It used to bug me that I couldn’t pull an all-nighter training session and run a marathon the next weekend. No, I had to set aside weeks, months, of consistent training. I had to keep working it.

I wanted it to be more like my university days when I passed Economics class with a couple of strategically-timed all-nighters. Of course, just because I passed the class doesn’t mean I remember much about economics. Anything I learned in those all night sessions has frittered away except for “guns and butter” and “no free lunch.”

Why can’t I become a faster longer runner right away, like in the Matrix. Just plug the cable into my neck and upload endurance and speed. And why can’t I become a better cyclist using the same technique.

Why can’t I morph into skinny-yet-strong flatbelly overnight? Why does everything I want to do, at least everything of value, take so long?

Erwin McManus wrote (The Artisan Soul), “For our lives to be a work of art, we need to allow a lifetime of work. We must press close to God. We must be willing to take the time and risk the intimacy required for creating an artisan life.”

If we want to be valuable to God and to the people around us we have to keep putting in the work to improve. George Sheehan wrote, “Training is not like money. You cannot put it in the bank and save it. You have to go out continually and fight again and again for the desired improvement.”

It turns out this is also true about relationships. Even the closest relationships die without constant attention. The most heartfelt “I love you” fades away from memory if it isn’t repeated regularly.

It doesn’t seem fair. Why is life that way? Because humans leak. Just like the tires on my bicycle, which lose air slowly and will be completely flat if I don’t add air each time I ride, we humans leak our hard-earned fitness, we leak our fought-for endurance, we leak knowledge about economics, and we leak the assurance that we are loved. And not only do we leak, but because we live in a fallen and broken world, we are constantly under attack by the voices that tell us to sit down and give up.

But here’s the thing … it is the work itself that changes our lives. It is the long training sessions that change us from couch potato to athlete. It is the deep conversations with those we love that change our heart.

In a couple of weeks I will hike Guadalupe Peak with a busload of Iron Men, and it will be a hard day. The hike is eight miles roundtrip, with a 3,000’ increase in elevation. And since the trailhead is above 5,000,’ we are out of breath just getting off the bus.

I’ve made this hike at least fifteen times, and about halfway up I usually remember that there were early plans to build a tram to the top. So anyone could ride the tram to the highest point in Texas and enjoy the view without having to complete the difficult hike. While I’m hiking and trying to protect my knees and struggling to breathe, the tram proposal seems a pretty good idea. But in fact, if we rode to the top, all we’d get for the day would be the view. We wouldn’t experience the life-changing friendships born of shared struggle, or the strengthened self-image from a hard job well done, and we certainly wouldn’t have any stories to share on the drive home.

Again, from Erwin McManus, “Artists understand that the process of fermentation cannot be rushed or hurried. They know that the products they are committed to creating will not happen if they take short cuts or circumvent the process.” (He was comparing our lives to baking bread.)

The coolest part of this, I no longer see this idea of long-term training requirements as a bad thing. It doesn’t frustrate me (as much). Because I know that if I keep working … working at running and cycling, working to improve my writing, working to be a better supporter and lover to Cyndi Simpson … I will be. For all of us, it means our future can be better and deeper. If we get to work.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Cyndi worked on her closet this week. The reason I know what she did is because she has a pile of clothes in the middle of the floor two feet high and three feet in diameter. And the reason I know about the pile on her closet floor (we have separate closets, one of my three requests when we built this house (the other two requests: no lawn to mow, and a library)) is because walking through her closet is the most direct route to the laundry room and I had to negotiate my way around the pile without dropping a basket full of clothes and adding to her pile.

Thinning the volume of clothes in your closet is not a simple task. As for me, I convince myself I’ll wear it or use it someday, and before I realize what’s happened its two years later and nothing has changed. Except now I’ve accumulated two more years of stuff.

Cleaning, like Cyndi was doing, with the intent to discard, is one of those projects that’s hard to start but gains momentum. As you proceed, as the pile grows, the air gets cleaner and your spirit gets lighter. It’s liberating, whether clothes from the closet or trinkets from a desk drawer or old Christmas decorations or even unfinished projects form the garage.

And so, as I contemplated a Cyndi-like exercise of my own, I listened to a podcast that spoke to my piles of stuff, an interview with British author Penelope Lively, from NPR Fresh Air. Ms. Lively is 81 years old, and she recently published a memoir titled Dancing Fish and Ammonites, which she describes as “the view from old age.” She wrote that she’s no longer acquisitive, but now tries to reduce her possessions. She doesn’t want more stuff.

The interviewer, Terry Gross, asked Penelope Lively about all the books she owns and what does she do with them. Gross said, in her own house books were stacked everywhere, on tables, on the floor, on couches, and she complained, “It’s way too much.” She wondered what Lively did with her own lifetime accumulation of thousands of books and why she kept them knowing she wouldn’t reread or refer to most of them.

Lively gave a great answer: “They chart my life. They chart everything I’ve been interested in and thought about for the whole of my reading life. They identify me.”

Listening to her describe her relationship with books helped me understand why it is easy to clean out some places but hard to clean others. Some of that clutter defines us, charts the path of our hobbies and activities and interests.

So as I follow Cyndi’s lead and start my own Spring Cleaning project I have another tool for deciding what to keep. Does it say something about me, is it tied to memories, does it have a story, is it part of my timeline? If so, I’ll keep it a bit longer.

I should add, this isn’t just about being neat. While I would say I am neater than average (doesn’t everyone say that?) I don’t live my life straightening up. I have piles everywhere, and I often use my piles as physical to-do lists.

No, my desire to clean out and reduce has more to do with creating margin so we have space for whatever God brings next. I think we often have to make room for the next thing before we learn what the next thing is, and I want to be ready.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

I was reading a story from my Bible. from the book of Ruth, when I noticed s phrase that pushed me straight to my journal. It said, “Don’t embarrass her.”

The story begins with a woman named Naomi who moved with her family to another country, Moab, to escape a famine. They were climate refugees, looking for a better opportunity. They never intended the move to be a permanent reloation; in fact, the story says they went to live “for a while.”

And then, all the men in Naomi’s family died; her husband and both sons. The story went from hope to disaster in two paragraphs. Naomi and her two daughters-in-law were alone in a time and place that offered nothing to single women. All Naomi could do to survive was return to her home and hope for some sort of miracle.

Ruth was one of the daughters-in-law, and she accompanied Naomi. The two women fed themselves by gleaning, the practice of collecting leftover crops from farmers’ fields after the harvest. The farmers left the corners of their fields unharvested as an early form of welfare.

A landowner named Boaz noticed Ruth gleaning in his field, learned her story, and told his men, “Even if she gathers among the sheaves, don’t embarrass her.”

Can’t you imagine Boaz’s men yelling across the field, “The boss said to leave some out for her,” pretending to help but being loud enough everyone knew what they were doing.

But Boaz told them, don’t inhibit her, or scold her, or embarrass her, even if she gathered from among the sheaves (the previously harvested wheat). Leave her alone.

When I read that story I wondered how often I embarrass someone when I’m helping them. How often do I make a big deal out of helping because I don’t want bystanders to think I’m like those poor people?

Probably I don’t do it on purpose; more likely I crack too many jokes to show my superiority. It’s easy to embarrass someone while pretending to be clever.

Bob Goff told us “love doesn’t keep track of how many times it helps. Love stops counting offenses, infractions, and the cool stuff it does.” It says in 1 Corinthians 13:5, “Love does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.” (NIV)

Love helps people. Love keeps its mouth shut. Love doesn’t embarrass.

Love doesn’t brag to the boss at the end of the day, “We let Ruth gather ten baskets.”

Love doesn’t say “I love you so much I turned your closet light ten times this week.”  Love keeps quiet about what it does.

Love doesn’t bellow, “Do you still need money, because I can help.” Love helps quietly.

Love doesn’t keep a balance sheet. Love helps because that’s what love is. Love moves on, forgetting how many times it helped, not expecting a thank-you, and not anticipating a notice or head nod. Love helps because that is what love is. Love does not embarrass.

What a cool story. It starts out in disaster and ends up in grace, because Boaz was generous. Not only with his wheat, but with his acceptance.

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

You can find more of my writing at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Let me be clear: this journal entry began with me being a wind wuss last Sunday afternoon, and continued with my attempt at redemption by riding Monday evening.

It was windy Monday evening, too. I tried to find something to contemplate besides discomfort by listening to a podcast about how God speaks to us. I should add, though, my thoughts tend to scatter with the gusts.

Last week a young man told me he knew he was physically healthy, but his spiritual health was sinking, and his life was not going well because of it. I believe even his awareness of a need for spiritual health was God speaking.

Moses once asked God directly, “Now show me Your glory.” I wrote in the margin of my Bible: “Would God have shown Himself if Moses hadn’t asked?”

Now that’s a good question if I say so myself. I think, for the most part, God won’t show Himself until we ask Him. Unless He wants to surprise us.

Lately I’ve made several rides over 40 miles; just a few beginning steps onto the comeback trail. All this after (1) last year’s grounding due to injury #1, which was due to a crash; and (2) last year’s abortive comeback attempt when I tried to do too much too soon, which resulted in injury #2.

I’m much better now.

However, it seems the last 10% of every ride, regardless of distance, is when I feel tired and weary. Maybe I should limit my rides to 90%?

In the movie, Music Within, a professor told the main character, Richard Pimentel, to “come back when you have something to say.” Curiously, he never found his message until he lost his hearing while fighting in Vietnam. Personal damage gave him his voice.

So would the Apostle Paul’s voice have been as strong without his “thorn in the flesh?” Did he need that disability to have depth?

Would his message of grace have been so rich if not for Paul’s background as chief persecutor of the church?

Thinking about the lesson I taught Sunday morning from Proverbs 8-9, why is there a voice of folly that competes against the voice of wisdom? Wouldn’t our lives be so much simpler if wisdom was the only voice?

But without folly, or evil, there would be no choice in how to live, and without the ability to make choices, there would be no love.

God wants us to love Him more than anything else. So He gave us a choice.

What does the Bible mean when it says “He who is faithful in little is faithful in much” except to tell me to be faithful with small decisions?

I cancelled my Sunday afternoon ride with the cycling club because of high winds; I’m guessing 25-30 mph with gusts. But in my defense I rode 40 miles the day before with Cory, and my main goal for Sunday was to join the group ride and feed my social side, but there is nothing social about riding in wind like that. Even if you wanted to talk to each other you wouldn’t be able to hear. And to top it off, to put the last link in my chain of reasoning, the wind had picked up most of the Texas Panhandle red dirt and filled the skies with it. I stayed home and off my bike.

It doesn’t get easier with age, the nagging fear that what seems like a reasoned decision not to ride is actually another bout of self-indulgent chickening out. I’m good at convincing myself I did the right thing, but still, often fear I don’t.

George Sheehan once wrote this about running: “I have a love-hate relationship with hills. I hate running up hills, but love the feeling of accomplishment I get when I reach the top. I hate the pain going up, but I love the relaxed sprint down.”

We don’t have enough hills around here to have a relationship, but we do have wind. It’s time for me to focus on the “love” part of this equation with regard to wind, and stop whining.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

What does God say to you when He speaks?  What has He said to you in the past?

This week I read two of my favorite stories from the Old Testament, about Moses and Joshua, the first from the end of the book of Deuteronomy and the second from the beginning of the book of Joshua.

The story in Deuteronomy 34 tells about the end of Moses’ life. The Hebrew nation was poised near the Jordan River, finally, and ready to enter the land God had promised them so long ago. Unfortunately, because of a past transgression, God would not allow Moses to enter the new homeland. God had made that judgment clear to Moses on several occasions and it doesn’t seem Moses ever took advantage of their intimacy to ask God for an exception. Moses accepted his fate with grace and resolve.

But the reason I like this story is because of the way God treated Moses in these last moments. It says Moses climbed Mount Nebo and “there the Lord showed him the whole land.” It says God pointed out the different geographic features and showed where each tribe would make their home, as in, “that’s where Judah will have a great kingdom … and those rugged mountains is where Caleb wants to live …” and like that.

I believe it was a tender moment. I don’t believe God was pointing this out to remind Moses he was being left behind, as in, “Ha Ha, look where you don’t get to go,” but rather God stood with his arm around Moses while pointing out the coolest places.

Of course, I made up much of the conversation I just “quoted,” but I don’t think I am too far away from what really transpired. I believe God was telling Moses, “You did well, sir, and your people are going to be OK from here. Your job, as hard as it was, is now finished. People will remember your name until the end of time. You can stand down; I’ve got your valuables protected.”

That’s the sort of thing I hope to hear from God when my life is finished. I want him to point out the families that are growing in the Lord, and the men who are walking with God daily and making an impact on everyone around them. I want God to say, “Your job’s done, I’ve got your valuables protected. They can handle it from here.”

Another reason I like this story is because of what follows. Just turn the page to the book of Joshua, chapter one, and you can read about God talking to Joshua. God said, “Moses my servant is dead. Now then, you …” and proceeded to give Joshua instruction for the conquest of Canaan.

It happened so quickly, the transfer of leadership. The king is dead, long live the king; Moses is dead, now then you.

I wonder if Joshua was excited to finally have a turn at the front, or terrified to be doing this without Moses. Probably both. He didn’t hesitate, though. He moved forward and took the responsibility of leadership.

God told him, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will never leave you no forsake you.” Joshua knew, more than anyone, how much Moses leaned on God. And he knew full well the value of God’s promise to always be with him.

I like this story because even though the transition to leadership was quick, Joshua seized his divine moment and stepped into God’s new role for him. Just like that. I hope that’s how I respond to each next phase of my life, with one giant step forward and no looking back.

What does God say to you when He speaks?

One of times God spoke to me was at a men’s retreat at Crooked Creek Camp near Fraser, Colorado. He spoke first through a movie, then later directly into my heart, telling me that the work he had called me into was bigger than I’d thought. He was asking me to step further up and further in. It was a clear and unmistakable charge, and I have been a different man ever since that night.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

It’s hard to know how much stuff to take and how much to leave behind.

One Saturday morning the Iron Men were hiking Guadalupe Peak on the same day as the Junior High students from Wall, Texas. It was cold in the parking lot and all those kids left the trailhead wearing too many layers of clothes. Our group started out a few minutes behind them, and as soon as the trail started gaining elevation we noticed the bushes covered with fleeces and sweatshirts and jackets and hoodies, where the kids had pulled them off when they got too hot. The trail had quickly revealed unneeded clothes and gear. (I’ve read the same about people who begin the Appalachian Trail with too much gear. They start dumping as soon as possible.)

In her book, Packing Light, about a cross-country road trip, Allison Vesterfelt wrote, “Part of what makes it hard to pack light is often you think you’re already doing it.”

I’ve made a dozen or so backpacking trips during the last few years, and every trip I’m striving to pack lighter. In fact, my loaded backpack weighs fifteen pounds less than it did when I started. I’ve learned to leave stuff behind I know I won’t need or can suffer without until I get back down.

But Vesterfelt wasn’t writing about backpacking, or even car-tripping, as much as she was asking how to live her life with less baggage.

One of her friends asked, “How do you know when you’re packing too light? You don’t want to leave your toothbrush behind. How do you decide what’s your toothbrush and what’s an extraneous pair of shoes?”

Which brings me to one of my biggest question nowadays, as I consider the next phase of my life: What should I carry along and what should I leave behind? What is extra, and what is essential for the trail ahead?

Bob Goff told us to live our lives for the person we expect to be next, the person God is shaping us to be, our next phase, rather than who we are today or who we were yesterday. No matter how successful those past uses might have been. He said, “A lot of us are one job behind who we’ve turned into.”

Goff told us to stop wasting time and energy reinforcing our current state but make room for the future. If certain behaviors or practices or responsibilities don’t match our future we should be prepared to throw them over the side.

In fact, he’s well-known for quitting something every Thursday. Sometimes it’s a big thing he quits, like membership on a Board of Directors. He does it to make room in his life for what is to come next, for what God sends his way, for his “next man.”

If I had Bob Goff’s audacity there is one position I would quit this Thursday. I no longer enjoy it and I doubt I contribute much of value. It isn’t because I want to withdraw, but I want my future efforts to go toward teaching and writing and mentoring and this particular position doesn’t fit. However it would be selfish to quit before my term ends, so I won’t.

In 2009 our Iron Men group took on the project of listing One Hundred Life Goals, after our study of Mark Batterson’s book, Wild Goose Chase. Just this week I dug out my list again and went over it. I have completed thirteen items and I’m well underway on many others. But there are at least six items on the list I want to discard. Not because I’ve given up on the dream, but because I am not the same guy. Still, it’s hard to distinguish between packing lighter, setting goals for the “next me,” and giving up on a dream because it’s become too difficult.

So, who am I next? What does this next phase of life look like from here?

I want the world to be a different place because I passed through. And when I say “the world,” I don’t mean society or politics or government, I mean the hearts and minds of men and women God has entrusted to me. Not only do I want to leave them changed people, but to follow in my footsteps.

I want to be the man who gives away what he has received, with a life informed by: generosity, grace, movement, and less baggage.

HOW ABOUT YOU? What does your next self look like? How are you getting ready?

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

One of the things I’ve learned from 34 years of marriage is we take turns being brave. Sometimes Cyndi is the brave one who holds the line, and sometimes I am.

But even though this has been true during our entire time together, I didn’t notice it until reading this story about Moses and God in the Bible book called Numbers.

The story of the Hebrews escape from Egypt, and their long journey to Canaan, is riddled with whiney complaints. The people constantly griped against their leader Moses and against God. And many times the gripes resulted in severe punishment from God.

Numbers 11 tells about one of those times when the people complained about their hardships and made God angry. It says God sent fire and consumed some of the complainers. The people then cried out to Moses for help, who prayed to God, and the fire died down.

It occurred to me I wish fire would consume all the complainers surrounding me, except when I’m the one doing the complaining, since my complaints are never frivolous but always legit.

But back to Numbers 11, which says almost immediately after the consuming-fire incident the people started wailing again; they didn’t like the food God had provided.

This time, it was Moses who got angry. Moses asked God, “Why have you brought this trouble on me? What have I done to make you so mad you dumped these whiney people on me? I’m not their daddy. How can I possibly feed them? I cannot carry all these people by myself (my own paraphrase).”

It was like this between God and Moses the entire journey. Sometimes God got angry at the people and Moses had to talk Him down, other times Moses had the crises and God propped him up and give him strength. It was fortunate the Hebrew people had both Moses and God with them, or they never would’ve made it through the wilderness. They needed one of the two to bravely talk the other down or the journey would’ve ended after the first complaint.

In reading this story I saw the same pattern in my own marriage. Sometimes I had to bravely talk Cyndi down when one of our children did something stupid or when the burdens of teaching school got to be too much, and sometimes she had to bravely talk me down when I got tired of living in a family dormitory and wanted to bolt to the mountains. It’s good we had each other so at least one of us could be brave.

Another similarity to Numbers: When Moses was angry, God have him strength, and when God was angry, Moses prayed and reminded him of his love and grace.

And so, in our human relationships, we can borrow courage from each other. When I went through multiple layoffs and job changes I depended on Cyndi to bravely carry me through, and when Cyndi went through retirement and starting a business she depended on my support and encouragement.

Maybe I’m humanizing the actions of God too much, or bending the reactions of Moses too much, but I don’t think so. These stories were kept for millennia so we could read them, relate to them, learn from them.

BY THE WAY: I’m certain this phenomenon of taking turns being brave applies to more relationships than just marriage, but marriage is the relationship I am most familiar with. I’d be interested to hear where it shows up in your life.

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Let me just say up front, this a true story that happened just last weekend.

And one more thing: It turns out I am not always as smart as I think I am.

There; I said it.

Saturday morning. I knew it would be a beautiful Texas February day, with a projected high temperature in the low 80s, with wind under 20 mph. Cyndi was out of town studying yoga. Knowing I was not on Uncle Berry duty, I planned a long bike ride.

Because it was supposed to be so warm I left the house wearing a long-sleeved cycling jersey and my vest, figuring I could stuff the vest into my back pocket when it got too hot. But I turned back after only a few blocks and went home to put on more clothes. I was still six hours ahead of the day’s high temperature. I added wind jacket, full-fingered gloves, and neoprene ear protector to my kit.

My jacket doesn’t have traditional pockets in the back, but some sort of long pocket with a side-opening zipper. I hadn’t used it before, but it seemed handy enough, so I stuffed my phone and iPod inside. I didn’t zip it.

I’m not going to make or take phone calls while riding unless disaster strikes, but I carry my phone to track my ride with GPS using an app called Strava.

The ride was fun and comfortable, little traffic, no drama, few riders on the road. I was hoping to extend my ride a little further so I crossed under Highway 191 at Deauville and circled around the Legends Neighborhood.

Then I rode home feeling good about myself. The ride was going well, I wasn’t tired of the bike saddle, my legs and hands felt good, and I was wearing the right clothes. I was anxious to see how far I’d ridden.

But when I got home and reached for my phone … it wasn’t there. I quickly stripped out of all my sweaty layers and checked all the pockets, but no phone. Bummer. It must have fallen out somewhere during the ride.

I drove my pickup slowly, retracing my route. After about five miles I saw a black object in the road in the intersection of Rockwood and Edgebrook, just north of Mockingbird. It was my phone, lying face down in the street. There were at least two sets of tire tracks on the case.

My phone was dead. The screen was shattered, and the on/off button wouldn’t respond. The good news was I found it before spending the entire afternoon searching.

Sunday afternoon. I bought a new phone: an iPhone 5s.

Someone who lives with me suggested I staged the entire event just to get a new phone, like in the commercial where the guy spilled (threw) coffee on his ancient laptop. A valid suspicion except I did not want a new phone, and if I staged a disaster I would’ve waited until after the ride so I could upload the data. As it happened, I was forced to guess how far I rode; nobody wants that.

My new phone has Siri, but I turned it off. I don’t want my phone to be my friend. My new phone also has fingerprint “Touch ID,” but I turned it off, too. I don’t use the same hand or the same fingers when I use my phone. And since the 5s uses the lightening connection instead of the traditional iPhone connector, none of my accessories will work, including my iHome, which I used to listen to NPR every morning. New technology doesn’t add value to your life right away. First, it makes life harder.

This was not what I planned for my weekend. I intended to ride 40 miles, take a soothing shower and then camp out at some favorite restaurant and download my accumulated thoughts into my journal, and feel proud of myself, and all that. Seems noble enough.

Even though I am trying to spend 2014 making fundamental changes in how I live, hoping to add energy, vitality, and creativity, I want to make changes I myself orchestrate. I don’t want a bunch of unpredictable changes from accidents out of my control.

Wednesday noon, Bob Goff said, “A lot of us are one job behind who we’ve turned in to.”

The problem with planning my own changes is I’m too slow. I’m probably one change behind who God is turning me in to. Maybe one ministry behind, or one self-image behind. One phone behind. Or maybe the entire phone thing was a training exercise for bigger changes coming.

I don’t know; but if I want to be God’s man, I can’t expect to make all the plans myself. I’m not that smart.

 
“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 at http://berrysimpson.com and learn more about my books. Or follow me at  http://twitter.com/berrysimpson and at http://www.facebook.com/BerrySimpsonAuthor

I’m looking forward to warmer weather this weekend so I can go on a long ride or two. Since I’ll be on my own – Cyndi will be in Dallas and I won’t be pulling Uncle Berry duty – I’m planning to get in some big miles. I know it will help me organize thoughts for my next book.

There is a photo of George Sheehan showing who I want to be, or think I am – a man, fresh from a long run, spilling out creativity and insight on paper.

Here’s the thing about long runs or long rides, which in the context of my life and my current level of fitness means being out two hours or longer. Running or cycling so far is much further than necessary for fitness. In fact, it actually hinders fitness since it courts injury and fatigue.

So why do it?

The main reason is to train for racing. Long distances train the mind and body to handle stress and make you a more efficient athlete.

But there is a deeper, spiritual element to it as well. For me, I need to stay out long enough so finishing becomes a struggle, far enough I’ll be a little stiff-legged for the rest of the day, long enough to spend a couple of hours with myself inside my own head.

Afterward, I need to find a place to sit and decompress and write in my journal as soon as possible. I may not write anything about the particular run or ride, but the extended time moving opens my mind and heart in a way I cannot duplicate anywhere else. The creativity buzz I get afterward has as much to do with rarity as with extended effort.

I’ll admit not every mile is fun. When I have the wind at my back and a smooth road ahead and it feels effortless, like gliding, like flying. But turning into the wind or riding on a rough road is never fun. However, and I hate to admit this, but I think the hard miles open up my mind more than the easy ones.

Lately, the only time I can go more than two hours has been on my bike. I miss running long, and I want that part of my life back. I’m constantly working on my gait and pace to get those long runs back in my life.

In fact, I have been running better, lately. Not fast, still hobbling along at 15-minute pace, but three miles or more with no walking. My knees are never comfortable but I’m learning what to expect, how much discomfort I can tolerate, and how to work my form to help them out. I can imagine a future when I’ll be able to run further and faster.

One of the reasons I’m certain this phase of my life isn’t yet over is I haven’t stopped dreaming … of 100-mile trail races and cross-country bike rides. I need to believe I still have those in my future.

But there is still the question: Why do it? For me, going long is an investment of time and energy into creativity and spiritual deepening. There are places my mind and spirit can’t reach any other way. I want more.

There is no joy in life without purpose, no purpose without journey, and no journey without struggle. There must be difficult miles to add value, learning, or growth. I’m looking forward to many more long miles.

QUESTION: How do you feed your creative urge?
“I run in the path of Your commands, for You have set my heart free.” Psalm 119:32

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson

Once, over our monthly lunch, I told my friend Glen Hackler, “Listening to Steven Curtis Chapman makes me with I could sing; listening to Rich Mullins makes me with I could write. Both of them make me wish I could tell stories better.”

That conversation took place about 1998. My feelings haven’t changed.

Last Saturday night we heard Steven Curtis Chapman at the Wagner Noel Performing Arts Center in Midland. I tweeted, “An excellent night. There was a time I could enjoy a concert without crying through every song. Apparently, not now.”

I have mixed feelings about crying in public. I don’t especially want to cry in public and I certainly don’t feel comfortable doing it, but it happens more often with each passing year. It has been my goal to not become hard and crusty as I get older; well, apparently I’m getting squishier instead. I’m good with that. I would rather be softer with age than harder.

My tears Saturday night reflected a deep investment in Chapman’s music through the past twenty-five years, and the way his stories have penetrated my heart. I wrote: “Two of the deepest influences on me were Rich Mullins and Steven Curtis Chapman, because they told personal stories with their music.”

Their songs were more than catchy melodies; they were glimpses into a lifelong search for how to live for God every day. Not only did those two songwriters influence me as a musician, but their statements of grace and freedom shaped my theology more than any preacher or writer.

One of the songs Chapman sang Saturday night has this line: “There’s more to this life than living and dying.”

As I wiped away the tears from my cheeks (before they found a home in my beard) it occurred to me that in my desire to be a mentor to men and a trail guide on our shared spiritual journey, my main responsibility was to show that life was more. To pull back the curtains of daily distraction and point out – there’s more to this life than living and dying. There’s more.

One of my favorite comments about Rich Mullins was made after Rich’s death, “I wondered what window Rich was looking out of.” The question being, How did Rich Mullins see God when all the rest of us saw scenery? How was he able to see so much more?

And so, my role as a trail guide is to bring men to the window and pull back the curtain to show there’s more to this life; to keep men moving past the early switchbacks that send too many casual hikers back to their cars prematurely, and say, “It won’t always be like this. It will eventually flatten out and the view will change. There’s more to enjoy just around the corner. Let’s go together.”

The first person to show me the more of life was a young man named Ray Tuttle, who chased me across the parking lot of FBC in Norman, OK, one Sunday evening in September 1976. I had just begun my studies at the University of Oklahoma when Ray hunted me down. He bought me a Coke that evening, and invested his life in me for the next two years.

He taught me a lot of disciplines, like reading my Bible daily and memorizing verses and teaching dorm Bible studies, but those were only tools to help me see belter. What he really did was open my eyes to a faith beyond what I’d inherited and a bigger life as a Christ follower. Ray pulled back the curtain and said, “There’s more to this life than living and dying.”

One last story.

I was watching an adventure movie about guys climbing in Patagonia, called 180* South. The young climbers were mentored by 70-year-old Yvon Chouinard, who founded the clothing company Patagonia and Chouinard Equipment, which would become Black Diamond Equipment. Toward the end of the movie they were about to summit a previously unclimbed mountain which they named Cerro Geezer, when one of the young men asked Chouinard, “What do you want to call the route?” When someone makes a first ascent, they get to name the route so they’ll be remembered by all future climbers who follow them. Chouinard said, “Nothing. Just Climb it. Walk away. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

This was a comment made out of strength, not despair. Chouinard had enough fame. He didn’t need more notoriety. It was enough for him to mentor those young men as they climbed together to the summit, and show them there was more to life than being a famous climber.

Last Saturday night Steven Curtis Chapman reminded me of who I want to be. I want to be a curtain puller, a story teller, a trail guide, who’s message is this, “There’s more to this life.”

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

I need your help. If you like this, please share with your friends. You can find me at www.berrysimpson.com, or www.twitter.com/berrysimpson, or http://www.facebook.com/berry.simpson