by Berry Simpson

Last weekend, while wrapping up my third book, I took a
break and watched the movie “The Way.” Before the weekend was over, I’d watched
it three times.

The Way, released in 2010, is a collaboration
between Martin Sheen and his son Emilio Estevez. It tells the story of Tom Avery, an American ophthalmologist who comes
to St. Jean Pied de Port, France to collect the remains of his adult son,
killed in the Pyrenees in a storm while walking the Camino de Santiago, also
known as The Way of Saint James. In a surprising combination of grief and homage to his son, Tom decides to
walk the ancient spiritual trail where his son died.

In a flashback scene we witness the strained relationship
between Tom’s adult son, Daniel, who wants to travel and experience the world,
and his father, a widower, who wants his only child to get serious, settle
down, and choose a life similar to his own.

Daniel said, “You don’t choose a life, Dad. You live it.” I
liked that line right away even though I mostly disagreed with it.

I think we do have to choose a life. We choose every day whether
to follow God, or love our wives, or live healthy and nutritious. We choose
whether to follow God’s calling. We have to choose our path and our direction.

For example, all the pilgrims in the movie chose to walk the
Way of St. James. Including Daniel. They had a variety of reasons, but none of
them ended up there accidently. Even Tom Avery, who hadn’t planned to walk,
made a conscious choice.

What Tom didn't choose
was the profound effect this trip would have on him. An inexperienced trekker, he
soon discovered that he would not be alone on his journey. On the Camino de
Santiago, Tom met other pilgrims from around the world, each with their own
issues, each looking for greater meaning in their lives. Tom learned that it
was better for his own heart to travel with a group than tackle the journey
alone.

He also learned that the journey itself was most important,
not just the destination. In the beginning he walked as fast as he could, just
to cover the ground, get it over with, and finish as quickly as possible. He
was just doing his duty. But as his pilgrimage progressed, he slowed down and
enjoyed the trip with his friends. He allowed his heart to change.

What I realized at the end of the movie, and the reason I
watched it over again and again, was this: we may choose the journey, but we
can’t choose the meaning. We choose our path, but not the message, the lesson,
the impact, or the changes that will come from it. We choose a life, but we
then have to live life as it comes. We have to live out the changes in our
heart.

Maybe we choose to let Jesus make his home in our heart,
giving  him permission to remodel our
heart to his liking … but we don’t get to pick the stories he’ll use, the
adventures he’ll take advantage of, or the person we’ll become. We have to
trust him with the changes he’ll make in our heart.

So during this past year I’ve spent a lot of time inside
Ephesians 3:17-19, working on my book. The verses conclude with this promise, And so at last you will be filled up with
God himself.

I spent most of my Christian life assuming that being filled
with God meant I would have some sort of spiritual superpower, greater insight,
or even magical teaching skills. I was certain the reason God wanted to fill me
with himself was so I could perform better. I didn’t appreciate that he wanted
to fill me with himself just to be together with me, to take me further down
the way. While I have been intentional about choosing a life, I had no way to
anticipate the changes Jesus would make in my heart.

I pray that you will choose the path God has laid out before
you, and that you will allow the changes he wants to make along the way. Let’s
choose our life, and let’s live our life.

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

Journal entry 082312: Choosing the way

by Berry Simpson

Being in love is not something that casually happens to us; We do it on purpose. Falling in love may be pure emotion, random and unpredictable and unexpected, but staying in love is an act of the will, intentional and specific.

This July marked the 33^rd anniversary for Cyndi and me. We were married July 28, 1979. A few years ago it occurred to me that instead of expecting gifts on our wedding anniversary, I should make it a habit to give something away. The anniversary itself, the fact that we are still together after all these years, is gift enough for me. (I learned this from my friend Fred Walsh. At least, I’m giving him credit.)

So I decided to give away love songs. I figure that if listening to love songs reminds you how to be in love, well then, we all should listen more often. In fact, for that very reason I have been a collector of love songs for decades. My iTunes “love song playlist” is gigantic; you’ve probably heard some of it if you’ve been to our house for any kind of party. Music is a social medium and it should be shared. In fact, it must be shared to have its full impact, so giving away some of my favorites seemed the appropriate thing to do. This is my 6^th collection of love songs to give away since I started, and I expect there will be many more

I am aware that a couple of these might not meet the strictest criteria for love songs, but they make me smile when I hear them, and that’s close enough. I hope at least one of these songs will speak to your own heart and push you closer toward your own true love. If you would like a CD containing this collection, send your mailing address to berry@stonefoot.org.

And another thing – I intend to stay with Cyndi for many more anniversaries so I'll be cobbling together another collection for our 34th in 2013. Since I don’t hear a lot of current music unless they play it on NPR or at Gold’s Gym, I need your suggestions. I’ll add them to my big playlist

There is my 2012 playlist:

1. This Time It's Real, Tower of Power, 1973. OK, it’s not as if I had a long history of being in love before Cyndi. Maybe once. But I’m convinced that this time, it’s real. (And I can’t resist the horns about 3:15. Nothing says love like kickin’ horns.)

2. I'm Into Something Good, The Bird and the Bee, 2010. This is the sweetest version of the old Herman’s Hermits song I’ve ever heard.

3. Echoes of My Mind, John Rivera, 2011. While on the Island of Kauai in July, we heard John Rivera playing in the farmer’s market at the Kukui’ula Village Shopping Center. He sang this Harry Nilsson song, and I couldn’t resist the line, “Going where the weather suits my clothes.” It reminds me of Cyndi, who always wants to wear warm-weather clothes.

4. That's Life, Paul Thorn, 2010. I like the line, “You’re in my prayers every night, enjoy the journey that’s life.”

5. Someone Like You, Doris Day, 1945. Doris Day appeared on Fresh Air for her 88th birthday, and I loved this song.

6. The Best Things Happen While You're Dancing, Kurt Eling, 1998. I don’t remember dancing more than once before I married Cyndi. Of course, she lives to dance. Her eyes become electric, her smile contagious, and she rises tall with confidence. She takes over the room. How can I not be part of that? In spite of my lack of skill, I dance with Cyndi whenever I can. Like the song says, “Even guys with two left feet come out OK if the girl is sweet.”

7. Rhythm of Love, Plain White T's, 2010. This was simply too contagious not to use. You must smile, and move, while listening.

8. Everybody, Ingrid Michaelson, 2009. A Pandora discovery, from the Love Song station.

9. Zoo Be Zoo Be Zoo, Sophia Loren, 1960. This song had a rebirth this year because of the TV show, Mad Men. It’s a reminder of how simple love can be.

10. Just You and Me, Zee Avi, 2010. Here is another Pandora discovery. I couldn’t resist a song that references Kierkegaard.

11. Nice 'n' Easy, Frank Sinatra, 1960. Sinatra didn’t treat women, or love, like he should’ve, but he sure did sing it well.

12. Right Down the Line, Bonnie Raitt, 2012. I cannot resist Bonnie Raitt, especially singing Gerry Rafferty.  My favorite lyric: “I know how much I lean on you, right down the line.”

13. Love, Matt White, 2007. This song came from Katie (Simpson) Noss. It makes me happy.

14. Lifening, Snow Patrol, 2011. Another song from Katie (Simpson) Noss. I liked it even more when she told me her favorite lyric. (You’ll have to ask her yourself.)

15. When We're Together, Mark Harris, 2011. From the movie, “Courageous.” Listen to it and dance with your daughters. Don’t waste those moments.

16. Romance in the Dark, Catherine Russell, 2012. I heard this song on a Fresh Air podcast while cycling down Highway 191; it was all I could do to keep from turning around and going back home to Cyndi.

17. Love Makes the World, Carole King, 2001. One of the books I read this year was Carole King’s autobiography, “A Natural Woman.” I had to include one of her songs.

18. From Here to the Moon and Back, Dolly Parton, 2012. This is from the movie, “Joyful Noise,” about a love that lasts longer than life itself, which is exactly what I’m hoping for.

19. Just for You, Sam Cooke, 1957. It’s the reason I make these CDs year after year. It’s the reason I do anything and everything.  It’s just for you, Mrs. Simpson. Just for you.

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

I know, I know, I may have to turn in my Man Card for saying this, but I enjoyed shopping with Cyndi at Ikea. There. Done.

In fact, we spent about three hours in Richardson, Texas, trolling the aisles at Ikea. Fortunately they have arrows painted on the floor so you won’t get lost, and also to ensure shoppers get a chance to see everything they sell. We saw it all at least once, but my favorite parts of the store were the examples of living in small spaces. Very small, as in 500 square feet.

While they were extremely small and compact, at least for this westerner, it was amazing how Ikea fit everything you needed into the tiny spaces without feeling overly cramped. You could understand how something that small might really work. Of course, you couldn’t own more than 18” of clothes or more than two pairs of shoes.

I told Cyndi, “I can imagine living like this if I hadn’t gotten married.” Not that being married demands so much more space, but my life would be very small without her influence. I doubt I would live a large life, be pulled into the larger story, or even long to be around so many people, if I didn’t have 33 years of Cyndi in my life.

I know we could live simpler and more efficiently if we had to, but I’m glad we don’t have to make that choice. I am happy that we don’t live such tiny lives.

However, living space isn’t my real concern. Mother Theresa had little if any personal space and she lived a huge life. Like her, I want Cyndi and I to leave a large footprint in the world, a huge wake, a lasting impact. Even at my most introverted I still want moments when I’m surrounded by a houseful of friends. Leave No Trace is a fine goal for backpacking, but I don’t want that to be said about our lives.

As Cyndi and I walked through Ikea, I reminded myself that we intentionally designed our own house with a mind to fill it up with people. Even more, so we could bring people along with us. We want everyone, not just those inside our house, but people living alongside us, joining us on this journey to know and love God better. Not as a band of disciples or followers, but as fellow travelers, as brothers on the trail.

Maybe I was extra-conscious of our house and our lives because of Ikea’s inspiring vision – “to create a better everyday life for the many people” – or maybe it was because I’ve been working on my next book, which will be about home and space.

It wasn’t until Cyndi and I started designing the floor plan of the house where we now live that I came to appreciate the sacredness of space. I wrote:

I was too young to understand all of that before. I had thought of space as mostly utilitarian; I never imagined it was connected to our hearts.

I expected to develop a relationship with these rooms. I expected them to become knowledgeable witnesses to our dreams. I expected the shape of this house to shape my future life and behavior, even guard my identity and help me remember who I am. Maybe I’d write a book sitting in this very room I was standing in. Maybe we’d sit with close friends in that other room, watching a great movie and talking about our lives. Maybe Cyndi would stand in the kitchen, cooking S’mores with grandchildren and creating lifelong memories. Maybe I’d chase Cyndi into that room, and that one, and all the rooms. Maybe someone in our family would live awhile in some of these rooms, finding in them a safe haven in a world of uncertainty.

It wasn’t that space itself had magical spiritual qualities. I know that some consider certain geographic locations to be holy places, but I don’t believe the holiness is in the rocks and trees and air. I believe the holiness comes from people doing holy things in those places, and from pilgrims having expectant hearts when they visit. Places are sacred because of the time we invest in them. They become sacred because our hearts are there. Cyndi and I were putting as much of our hearts into this space as we knew how, making it as sacred as we could.

Since moving in about three-and-a-half years ago, we’ve had 60+ people in our house on several occasions, eating soup, or eating hamburgers, or eating fresh corn on the cob (seems to be a theme). Having so many people interacting and laughing makes me happy; the fact that they mostly entertain themselves and I don’t have to work the crowd, even happier. And even better than that – we don’t have to squeeze into 500 square feet of space.

Oh, and in case you were worried about that Man Card thing, don’t bother. It’s too late. I pulled it out and laid it face-down on the table while watching the Olympic gymnasts perform on the rings. Seeing them made me feel like a little boy more than anything Ikea could muster.

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

Physics was one of my favorite classes in high school. Especially physics lab. I remember simulating transverse waves using an extra-long Slinky stretched 30 or 40 feet down the hallway between classrooms. Of course, we made it a contest to see who could keep the most waves in motion at the same time, but it was hard to keep an accurate count of waves moving in both directions simultaneously. Curious students walked past as we were wave making and asked, “What classes are you in and how do I get to play with a Slinky at school?” When we answered, “Physics,” they shook their heads and kept walking.

This was decades before geeky became cool. Even so, I was always surprised that everyone didn’t consider physics fun.

In physics, you have to be OK with not knowing everything you want to know. The first step in solving any problem was to disregard the factors we weren’t smart enough to calculate, like friction or wind resistance or static electricity effects. The standard joke, funny to all us baby physicists, was, “Why don’t we just disregard the whole problem and go to lunch?”

The thing is, physics is only a tool; it isn’t the whole truth. Physics, as with all the sciences, is only an approximation of how the world really behaves. When an experiment finds disagreement between theory and the world, the theory has to go. It is the true behavior of nature that matters, not our approximation of it.

Yet, it spite of so many questions we cannot answer, we know enough, or approximate close enough, to put men on the moon six different times, and enough to send two Voyager spacecraft on 35-year missions that are still ongoing and are approaching the edges of our own Solar System.

Last month I read a book about one of my heroes, physicist Richard Feynman, titled Quantum Man, by Lawrence M. Krauss. Krauss quoted Feynman, “People say to me, ‘Are you looking for the ultimate laws of physics?’ No, I’m not. I’m just looking to find out more about the world.”

I like this quote because Feynman is so grounded. For him, it wasn’t the abstract study of physics that really mattered, but the study of the world.

It was easy for physicists chasing the Nobel Prize to be captured by the search for a Unified Theory – one theory that tied together all the competing and conflicting ideas – gravity, electromagnetism, quantum forces. Feynman said he wasn’t after one theory that ruled them all. He just wanted to know more about the world.

Krauss wrote, “Nature, like life, takes all sorts of stray twists and turns, and most important, it is largely insensitive to one’s likes and dislikes.”

He was reminding us that nature doesn’t care about our physics. It is up to us to get it correct, not up to nature to conform to something we can easily understand. For physicists, that can be disappointing when they have a beautiful idea that nature chooses not to exploit.

I can understand all that, even as a Bible teacher. It’s easy to be captured by the search for a Unified Theory – one theology that ties together all the competing and conflicting ideas – grace and judgment, free will and sovereignty, even creation and end times. Like Feynman, I don’t want to chase after all that. I just want to know more about living God’s life today.

As Bible students, we have to be comfortable not knowing everything we want to know: not because we aren’t smart enough, but because that’s how God intends it. In the Bible God never revealed everything about himself. Even when he agreed to show himself to Moses on Mount Sinai, he only showed his back. Full knowledge of God was too much for a human to handle, even for a superhero like Moses.

It took me a long time to settle with partial knowledge. I kept waiting for secret memo to show up, tucked in some obscure part of my Bible, the memo that spelled out everything. Instead, all I got were more questions.

Maybe all we know about God is an approximation, but the more we study and experience him, the closer our approximations can become to the God who really is. And learning about things we’ll never fully understand, like physics, like God, can be the best part of the journey.

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

Berry D. Simpson

I’ll just say right up front, I enjoyed surfing lessons more than I expected to. I can’t claim to have surfed in the purest sense of the word, but I was up on my feet on my board at least two times, maybe three (depending on your minimum threshold of verticality).

I never thought of surfing as something I could do, but the momentum of the group swept me along. If Britt hadn’t tried it, I doubt I would have, either. If Drew (who’ll try anything) hadn’t proposed it, if Patti (who loves the water and the beach) and Cyndi (who loves to move) hadn’t found the instructor and signed us all up, it never would have occurred to me to look for it. However, there we were, Monday morning in Kauai, six Texans at Hanamaulu Beach Park for surfing lessons. It was a great beach with smooth sand, free of rocks, and the waves were perfect for us. I had no excuses.

My resistance to surfing had nothing to do with my age, as some may’ve suspected, but with water. I really have no confidence in things that happen in the water. My people are not water people. As my mom recently reminded me, “We don’t like to have our head in the water.”

However, in spite of that family tradition, I was not afraid of drowning or injury. No, I was afraid to look stupid, which is much scarier than getting hurt.

It would be fair and accurate to say that I have no intrinsic athletic ability at all. I didn’t play sports through school save mandatory P.E. classes. As an adult, I run too slow, weigh too much, limp too often, and quit too soon. I took up running in 1978 for one reason only – to win back my girlfriend who had been dating a track-and-field jock. It’s true that I’ve recently taken up cycling again, but that hardly qualifies me as an athlete. Running and cycling demand endurance and tolerance of discomfort more than athletic grace and skill.

Surfing caused me to wonder: how many other adventures are out there – not just scary ones, but fun ones – where all I need is someone to sign me up, and a group of friends to sweep me along. Maybe I should give myself more credit and try more often; make my default answer, “Sure, I’ll try that!”

Well, courage and risk come in a variety of ways. On Friday, the next week back in Midland, I had a chance to go cycling with a good friend who was in the USA for a month. Cycling with Todd was an opportunity for an extended conversation with a valued Christian friend. However, since it was going to be just the two of us riding, I also knew it would be hard cycling. Todd is a coach at heart and I knew he would push me to ride faster and maybe ride further. To ride with him was to take an intentional risk in hope of moving up another level.

What was the big risk? That I would fall apart in front of someone I didn’t want to fall apart in front of and have to limp home, or worse, call home for Cyndi to come get me. I might embarrass myself in front of a friend, which, as all men know, can be worse than death.

Todd and I rode to Odessa and back, a 47-mile round trip from my house, and a long way for someone like me. In addition, we rode at least 2 mph faster than I would’ve ridden by myself. I spent the rest of the weekend telling my story and beating my chest. I was a proud and happy man.

Don’t get me wrong. I know the difference between what I did and what real cyclists do. The riding speed that I was so proud of didn’t even approach what Todd rides regularly back home in Saudi Arabia, and it was less that 40% of what Tour de France cyclists do over the same distance. I also know that standing upright on a surfboard for a cumulative 20 seconds is hardly surfing worth a Beach Boys’ song.

I’m not deceived by my efforts, but still, my mind is different today that it was three weeks ago. I’m a different man on the inside. Sometimes something happens that makes you think of yourself in a different category, allows you to use new adjectives inside your head. It is a mental step forward. It is a gift.

My advice? Spend time with faster people, and let them pull you into the future. Being brave and trying new things is part of growing up. Admitting fear, even over small things that no one else thinks are scary, and risking failure in front of friends, is learning to be a man. Accepting help is often all it takes to push through the fear to the fun. As Erwin McManus wrote, “You can’t just sit back and hope that the life you long for will simply come to you.” (Wide Awake)

Oh, and by the way, I have considered buying some official board shorts to signify my new status as a surfer. Any suggestions? This is all new to me.

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

by Berry Simpson

There I was sitting on the porch, facing south, elevated about the second-floor level (the entire house was elevated with parking underneath), watching the ocean waves come in to the tiny neighborhood beach, named Baby Beach. We got up about 5:45 AM, which seems preposterous being on vacation and all, but the jet lag still had us in its clutches and the house was all windows and the rising sun was very bright.

The rhythm of the waves crashing into the beach was hypnotic – a cliché’, but true – every wave sounded different from those before and after, yet they all sounded just alike. The earth’s meditative breathing. Add the breeze blowing through palm trees and the result was captivating and peaceful. It’s easy to see how someone could get trapped all day listening to this siren song.

There on the porch I read in my Daily Bible about the fall of Israel to Assyria, and how the disaster and preceding three-year siege wasn’t really about Assyria at all. It was about Israel’s willful disobedience that lasted generation after generation. God simply used the Assyrians because they happened to be conveniently located and timely powerful.

To be honest, I was actually hoping for something a little lighter on this fine Hawaiian morning. With coffee in hand, ocean waves in view, surrounded by the smells and sounds of Poipu, Kauai, it seemed to be the wrong story. Why couldn’t my daily reading have been from Psalms, about how wonderful God is and how his loving hand is so obvious in nature on mornings like this? Or even Isaiah 51:15 (“For I am the Lord your God, who churns up the sea so that its waves roar”). Why not that? Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate, more beneficial?

But in my peaceful bliss of the morning I saw how easy it could be to be lulled into complacency by the view and the experience, never moving all day, like being trapped in an endless Jimmy Buffett song, life drifting away. It was easy to imagine how the people of Israel could be so caught up in the rhythm their military successes, financial victories, put to sleep by their own soothing sounds, and convincing themselves they were just fine, thank you. All this success was to their own credit and they didn’t need God after all, until it was all over.

I once heard a motivational speaker, Jim Rohn, say, “Casual living breeds casualties.” He didn’t mean we could never be casual, never wear shorts and flip-flops. And he didn’t mean we should never be captured by the Pacific Ocean waves. He meant that if we don’t take the path of our life seriously there will come a time when the Assyrian army is at our gate and we will have lost our last chance.

Well, back on the porch, Cyndi woke me up from my (as she once called it) meditating and stuff. We walked down to the Spouting Horn with Patti and Katie. I’d had enough casual relaxing; time for serious shopping.

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

Journal entry 071912: Ocean Waves 

Getting lost while driving is a different sort of problem nowadays because of smart phones. It’s easier to recover.

Cyndi and I recently spent a weekend being lost while driving in Santa Fe, which some would say is a redundant statement, but it wasn’t so bad.  No matter where we were, we could pull over, input the destination address, and the mapping ap would plot a solution for driving. It even provided alternate routes, as if we had enough local knowledge to make an informed choice. And you know what? Getting lost isn’t so bad if you are with someone you love who doesn’t argue.

Our second morning in Santa Fe, while driving to Cyndi’s workshop, we missed an obscure “Y” in the road and ended up about 90-degrees off prime. We ended up driving half way to Glorieta on I-25 North (which, of course, goes south) before doubling back to the correct location. I think Cyndi was the last attendee to arrive. The gate tender was standing in the road waiting for us.

The disadvantage of using a phone to navigate is you only get a small detailed picture of where you are and where you are going. Most of the time I need a wider view of life than my phone screen offers. Another disadvantage is that only the navigator can see the map. It’s too small for both driver and navigator to follow.

So after delivering Cyndi to her workshop I found a place to camp out and enjoy Sunday morning coffee and newspapers. I unfolded my large analog city map and retraced our morning routes, including wrong turns and missed opportunities, and figured out where we went wrong and how we recovered. I felt much better about the entire experience once I had it in my head.

I wonder why no one has invented a “Where Did I Go Wrong” phone ap that retraces the previous hour’s driving and deconstructs exactly how the driver got off-track. With an ap like that I could identify the first error that cascaded into deep lostness.

Even better, maybe the paid version of the ap could point out where I first went wrong on my last job, or most recent blunder with Cyndi, or even identify the bad assumption I used that cascaded into an intractable mess. That would be worth $9.99.

However, looking over past mistakes is only useful when plotting a future course. Going forward, I am a wide-angle view kind of guy. I need to see a bigger picture before drawing conclusions. I need a large-scale paper map alongside my phone to really do my best.

Unlike Cyndi, I am not a kinesthetic learner. I will never understand a place simply by driving around. I need a mental picture of the roads and how they relate to each other, and the sooner I use a map during my exploring phase, the quicker I get the image of the layout, and the better I understand the city.

And, just being honest here, I also need maps to understand relationships, or theology, or history, or marathon training, or whatever. My mind needs as much data as possible before zooming down to the detail level. In fact, I can’t grasp which details are important until I have them all in front of me.

There have been occasions when Cyndi and I worked together to lead a workshop and our opposing styles for preparation clashed. Cyndi, being a professional teacher, can go from abstract to concrete almost immediately. Once she senses the core of a lesson, she relentlessly pursues the final result and cranks it out quickly. For Cyndi, the work comes after she knows her destination.

Not me. I never know the final target of a lesson, or an essay, or a speech, or a workshop, or even a book, until I pile all the available data on the table and start sifting. For me, the destination comes only after I do the work.

So we are leaving for a vacation this weekend, maybe our first pure vacation in ten years, to Kauai, and I don’t think I have a good road map yet. I have a spreadsheet mapping out our days, but I have no confidence for driving. Fortunately, we are traveling with great friends, so it will be OK if we get lost together. It just adds to of the adventure.

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

Journal entry 070512: Is Getting Lost Part of the Adventure?

“Berry, what are you doing?” Cyndi asked.

I was quite surprised that she wasn’t asleep already since she’d been horizontal for a good thirty seconds.

“I’m reading my book. I want to get in another chapter before going to sleep.”

“Why are you holding the bug zapper?”

“I want to get rid of that irritating housefly that keeps strafing my head.”

It was at this point in the evening when trouble started. Cyndi was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe.

“You look so funny lying there, book in one hand, bug zapper in the other,” she said.

“Just think of me as a warrior-scholar.”

“Ooh, a warrior-scholar?”

“Well, I am reading Quantum Man, about particle physicist Richard Feynman. The book is good and fun to read but almost all of the physics is way over my head. I have no idea what they are talking about most of the time, so it makes me feel very scholarly.”

“So what about the warrior part? You are holding a plastic bug zapper.”

“Well, this is not a toy. This is serious bug-zapping technology. I am making your life, and your side of the bed, safer and more comfortable, by going into combat for you.”

“A real warrior. Wow.”

“Remember that time at the ranch when I killed hundreds of wasps with a vacuum cleaner? This zapper would have been even better?”

“Easier?”

“Well, not easier, but more satisfying.”

Then she said, “This reminds me of the time when you were drinking ice water out of a coffee pot while reading your book. I still can’t get that image out of my mind.”

“I had to drink out of the coffee pot because the hotel room only had flimsy little plastic cups. They were worthless. And I had just run four miles in 90-degree heat. I needed to rehydrate.”

"I can just picture you sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, reading your book, and drinking ice-water out of a coffee pot. Why didn't you just drink out of the ice bucket?"

"Because the ice bucket was too big to hold with one hand."

Once again, Cyndi was too proud of my ingenuity to speak. She just held her sides with both arms and laughed and laughed. After about five minutes I interrupted her and asked, "Why are you still laughing about something that happened in Farmington, New Mexico, in 1998?"

“Seeing you in bed holding your book and the bug zapper at the same time reminded me.”

“Well, you’re laughing so hard you’re shaking the bed. This book is hard enough to read without all the bouncing.”

“So what happens to the housefly when you zap it? Will it fall into the bed? Will the flaming bug parts set our bed on fire?”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe I should get the fire extinguisher just in case. The instructions did say that not only do you get rid of the fly, you get a satisfying poof of smoke.”

So, if Cyndi appeared more tired than usual last Friday, it wasn’t my fault. No matter what she may’ve said. She just wouldn’t go to sleep.

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

Journal Entry 022812: Warrior scholar

The trip started well. Cyndi and I both made it through airport security, again; a pleasant reminder that we are STILL not terrorists.

We were in Santa Fe, and following our usual pattern, I was entertaining myself while Cyndi attended a workshop. For me, driving around Santa Fe means being lost most of the time, and my first adventure happened when the quaint coffee shop I discovered from AroundMe wasn’t anywhere around where I could find it. Those phone aps aren’t yet good enough to vector you all the way to the front door of a hidden coffee shop. I later read this review: “Great coffee, but hard to find the place.” I can testify to the second part of that.

After Cyndi’s class, and after we investigated some uber-cool stone fountains at Santa Fe Stone, which Cyndi wanted to bring home in her carryon luggage, we wound our way to Canyon Road for lunch. Since it was so difficult to find a parking place along the narrow road, Cyndi thought we should maximize our efforts by combining a bit of shopping with lunch. Fortunately, there was a hip clothing store across the street from our restaurant.

It was great. The clothes were beautiful, and they had a comfy husband couch where I could sit and watch. Cyndi bought a clingy bluish dress. Then she tried on a black dress that was, well, stunning on her. Seeing her in that dress, imagining being with her while she was wearing it, left me breathless. (I was actually prepared for something like this to happen. There is another story about trying on clothes in Santa Fe from 1996, but Cyndi hasn’t given me permission to release it into the wild.)

She danced around the room from mirror to mirror, oblivious to her effect on everyone in the store, trying to decide whether to spend the money on the dress. Later, the two women working there said my eyes never left her. “You should buy that dress just for look in his eyes,” they said.

Cyndi, feeling frugal, said she’d think about it and we left for lunch. Later in the day, she decided maybe it was OK to spend the money and get the dress. I wrote down the address and put it in my pocket.

The next morning I wound my way down Canyon Road again, re-found the store, and bought the dress. I told the woman, “I can’t wait for a fancy date,” and she said, “I know, I can tell.”

So all of that was on my mind at noon when I finally found a hamburger place that served green chile on their burgers. The hamburger was excellent, and I felt the tingle of the chile on my lips for at least an hour.

While eating I read from my Daily Bible, and the day’s selection was from the Old Testament book of Hosea.

I’ll be honest. I can hardly read Hosea because the story is too painful for me to contemplate. God asked Hosea the prophet to marry “an adulterous wife” because God wanted to illustrate his own pain when his followers decided to chase after other gods. Hosea’s wife, Gomer, cheated on him, left him, and he took her back. Hosea went through all that heartbreak in order to tell God’s story. But when I read it, it seems too much for anyone to bear. How could God ask that of anyone?

And knowing Hosea’s story, how can I pray for God’s will in my own life? Would I be willing to sacrifice my life with Cyndi just so I could understand God better? Would I be willing to give up those moments – Cyndi in the black dress, Cyndi dancing, being together on Guadalupe Peak, or together playing with our granddaughter? Could I give that up if God asked me to?

And if I gave it all up, would I then be able to use it to teach about God’s broken heart? I don’t think so. I think I would crumple down and fade away.

But here is the question: When I read the book of Hosea, why do I always assume my place in the story is Hosea, the cheated-on, rather than as Gomer, the cheater? Why do I assume I would be the blameless faithful broken-hearted one instead of assuming my place is the adulterous cold-hearted unfaithful one?

I know the answer. It is my own arrogance. I always assume I will be consistently faithful to God, and my own unfaithful moments, if there are any, are trivial and shouldn’t really count against me. How arrogant and misguided is that? Who do I think I am?

When I realize the book of Hosea is about whether God will always take us back, that changes everything. I should look forward to reading it every year. It isn’t about loss, but about grace.

God always gives us another chance to capture breathtaking moments with him. He will always take us back, even from our own arrogance.

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

by Berry D. Simpson

Who has influenced you? Specifically, who has influenced your message and your search for meaning?

Looking back over more than twenty-five years of writing, I realize that understanding and communicating God’s personal calling has been important to me since the beginning of my modern era. As far back as high school, I felt there was a call, a purpose, to my life, but I didn’t understand it or know how to explore it. It was more of an ambient thought in the back of my mind that I was aware of but didn’t know what to do with.

That is, until 2002, when a friend loaned me a set of cassette tapes (“Here, this seems to be the sort of thing you would like”). The tapes were from a workshop by Gary Barkalow, who was with Focus on the Family at the time. Gary has since become my friend, but at the time, I’d never heard of him or his ministry. However, his workshop was the freshest thing I’d ever heard about God’s will and calling. And not only that, I hadn’t heard anyone use video clips while teaching, and I took notice how effective it was.

I was between jobs at the time, searching for the next thing, begging God for insight. To keep myself occupied I was building bookshelves in my garage, so I listened to those workshop tapes repeatedly while working, day after day. I eventually had to make copies so I wouldn’t wear them out before returning them to my friend. Besides the fact that I was actively seeking employment, I expect the reason Gary’s message resonated so strongly with me was that it was something I’d been thinking for a long time but didn’t know how to articulate it.

The workshop reminded me that God was more concerned with our character than with our next employer. He cared more about the path of our life than about each of our individual choices. He didn’t have to change his perfect plan every time we made a bad decision because his perfect plan was to train us up, grow us up, to be like Jesus, and he did that through all our decisions whether good or bad.

Our calling from God was NOT about career or job. In fact, I had always assumed God had called me to be a petroleum engineer and a Bible teacher, and maybe a writer, but those were merely assignments, the tools God gave to put my calling into action.

Well, all that information changed the way I taught and the content of every lesson from that day forward.

I recently returned to those roots of the calling message in the process of fine-tuning one of my favorite ministries, Journey Partner Groups. I searched my files for the notes I took back in 2002 when I first heard this talk, but I couldn’t find them. I told Cyndi, “I can picture what they looked like, but I cannot find them.” I am always stunned whenever I can’t find something. It is a complete shock that they aren’t exactly where I thought they should be.  So, I started over. I dug out the CDs I’d made from the original workshop tapes, and listened again. I am glad I did.

I’ve realized that God’s call was for me is to give away what I’ve learned, to share my heart, whether engineering or writing or teaching. In effect, my call is to tell the story.

I realized that every lesson I taught or every essay I published or every conversation I joined, all ended up focusing on one of these topics: growing closer to God every day, becoming a life-long student, pursuing your love, or growing stronger in community. That was the story I had to tell.

I also had a desire to break down the barriers we westerners erect dividing the spiritual life from the secular. I believe everything is spiritual, whether preaching or cycling, singing or backpacking, studying or running marathons.

Listening to that workshop again reminded me of how much my life has changed since 2002. In addition to the calling message, Gary introduced me to Wild at Heart, by John Eldredge, which soon became a men’s book study in my church led by me, which morphed into the Iron Men group, which established itself as a major ministry marker in my life for the past eight years. In 2002, I saw none of those changes coming. It was all a surprise.

I have been fortunate to be influenced by powerful men throughout my life, and it is my desire to be one of those men for the people around me. Gary Barkalow is now leading his own ministry, Noble Heart, and I encourage you to investigate his teaching and read his book, It’s Your Call. It might change the rest of your life.

QUESTIONS: Who has influenced you, influenced your message?

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