)

Those stories we tell aren’t merely a recounting of random events, but a description of God’s work in our lives. The reason good memoir works is because telling the stories of our life helps others recall their own stories, and it is in that connection that we find common truth, purpose, and meaning.

So why is it so hard for me to identify as a memoir writer? Why do I think I have to earn the title through something besides writing?

Maybe I would feel better saying I write “personal stories,” except I’m not trying to merely tell the story of my life, but find the meaning in all our lives. That motivation springs from one of my core strengths: I see patterns where others simply see complexity. As far back as I can remember I’ve been able to find the story, or joke, buried in the chaos. I believe finding meaning among the clutter is my defining skill as a writer and teacher.

And once I find the story, once I understand the punchline, I am compelled to repeat it to everyone I know. Those of you who spend time around me know this to be true. I can’t keep quiet about what I’ve learned.

So I should get over my reluctance to call myself a memoir writer and just blurt it out. To quote a line from the movie, Chef, “I may not do everything great in my life, but I’m good at this. I manage to touch people’s lives with what I do and I want to share this with you.”

QUESTION: What do you do to touch people’s lives? Write? Cook? Serve? Listen?

“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.

Do you enjoy practicing? As in, music, or dance, or sports … those are the categories I think of most when I hear the word practice.

Maybe none of us enjoy practice as much as we enjoy the results. 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.” Anything worthwhile is hard work and inconvenient.

When I was in college I fell in with a group of leaders and students that taught the value of spiritual practices. It was what I needed to hear and do, so I joined right it. At the time, for me, that meant scripture memory, bible study, teaching, and group worship.

As I got older my list expanded. To my surprise, running became a spiritual practice even though spiritual pursuit had no bearing on why I started running in the beginning. It’s as if God saw me doing something on a regular basis, in a systematic way, and decided to join me. In my new post knee-replacement era I’m walking instead of running; I expect walking will become a spiritual practice in the same way that running did, but only time will tell. Maybe cycling, also.

And my list of spiritual practices has continued to grow. Most of my hiking and backpacking is in pursuit of God, and I expect to hear from him on the trail.

Writing has certainly become a spiritual practice for me, helping me learn what God is telling me, setting it in my life, allowing me to work out my theology and understanding. Writing also allows me to tell the story and share the lessons I learn. It is in those stories that I see the real work of God.

But there is more to this than modifying our behavior and reshaping our heart. The Apostle Paul wrote: “But I discipline body and make it my slave, so that, after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified.” (I Cor. 9:27, NAS)

What specifically did Paul mean when he said he disciplined his body? I doubt Paul went to weight lifting classes. I think he probably was a runner at some point in his life because he referenced it so often in his writing. He also mentioned boxing in the verses just before these; do you thing he was into boxing? In the NLT translation of the Bible, the verse says, “I discipline my body like an athlete, training it to do what it should.”

We don’t know what disciplines Paul engaged in, but he was a man who believed in spiritual practices.

But even more mysterious than Paul’s workout discipline is this: what did he mean that he would be disqualified?

Disqualified from what? Preaching? Writing? Traveling? Mentoring? Was he afraid he might lose his turn, or people would stop listening, or maybe he’d die too soon?

It’s unsettling that I could be disqualified from teaching because of the way I take care of my physical body. I don’t want to be disqualified because I was too soft or too lazy to treat my body like an athlete, training it to do what it should. So I keep practicing.

Here’s the thing. I’ve learned that if I do the practices: read from my Bible every day, read spiritual books, pray, find time for solitude and searching, share and teach what I’ve learned, memorize and meditate, get around other believers and let them influence me, listen to good teaching and preaching … and all that; well, if I’m true to the practices, the truth comes to me. Through constant practice, Christianity makes sense beyond my rational mind; it makes sense in my heart and soul.

Spiritual practices don’t earn us an audience with God, or mark us as serious disciples, but the process of repetition changes us, changes our heart, changes our motives, and changes our character, to be more like Jesus. Spiritual practices don’t attract God’s attention, but they focuses our own attention toward God.

How about you? What are your regular spiritual practices? How do they help you know and understand God?

“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.

Yes, I am a planner. I like to plan things out, knowing that plans always change. I’m fully aware well-made plans rarely work out the way you thought they would, but I’d rather have to re-plan on the fly than depend on random luck.

Yes, I even plan out vacations. I make a spreadsheet calendar to ensure we have time and opportunity to squeeze in all we want to do. I also include lots of downtime and free time. I’m not trying to stay busy; I’m trying to stay organized.

I enjoyed planning our trip to Italy last May. It was nerve-wracking, for sure, because I didn’t want to make a mess for everyone else, but I loved looking through guide books and maps, looking for places to run or bike, planning what books to take, watching movies to get in the Italian mood. I even loved building my spreadsheet with ideas for each day.

Calendars are great visual presentations of data. They’re like time-maps, and I love maps. I crave the big-picture, high-altitude view of everything. I want to see it all, all at once. As a result, I don’t like calendars that make you turn the page at the end of each month since no one lives their lives like that. I want my calendars to flow, week after week after week, like a continuous river of time, like an endless map.

I’m not alone enjoying the planning process. Psalm 139:16 says, “You saw me before I was born and scheduled each day of my life before I began to breathe. Every day was recorded in your book.”

So God is a planner, a calendar-lover, too. Can’t you picture him holding a calendar in one hand and a pen in another, making entries for our future, all while closely watching each of our complex parts forming up into a baby?

Is that the level of attention God pays to us? It sure seems that way when I read Psalm 139. It sounds very hands-on and detailed.

When I think about our future I’m happy to know God has scheduled every day. He even schedules times when we should stop and rest. Knowing God has taken that level of concern, down to the day-by-day detail, gives us confidence and hope for tomorrow.

At a recent men’s retreat we looked at Ephesians 1:5, which says, “He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will—.” (NIV)

Typically when reading this verse we skid to a stop at the word “predestined” and start arguing and fighting. But this time we considered the same verse from The Message translation: “What pleasure he took in planning this!” And that’s when I started smiling. I loved the notion that God took great pleasure in planning us.

It made God happy to plan our life, the people he would pull into our circle, the words he would give us to speak and teach and write, the wake we would leave behind. I wonder if God went around showing off his spreadsheet (like I do) because he was so proud of his planning.

“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.

Last week, Thursday night, I got to play with the big boys.

I played trombone with the Midland College Jazz Band, and we shared the billing with – get this – Wynton Marsalis and the Jazz at Lincoln Center Orchestra (JLCO). It was amazing.

Since the JLCO was the feature of the evening, they set up their own gear on the giant stage, and we used it. This, for me, meant a chair, music stand, microphone, and two music clips. It felt as if the kids had snuck onto the stage when the big boys weren’t looking and made themselves at home.

My daughter Katie posted this on Facebook: “Can’t wait to hear the stories and see the pictures of my dad, getting to rock out with his Silver Sonic trombone while opening for jazz royalty Wynton Marsalis tonight!!!!!”

But the meaning of the evening went even deeper. My brother Carroll posted this: “Music is strong in my family, and that is powerful. We may not be the best at it, but that’s not at all the point. What is the point is that it is a bond, a glue, a presence, even a bragging right sometimes. It doesn’t even have to come up that often, because when it does, we circle the wagons. Tonight is one of those nights, and I could not be more excited for my brother.”

I was 12-years-old when Carroll was born and I started college the year he started first grade. And so, we had very little in common. I grew up with 60s rock-and-roll, Richard Nixon, the Viet Nam War, and wore bell-bottomed Levi’s. Carroll grew up with 80s rock inspired by MTV, Ronald Reagan, and wore zippered parachute pants and Vans.

Through the years the thing we had between us was music. I played trombone and loved music, Carroll played drums and loved music. I’ve always been a utility player, able to handle my parts but never a soloist. Carroll has always been a percussion prodigy, earned his living playing for many years, and he is the finest drummer I’ve ever played with.

I don’t know how far back music goes in our family; what I meant is, I don’t how many generations were musicians, but I credit my dad with the fact I am a musician today. He never pushed or pulled me into music, but he certainly inspired me. Because of my dad I grew up knowing music was something grown men did regularly. It was a manly pursuit. So I pursued it.

And just like my Dad, I married a musician. Cyndi played melodic percussion (bells, chimes, xylophone, etc.), and we play together in various church ensembles as often as possible.

Playing my trombone, something I’ve done consistently since 1968, is not only fun, but it is completely physical. I use primarily my arm, lungs, and chops, but truly my entire body is part of the action. Especially my heart, which is the most important part. Music is a full-body experience. (Maybe that’s why electronic dance music leaves me cold … there aren’t enough body parts used to create it.)

Not only do I appreciate the physicality of playing music, and the deep family connection, but I love the tribal impact it has had on me. I once asked my music mentor, Rabon, “When we are together, I can play rhythms and hit high notes that I’m not good enough to play any other time. Why is that?”

He just laughed and shrugged his shoulders in his non-analytical way, as if to say it was all a mystery and it was all joy and maybe I should just let it happen.

Not willing to leave any thought unanalyzed, I said, “I think it’s because when we’re together I’m braver, and bolder; I’m a warrior standing beside my band of brothers and I can do more than I ever imagined.”

Rabon just nodded his head to agree.

Here’s the thing. I spent a weekend at a men’s retreat in the Colorado Mountains, and surprisingly, one of the things I left with was a renewed and reinvigorated appreciation for music in my life. Maybe because my roommate was a guitar player and worship leader and we talked music the entire weekend.

And then, four days after my retreat, I played an outdoor jazz concert with Wynton Marsalis and the JLCO. Although our skills were markedly different, we all, both bands, played our best, and there was music in our hearts. It lit me up, once again.

So much that I’ve been practicing my trombone at home, not a lot, but more than I have in twenty years. And I’ve been listening to J. J. Johnson and Jack Teagarden in my office. Who knows what will happen next. I’ll just have to follow the changes and try to keep up.

“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.