Sunday, April 25, 2010, 5:30 AM …In the Bricktown Residence Inn for the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon; we were suited up, had applied preemptive band-aids, and were psyched to run. Cyndi was doing the half-marathon out of deference to a newly sore knee; i was running the marathon because it had been so long since my last one.

6:30 AM … At the race start with thousands of runners. I wasn’t nervous about
going the distance even though this was my first marathon attempt since 2003,
but I was nervous about taking so long to finish that Cyndi would get tired of
waiting for me. My longest training run was a 19-miler, 4 weeks prior. However,
I woke up that morning with a fever called Comeback
Trail. I was ready to get started. Like it says in Psalms 19:5, “a
champion rejoicing to run his course.”

8:00 AM … It was nothing but head wind and uphill from mile 9 all the way to
the turnaround at Lake Hefner, about mile 14.
It was a huge relief to finally turn my back to the wind and start back toward
town. Unfortunately, downhills and tailwinds never give back as much as uphills
and headwinds take.

11:00 AM … I phoned Cyndi at mile 20 to tell her
where I was and that I wouldn’t finish before the hotel check-out time. She
knew that, already.

I was surprised that
the marathon offered pretzels at every aid station. It was apparently important
since they used 5 or 6 volunteers to do this at every opportunity. I passed on
the pretzels. They didn’t look that appetizing to me. I also passed on the GU
packets. I had been chewing on Gel Blocks, and GU would’ve been too much shock
to my belly.

I drank one PowerAid
mixed with one water at every aid station, and it turned out to be just right.
I never felt dehydrated and never had to make a pit stop.

12:00 AM … I hit the wall at mile 24, but managed to
keep my run/walk pattern for another mile. Then, at mile 25, I was done. It was
all I could do to walk in from there.

I took a personal
inventory. My knees didn’t hurt worse that they did at mile 5, my feet had
blisters but they weren’t getting worse, my hips didn’t hurt at all and that is
usually one of my biggest concerns. So my only reason to quit was mental
fatigue, which was indefensible, and my general lack of energy. But I knew that
the human brain lies to itself claiming to be exhausted when it actually has a
lot left (an evolutionary thing, so there will be a reserve of energy available
when a lion comes over the horizon), so I assumed the tiredness I felt was not an
accurate picture. I just kept going.

About mile 26 I saw
Cyndi patiently waiting for me (she had finished her race hours before). I also
saw the finish line. There aren’t many things that look better than a finish
line; unless it is my smiling wife standing alongside. I wanted to finish the
day running instead of walking so I tried to start back up, only to stumble and
almost fall to the pavement from deep cramps in both calves. That was weird and
unpredictable. But after a few baby steps I managed to get both feet off the
ground into a peg-legged run across the line.

12:38 AM … I finished in a painfully slow 6:08,
definitely my slowest marathon, ever, by at least 40 minutes. But still, it was
a great race. The volunteers and enthusiasm and aid stations and music were
great. Many of the neighborhoods we ran through hosted yard parties and they
hollered and cheered as we ran past. And downtown OKC was beautiful and fun.

1:00 PM … We left for home soon after I exited the finish chute. Since Cyndi
had checked out of the hotel before I finished, I changed clothes in a gas
station men's room on the way to the airport. I left my running socks on,
though. I knew my feet had been massacred and I was afraid they would hurt
worse if I looked at them. So I didn’t. I left my socks on until bedtime.

I had worked too
hard not to strut a little, I so I decided to wear something marathony. The
official race packet T-shirt was plain white cotton (I'll save it for our
marathon quilt), but the finisher shirt was dark green and made of technical
fabrics. Very nice. I wore it home, and it was fun to see other green finisher
shirts scattered around the airport. Marathoners would nod their heads in
approval and wave from 100' away, an instant camaraderie between us. It’s funny
how you can have more in common with someone you've never met than someone you
might work with for years, simply because they have a finisher shirt on,

Monday morning: next-day … I felt surprisingly good.  While walking Lady around the park I realized
that I was no more sore than if I'd hiked Guadalupe Peak
over the weekend, and that was an acceptable level of discomfort. Of course, it
could’ve been the four Advil I’d taken that morning. My toes were a mess, but a
few Band-Aids and a few days off would take care of that.

I’d experienced no
structural problems, by which I mean my knees still worked, my ankles and feet
were fine (I got several significant blisters on my toes, but I think that was
due mostly to the weird effects of aging, and I was certain I could prevent
that in the future). My only limitations were mental toughness (always a risky
thing to count on) and conditioning (something I can work on). Conclusions? I
can and will, do this again.

I really enjoyed
this marathon. It was a risky choice to run so late in the year. I think this
is probably the last race of the season without going to Minnesota, but they scheduled this race to
coincide with the bombing of April 1995. I was amazed how the citizens of OKC
have turned that great tragedy into energy. I lost count how many times a race
volunteer or course marshal said to me as I was passing by, “Thanks for coming;
thanks for helping us remember.” It made me proud to be part of their memorial
observance.

This was my 8^th
marathon finish, and while that’s a lot compared to the general population,
it’s not so many among marathon runners. However, it wasn’t so long ago that I
thought my marathon days were behind me due to a nagging left knee injury that
left me limping most of the time. I was sad about that. Not sad that I was
injured, but sad that I hadn’t run more when I had the chance. Now I hope to
take advantage of this second opportunity.

To be honest, I
don’t believe everyone has to run marathons, or run at all, for that matter. If
you do, it will add value to your life … physical value, fitness value, health
value, mental value, and spiritual value. Finishing a marathon is
transformational. It changes you.

However, if not running marathons, all of us should do
something that adds energy to our lives, something that makes our heart come
alive. Peter Drucker once said, “Nothing good happens by chance; left on its
own, most things unravel.” If we aren’t intentional about feeding our spirit
and watching over our heart, we will unravel. This marathon was another
intentional effort on my part to feed my heart. I wish I had run faster, but comeback trails are
long and slow. But they are satisfying and full of hope.

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

I just read a quick book titled: “It
all Changed in an Instant: More Six-Word Memoirs.” I first heard the editors
taking about the book on NPR a few weeks ago, and then I saw it at the small
bookstore in Alpine, so I bought it. The premise behind the book began with an
apocryphal story about Ernest Hemingway who supposedly responded to a bar bet
to write a novel in only six words with this: “For sale: baby shoes, never
worn.” No one knows if the story is true, but those six words certainly tell a
story.

So the editors of Smith Magazine
asked people to tell the true story of their own lives in six words and over
250,000 six-word memoirs have been submitted. The book I read is the third
collection they’ve published.

I read all the six-word memoirs in
the book and I was surprised how revealing they were. Some caught my breath at
the implications. For example, Peter Loux submitted, “Army or jail? I chose
wrong.” Not only do we know he got into some sort of trouble that left him with
an unfortunate choice, but we don’t know which (wrong) choice he made. There is
clearly much more to this story.

Abbe Shapiro wrote, “Expected
forever. Have restraining order instead.” In two phrases his story went from
hope to despair. His life is not what he expected.

Jill Steinmetz wrote, “Will finish
novel after grading papers.” I know too many stories that are just like that: I
will own my own studio after grading papers, or I will record my CD after
grading papers, or I will publish my book after oil and gas, or I will pay
attention to my family after I am successful.

I was intrigued by Melissa Maxwell’s
submission: “Tattoos made my skin more ‘me.’” Having no desire to customize my
own skin I have never understood the need or desire of other people to make
permanent alterations to themselves. I am more likely to remove labels and
paint over logos or make name-brand stuff look incognito and generic than I am
to mark it up to get attention. It never occurred to me that an alteration
could seem more authentic to someone.

A woman named Clare Hobba submitted
this memoir: “Unraveled career, re-knitted as baby blankets.” I thought that
was a good description of a journey from a hopeless situation – broken career –
to one full of hope.

And Tammy Ray Wilson wrote, “Dancing
naked in my empty nest.” I asked Cyndi if she was using Tammy Ray Wilson as a
pseudonym and she denied it, but I’m not so sure.

Some of the submissions were very
clever. The Amazing Kreskin (a presumptive first name, if you ask me) wrote,
“Now, I know what you’re thinking.” And this by Caitlin O’Conner, “I have
finally learned cliffhangers are …”

I will admit, a couple of the
submissions made me stop and reevaluate my own story. Aaron Renier wrote, “Off
in my own little world.” That, to be honest, is my fear of fears. It’s what
wakes me up at night and what often shuts me down before I begin. I don’t
really believe it logically, but in my heart the enemy’s attack comes in the
form of the fear that I am off teaching and writing in my own little trivial
world and that people are just putting up with me because I am occasionally
funny. But then someone like Mark reminds me to “turn around and look at how
full this bus is; people want to go wherever you go.” Thanks, Mark, I need
that.

Another six-word memoir that I hope
to avoid was by Kirstin Pesula-McEarchern: “Author of so many unwritten books.”
I wrote in the margin, “Please, not me.” I want to write and publish them all,
whether or not anyone reads them. I hope my last submission is in process the
day I die.

So, Sunday night I sat across a
table from Cyndi, at Rosa’s, of course, and
read my favorite entries from the book. I also showed her my own attempts at
telling my true story in six words.

I showed her this one: “Wanderer,
student, introspective, lover, dreamer, loyal.” Cyndi said, “That’s just a
string of descriptive words; it isn’t a story.” She was correct, of course,
which caused me to scratch off three of my other attempts which seemed to be
word strings as well.

I said, how about this: “Love a
dancer, now I dance.” She knew I was talking about her influence on my life and
she liked that part, but said, “Thanks, but your story is bigger than that.”

OK, how about this one: “Always
leaning forward into the future.” She thought that one was better, but still
more of a goal than a story. She wanted to hear my favorite. She’s been through
this sort of thing with me before and she knew I was holding back my best idea.
I read: “Miles to go before I sleep.” That was her favorite, as well. “Your
story is, that your story isn’t over, and you have many miles to go yet.” Good
girl; no wonder I love her so much. I have a lot of miles to go, and books, and
essays, and talks, and friends, and adventures to go, before bedtime.

And so I’ll ask, why don’t you give
it a try? Can you tell the true story of your life in six words? It doesn’t
have to be perfect. You can stamp “draft’ across it so you can change it later.
But try it. And send it to me, or post in the comments of my blog. I need to
know you better. I want to read your story.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

Sunday night Cyndi and I played with
the First Baptist Church
orchestra, along with the praise singers and big-church choir in the musical
production by Travis Cottrell: Jesus Saves. It was great. The entire evening
was full of energy and worship, and it was fun to be playing my trombone again
after a long hiatus. I took last year off from orchestra because of my added
deacon responsibilities, and then in the fall I stopped playing with the praise
band when I started teaching adult Bible class again. I felt I had to make
those adjustments in my schedule, but I sure missed playing. And even more than
missing the music, I was concerned that if I put my trombone down for too long
I’d never pick it up again; playing ads too much value to my life to let it
slip away.

So we were rehearsing before the
actual performance (always a risky thing for me since I don’t have the chops
for two hours of rehearsing and another 1-1/2 hour of performing) when my
friend Paul sat on the pew beside me for a few minutes to talk and to watch
what we were doing. On one piece I played a tied whole note, eight beats. It
was soft, and I was the only brass instrument playing at that moment, except
for the army of keyboards and guitars and drums. My part was barely audible,
even to me as I played it. Paul said, “When you just have one note to play you
have to trust that it matters.”

He got it exactly right.

When playing in a large ensemble
like that, there is so much going all the time, you have to trust that your own
small parts matter and really make a difference. Of course, there were moments
Sunday night when the trombones were featured and we were sufficiently
bombastic and everyone heard us and it clearly mattered. But most of the time,
very few would notice the difference if we had stopped playing entirely.

So how can I know if what I do
matters? After all, I am not interested in doing things that don’t matter. If
my contributions aren’t obvious, why make them at all? I guess you could argue
that if each of us put down our instruments and played only the exposed solo
parts, it would not sound good at all. The music only works when everyone plays
their part, no matter how subdued or quiet. And eventually people will notice
the gaps and know the sound isn’t right, even if they don’t know the reason.

Like Paul said, “You have to trust
that it matters.” And isn’t that true with all those things we do as teachers
and leaders and parents and spouses. We have to trust that the small un-noticed
things matter. Jesus spoke directly to the importance of doing the small things
right when he said, “He who is faithful in a very little thing is faithful also
in much” (Luke 16:10, NAS).

One of my favorite observations is
how young children want to put their own fingers on a wall switch and turn the
lights on and off, all by themselves. As adults, we never make a big deal of
turning the lights on, never point out, “See, switch goes up and the light goes
on, switch goes down and the light goes off.” We just turn the lights on and
off without fanfare and without even thinking about it. Yet, young kids still
pick up on what we do and they want to imitate the actions. The small things
matter. Our consistencies matter. How we live out our lives, matters.

In his book, The Gospel According to
Starbucks, Leonard Sweet admonished the reader to “grow a soul that is a
beautiful work of art, a soul with such sensitivities that it can pick up
signals of transcendence in the most unlikely of places, a soul with such
strength that it can experience the subtleties of life that separate the good
from the bad, and the good from the great.” The notion of growing a soul makes
sense to me, and I realize it has been my goal for a long time now even if I
didn’t know how to express it so well. I often talk about my goal of aging
gracefully. What I mean when I say that is that I want to grow my soul into a
work of art. I think the biggest part of that is doing the small things right
and trusting that they matter.

My friend Paul would never have
noticed me playing that F for eight counts if he hadn’t been sitting beside me.
It was a small thing; so small that I had to trust that it mattered. Maybe it
is that act of trusting that turns horn players into musicians, teachers in mentors,
parents into mommies and daddies, spouses into lovers. Maybe that act of
trusting is what makes ordinary people become inspiring and contagious, and
turns whole notes into works of art.

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

I’m not sure which are my best
features, but I’m fairly certain they aren’t my feet. I have flat arches, my
toes crisscross, I have little strength or flexibility for downward dog, I
can’t sit with my feet tucked under me, and I can only point my toes in my
imagination. At any time I have at least one toenail turning black from running
or hiking. I have bunions and calluses and, well, you get the picture. More
that you wanted.

So it may come as a surprise that I
signed up to join the “One Day Without Shoes” event, at the request of my
friend Jordan Witte.

The official website says: ‘One Day
Without Shoes is the day we spread awareness about the impact a simple pair of
shoes can have on a child’s life. On April 8th, we ask people to go the day,
part of the day or even just a few minutes, barefoot, to experience a life
without shoes first-hand, and inspire others at the same time.”

I’ve been around people who spend
their entire lives barefoot, and while their feet may be tougher and stronger
than mine, very little of the rest of their life looks better. I am glad that
I’ve lived my life in shoes.

However, after spending last summer
reading the book, “Born to Run,” I
decided to give barefoot running a try. Since, in addition to all my other foot
issues, my feet are soft and tender, I knew I couldn’t really go barefoot. I
had to wear something on my feet.

So I started off by running one mile in my socks, on the grass in a
local park, one day each week. It felt better than I expected. In fact, it felt
so good that on my third attempt I went two miles in my socks. That turned out
to be a big mistake. I limped for days. Apparently a 100% increase in distance
was bad. I was embarrassed because I should have known better; I’m an
incremental sort of guy and I made a goofy beginner mistake.

But I stayed at it. I ran for a couple of months (still, one day per
week) in some cheap water shoes. When I wore those out, I bought a pair of Vibram
Five Fingers. Once I learned how to put them on, they were great. I’ve been
running in them three miles at a time, once a week.

But what is the point, you might ask? Not simply to toughen up the
soles of my feet (who needs tough soles), but to make my feet stronger, to
improve my stride and balance and to minimize injury. It was an intentional
attempt on my part to become a better runner. I’ve learned I can’t change very
much in my life, or change the world around me, by drifting through
life. Drifting worked for Forrest Gump, but it doesn’t work for real people in
real life. You have to be intentional.

When Jordan first invited me to join her
“One Day Without Shoes” event, I asked if my Vibrams counted. She said, no.

So I psyched myself to run today
completely barefoot, skin on the ground, for three miles. And I did it. I ran
on sidewalks and asphalt and on grass. The sidewalk was the easiest.

I’ll be honest; it was less than
pleasant. I had to stop often and pick pebbles out of my feet and remove
stickers. I had to keep a close eye out for acorns. When I got back to the gym
I had to put two Band-Aids on each foot to cover the broken blisters.

Being fifty-three years old might be
too late to start a barefoot lifestyle. My feet have been protected in shoes
for a long time. I doubt I will try true barefoot running again; at least, not
for another year.

But here’s the deal. For me, going
barefoot is a training technique. It’s an indulgence. It’s a choice. And I’ve
lived my entire life in a world with lots of choices. The point of the One Day
Without Shoes campaign is not to draw attention to people like me who make
(what you may consider to be) goofy choices. It is to focus attention on people
who really don’t have choices. For three miles, today, I felt their pain.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

Last Saturday I lead a group of twenty people to hike Guadalupe Peak.
This was a regular spring field trip for our Iron Men Group at First Baptist in
Midland. We
were joined this trip by the Singles Ministry, also from FBC. It was a good
day. Of course, being spring in West Texas, it
was windy.

But what happened was that we forgot to fuel up during our routine stop
at the Flying J in Pecos. We remembered to buy
drinks and breakfast, and go to the bathroom, but didn’t remember to put gas in
the tank. The gas gauge actually said full, but we should have suspected it was
lying and filled up anyway. We will from now on.

Because what happened next was that once the needle started moving
toward empty, it moved quickly. When we arrived at the trailhead in Pine
Springs, the gas gauge was in the red.. That was very bad news. We were now a
two-hour drive from Pecos, the nearest place
to buy gasoline on our way home. We would not make it back.

So Mark and I sent the other eighteen hikers up the trail while we went
to find gas. We drove north, slowly, coasting the downhills, and almost made it
all the way to White’s City, NM, the “gateway to Carlsbad Caverns National
Park.” The bus engine began to cut out within sight
of a gas station, and we coasted to the side of the highway, about a quarter of
a mile from gasoline. Or so we thought.

As Mark and I walked toward the station we debated whether it was
active or abandoned. It looked clean, no weeds, no missing hoses; but there
were no vehicles anywhere around it. When we got to the station it was locked
and the lights were out. We hoped that maybe it was a credit-card-only unmanned
station.

We walked down the street to the grocery store hoping to buy a gas can,
but the nice lady behind the counter said, “Not only do we not have any gas
cans, we don’t have any gas. We had a huge wind storm on Friday and it knocked
out the computers at the gas station. The only guy who can get them started
again is in Roswell
for training.” Bummer.

So we walked back down to the hotel to see if maybe there would be
someone inside who could help. The hotel was attached to an RV Park, and maybe
they would have some gas cans for emergencies. They didn’t. The nice man behind
the desk said he had “no gas and no gas can, and the only guy who could fix the
gas station was in Roswell,
and his 90-year-old assistant didn’t know how to fix it and he was tired of
hearing about the gas pumps.” The hotel man promised to drive us into Carlsbad if we were still
around when he got off work at 3:30 PM. He would’ve driven us right then, but
the hotel was operating on a skeleton staff, it being Saturday and all. (I
would’ve thought Saturday was a big day for a tourist place, but apparently
not). He said the owner was in Baltimore
getting hotel training, so there was no one else that could help.

So we went back outside and found three National Park employees wearing
bright yellow vests. I guess they were preparing for the traffic rush (even
though it was only Saturday). One of them was a Park Ranger, and we told him
our sad story. He seemed to sympathize, but he had no solutions to offer. Mark
seemingly talked him into giving us a ride into Carlsbad (26 miles one way) to buy a gas can
and gas. We crawled into the back of his official Tahoe, behind the Plexiglas
barrier and behind his array of weapons, and settled in for a half-hour ride to
town.

Only we quickly realized he was planning to give us a ride back to our
bus, not to Carlsbad.
Why did he think that would be helpful? What was he thinking? So we got out and
stood around the bus talking until Mark talked him into giving us a ride back
to White’s City. It was kind of weird. He dropped us off in front of the
restaurant, gave us the phone number of the Eddy County Dispatcher, and
returned to traffic directing duty.

In the restaurant, we told our story to the young lady behind the
counter, and she felt so sorry for us she called her boyfriend in Carlsbad to
ask him if he would bring some gas if he wasn’t doing anything. He was
apparently doing something so he said no.

I phoned the Eddy County Dispatcher and told her our story. She asked,
“How did you run out of gas?”

I paused a long time, not sure of the best way to answer that question.
I finally said, “Well, no one runs out of gas on purpose.”

She said, “I guess you’re right.” She took my name and number and said
a deputy would come to help us. But five minutes later she called and gave me
the phone number of a car dealership in Carlsbad
that had reliable tow trucks. I guess the deputy might’ve come himself had the
bus been full of kids.

I called Phil Carrell Chevrolet, and they gave me the phone number of
their tow truck driver. I phoned him, and he told me he would bring us some
gas. He phoned me back about ten minutes later to tell me he was on his way
with five gallons.

He arrived in a white pickup and poured his five gallons into the bus.
We paid him what little cash we had with us. He said he was at a T-ball
tournament when I called. His son was playing, and he came to help us between
games. How ironic that the person who had the best reason for not helping us
was the one who actually did.

So Mark and I drove the bus to Carlsbad
where we put 29 gallons in the tank. We then drove back to Pine Springs,
arriving just in time to eat a late lunch with the first couple of hikers down
the mountain, the Clevenger boys.

Maybe it seems a little odd to be telling this long story when the real
heroes of the day were the ones who hiked the eight miles round trip to the top
of Guadalupe Peak, but they’re going to have to write their own accounts. I can
only tell my own story.

Like the story of God saving the Israelites from the Egyptian chariots
at the Red Sea, he never rescues us in the way
we expect. You might say that this particular case shouldn’t count as a rescue
since the problem was due to a situation of our own making (not gassing up).
But most rescues are from our own self-made situations. Last Saturday we needed
God’s help to get us out of our dilemma, and he helped us, but not before
giving us a story to tell.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

When nephew Kevin
first joined us in January 2008, he was only five years old, and he was a very
picky eater. And not only was he a picky eater, he was a slow eater. In fact,
he was the slowest eater I’d ever shared a table with. He ate so slow it was
all Cyndi and I could to stay upright in our chairs while watching him.
Sometimes I think Kevin ate slow
because he was hoping we’d give up and fix him something else, like macaroni
and cheese with ketchup. We eventually convinced him that we weren’t going to
change the menu and he could just go to bed hungry if he didn’t like what we
were eating. Other times I think he ate so slowly because he was in some sort
of Calvin-and-Hobbes fantasy land and he simply forgot to put food in his
mouth.

During those early days together, if
you happened to eat a meal with Cyndi and Kevin
and me, you heard us urging him to hurry up and eat. “We’re not staying here
all day,” we said.

It had been my prior experience that
few kids needed to be sped up while eating. Most needed to be slowed down. Kevin was the exception in my world.

However, Kevin
is now seven years old and he has a year-and-a-half of elementary school
cafeteria lunches behind him and he no longer eats so slow. He doesn’t gobble
his food like some kids, but at least he eats quickly enough that Cyndi and I
can stay awake while we are waiting.

I thought about Kevin last week while reading from Exodus 12:11,
about God’s instructions to the Israelite people for eating their Passover
meal. It says, “Eat it in haste.” I imagined the parents telling their kids
“stop eating so slow, we can’t stay here all day.”

The Living Bible says it like this:
“Eat it with your traveling clothes on, prepared for a long journey, wearing
your walking shoes and carrying your walking stick in your hands; eat it
hurriedly …”

It is ironic that I used to long for
days with slow meals. I looked forward to the time when I would be sufficiently
grown up enough that I wouldn’t be off-balanced all the time. I would finally
get caught up. I could settle into the right job, settle into the right house
with the right dog and the right pick-up truck, using my relaxed energies to do
creative work and enjoy life. I looked forward to the day “when all this mess
would slow down and I could get caught up.”

Well, it hasn’t happened. And if I
use past behavior to predict future performance, it won’t happen any time soon.
In fact, I will probably never settle. For one thing, the settled life sounds too
boring. People living settled lives have little impact on the world around
them, and I don’t want to live a life with no impact.

And for another thing – I don’t
believe God wants any of us to live settled lives. I believe he wants us living
every day like a Passover meal, with our traveling clothes on, prepared for a
long journey. He wants us leaning forward ready to follow his lead.

So I kept reading from Exodus, up to
the point in the story after they’d been thrown out of Egypt and the chariots were bearing down on them
and they were trapped up against the Red Sea.
Moses spoke to their fears when he said, “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and
you’ll see the deliverance the Lord will bring you today.” (Exodus 14:13)

It was great advice, and even
greater leadership. Like a father of young kids saying, “Don’t be afraid. Stand
here at the curb and watch me get your ball for you.”

So how does standing firm work with
a life lived in traveling clothes? Should we be moving all the time, or
standing and waiting? Well, in Exodus 14:15, the Lord said to Moses, “Tell the
Israelites to move on.” No more waiting, time to move.

I wrote in the margin of my Bible:
“Is this conflicting advice? “Be still” and “move on” sound like mixed signals.
How can we do both?”

I think the answer is to stand still
and trust God for the big outcomes, but to move into what we know to do right
now. I must learn to wait on God while being ready to move on. Wait for God
while wearing my traveling clothes.

Rich Mullins once wrote: “I feel like
God’s leading me out, so I’m kind of sleeping with my shoes on. When God parts
the sea, I don’t want to say, “Oh rats, where are my sandals.””

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

I was reading from Exodus (chapters
35-36) about the design and construction of the tabernacle in the wilderness.
One story that is buried within the tabernacle narrative is how God had all the
skilled labor available that he needed to build his place of worship. The
writer of Exodus says that God called up “everyone who is willing” and “all who
are skilled” to contribute to the construction process.

I wrote in the margin of my Bible:
“There seems to be a powerful connection here between man’s willingness and
God-given skill.”

Over and over in this story the
Bible uses words like “willing” and “skill” and “ability” and “free will.”
There doesn’t seem to be any coercion going on, but generous and skilled
craftsmen rose to the occasion to make the items exactly as God intended.

Nowadays, when we talk about worship
and skills we usually mean singers and preachers and teachers. But the guitar
players and TV camera operators and production experts, as well as
heating-and-cooling and maintenance and all those skilled positions, worship
when they willingly use their God-given skills for the sake of the rest of us.

While God can accomplish anything he
desires, there are some things that won’t happen unless we do our jobs. One
Thursday morning I held up my yellow paper with my lesson notes on it and said,
“As you know, I really enjoy leading classes like this. God has given me some
gifts and skills for teaching, but even more, He has given me a heart to do it
and a joy from it. But on this piece of paper, this in NOT God’s handwriting.
This is my handwriting. I know that anything I have to say of value was given
to me by God, yet God didn’t write it on this paper, I did.”

Even God-given skills have to be nurtured
and trained. Its as if God has given us a starter set of skills and a heart and
mind to use them, and then waits to see what we are willing to do to develop
and improve those skills. Having skills as a teacher shouldn’t make you feel
privileged or blessed as much as obligated and responsible. How dare we sit
back on a skill God has given us and not be willing to improve it.

Sometimes Christian say," All I
am trying to do is get out of God's way." I know they use that phrase
because they don't want to be arrogant, but the phrase implies that humans are
an impediment to God, that we get in his way, we get underfoot. I don't believe
that is true. I believe we have to pursue God and pursue the dreams and
projects he has given us and work hard, with all our heart.

Another thing: God-given skills can
be used for entirely wrong reasons. Earlier
in the Exodus story we read about a time when some of the Israelites got
anxious because Moses was away on the mountaintop too long. They gathered up
donated gold jewelry and made a calf statue to worship. Once again we see both
willingness and skill, but used in a way to break relationship with God rather
than to build it.

Sometimes it is hard to know the
skills we have from God. If they are a natural part of our personality we may
be so used to them and comfortable with them we forget how rare they are. For
example, Cyndi and Tanya can watch someone lead a dance step or exercise
routine once or twice and they are able to repeat it back flawlessly. They can
see a routine once and then repeat the mirror-image of it while in front of a
full class. Both women are exercise instructors nowadays and I feel I have to
speak up for all mortal normal people to remind them that almost no one else
can do what they can do. It is so much a part of who they are they naturally
assume everyone can do it.

As I get older, I am becoming more
choosy about where to give my time and energy. I want to use the skills God has
given me and I have little patience working hard at something I’m not good at.

I think we all have skills given by
God, even if we have trouble identifying them. Do you know yours?

One good exercise is to make a list
of the things people compliment you on. Make a list of those compliments that
have stuck with you for a long time … that certain thing someone said ten years
ago and you still remember it fondly. The reason you remember some comments for
a long time is because they are the ones that speak to your heart and soul. Try
to identify the common skills and gifts that link those stories, and train them
and improve them. And give them back to God willingly.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

Last week I ran 15 miles, and it
was great. At least, it felt great in my heart and mind, if not in my legs. I
am training to run the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon the end of April, and
successfully completing a 15 mile run was a big landmark.

The temperature that morning was in
the 40s, so I wore shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt and gloves. I also wore
the Camelback that Katie gave to me for water, and took some of those gel
blocks, also from Katie. I had my GPS watch, given to me by Cyndi, which has
opened up the routes I am willing to attempt for long runs. I don’t have to
worry so much about planning my routes down the exact mile since I can GPS it.

According to my watch, my average
pace stayed around 15 mpm, which was embarrassingly slow, but it did include
walk breaks. And it was a pace I could maintain for the entire distance. I ran Galloway 6s for two hours, then 5s, and then 4s, to
finish the run.

I got really tired and weary the
last two miles, but I always feel that way during the last bit of my long runs.
Two weeks ago when I ran 13 miles, I also felt weary during the last two. I
expect I’ll feel weary next time when I run 18 or so. I guess that’s the point
of training, to push the weary miles further and further away.

I do have seven marathon finishes
in my log book, so I know what I’m getting into. That doesn’t make the training
any easier, but it helps me remember that running long won’t kill me, and that
it will all be worth it.

There are certain thresholds in
life that change my perceptions about myself. The first one is running for an
hour. The next is running for 10 miles. If I run 10 miles on a regular basis it
makes me feel strong and invincible. Running 15 miles is another threshold. I
guess the next is 20 miles. There is something magical about a 20-mile training
run; it puts you in rarified air, up in the high country.

And now Chad
and I have been toying with the idea of running an ultramarathon this fall. We
haven’t picked the race yet, but in general an ultramarathon is any race 30
miles or further. To be honest, I can’t believe I’m even committing to this on
paper. Why would I consider running an ultramarathon when I couldn’t run more
than an hour just last year? And even now I’m so slow I am afraid I’ll someday
just topple over. I am thinking ultramarathon thoughts because running 15 miles
has given me hope, and hope is a mighty thing. Hope can overcome discomfort and
reinforce dreams.

In fact, running an ultra is something
I’ve wanted to do ever since I first learned about them, back in 1980. But I
was never fit enough, or worse, never brave enough. Now that my friend Chad
has called me out, I have to take it more seriously.

Personally, I’ve always thought of
running to be more of a survival exercise than a sport. I like the idea of
running long races and running in the mountains. Since I’m not a fast runner I
might as well enter races that defy death. That’s why I’ve always wanted to run
Pike’s Peak, and I hope to someday run ultras.

I recently played a game where you
try to describe your life in exactly six words. My attempt to describe my life,
looking both backward and forward, was, “Miles To Go Before I Sleep.” I hope I
can stay healthy enough to keep running the long miles. I hope I have lots more
threshold runs to conquer.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

One of my favorite worship songs is “Draw
Me Close," as sung by the Katinas on Michael
W. Smith’s “Exodus” CD. God has used that song on multiple occasions to ambush
me and penetrate my hardened interior and speak directly into my heart. The
lyric that speaks to me most often is: “You’re all I want, You’re all I’ve ever
needed.” The idea that God can be absolutely all I need, that he and I can work
it all out, feels good to me. That theology feeds me.

But one evening recently as I was walking
Lady The Labrador around the pond it occurred to me that, while it’s correct to
sing, "You're all I need,” it isn't exactly accurate. I need more. I need
other people. I need you.

My basic run-back-home personality is that
of a loner. I like to take care of myself, and I like to do things for myself.
I don't want a lot of special attention and I don't want to be tucked-in when I’m
sick. I actually look forward to opportunities to be by myself, and if I know I’ll
have long stretches of solitude coming up I’ll plan ahead the best way to use
my time.

It is not unusual for me to spend an entire
day speaking to no one between the time I say goodbye to Cyndi in the morning
and the time I say hello to Cyndi in the evening except the person who takes my
money for lunch. I’m not complaining about that, I’m bragging.

l guess my aloneness goes way back. I was
an only child for the first twelve years of my life, and I played by myself
more than with friends. I had no cousins that were my own age, and even my
cousins who were nearly my age were all girls, and who knew how to play with
girls. Not me. My small family and lack of siblings fed that part of my
personality that wanted to be alone.

So it was natural, I believe, for me to
develop a theology centered on personal discipleship and contemplation and
meditation and reading and writing. Me and God, we were all I needed.
Unfortunately, just me and God was too small. On my own I never got a clear
picture of who God really was.

For example, if I hadn't found Cyndi I
would never have known the spontaneous and creative nature of God. All I would’ve
known would be the analytical predictable linear nature of God. I would’ve
missed the adventure of change. I might’ve missed the joy of living through my
heart. Left on my own, I would have too small a lens through which to know and
understand all of God.

If I’d never met my friend from the Walk
to Emmaus team who spent his pre-Jesus years in and out of jail and who once
gave this testimony, "I’ve lived a crappy life," cleaning up his
language because we were in a church, if I’d never met him I wouldn’t
understand the biggest part of grace. For me, grace meant growing up knowing I
was loved every day of my life. I was confident that I was saved by God's grace
in spite of my shortcomings, but my shortcomings were not about jail and did
not constitute a crappy life. What a shallow picture of grace I would’ve had,
and what a small picture of God, if all I knew was my own story.

And what about my friend, Paul, who spends
his days looking for ways to serve other people? I need him in my life to
understand the servant nature of God. I am a pretty good servant if you’re
careful what you ask me to do. I’m generous with my time and talents and energy
and money, but I have a narrow range of interest. You will find it hard to get
my attention, much less any service, outside that range. But because I have friends
who consistently serve in far-reaching capacities, I understand the breadth and
depth of God so much better. What a small picture of servanthood, or of God,
I'd have on my own.

So on my walk around the pond I knew
the song was correct, maybe God was all that I needed. But being a
narrow-viewed human who has trouble seeing beyond his own tiny world, I also
understood my need people for like you to help me know who God really is. Maybe
the rest of that lyric – “You’re all I want, help me know You are near,” – is
the key. God helps me to know him by
providing examples around me.

Ephesians 3:18 says, “And may you have the power to understand, as
all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love
is.” Thanks for helping me with that.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org

The first memory I have of holding a
newborn baby was in the nursery at First
Baptist Church
in Brownfield, Texas. I don’t recall holding any babies
before that. I guess I might’ve held my brother when he was born but I don’t
remember it if I did, and there are no photos to document the occasion. I was
twelve years old when he was born and probably not especially drawn to baby
care. I suppose I wasn’t that trustworthy, either. But in 1980 the church nursery
workers in Brownfield invited us to visit the baby room for a handful of
Sundays before Byron was born, and it was a great gift. By the time we had our
own baby I wasn’t so nervous or scared of breaking him, and I knew a couple of
tips for calming a screamer. I even had some time logged into the rocking
chair. That program was a big help.

Nowadays Cyndi and I teach in an
adult Bible study class at our church that’s made up of young couples recently
married. And they are having babies right and left. I’ve had the opportunity to
hold a couple of those babies, but not as many as I want. I usually have to
wait in line for my turn.

So, of course, the reason I’m
writing about this is because I just had a brief turn holding the newest
newborn in our family, Madeleine Atchley Noss (to be known as Madden), born to
our daughter Katie and her husband Drew, Wednesday morning about 9:15 AM.
Holding her was pretty easy. Madden only weighs six pounds or so, and she slept
the entire time, so I didn’t have to use any secret skills to keep her happy.

Knowing she was coming has set me to
thinking about my new role in life as a grandfather. To help me understand this
role I dug out a copy of my Grandmother’s book (she and I wrote it together),
and I reread the forward I wrote for it:

“I
am a follower of Christ today, in part, because my grandparents walked with God
60 years ago. When God blessed them and gave them direction, he was blessing me
and directing my life as well. When God sent generous people into their paths
to provide a college education or meals for a young minister’s family, he was
providing for me and my family so that we could know the Lord when our turn
came. Like the Israelites in the Old Testament, my family can be defined as the
family that God has rescued and blessed.

My
friend, Charlie Dodd, once said that his heroes in life are teenagers and
adults who go about their life quietly living for God, doing the right things,
day by day. That describes my grandparents. They were people trying to do the right
thing and follow God day by day. And because they did, I can enjoy a walk with
God today. Maybe I would’ve found Jesus on my own had I not been raised by this
powerful family, but I’m glad I didn’t have to do it that way. I had a long and
wide line of people showing me the way. I count myself fortunate to have had
four grandparents (Roy & Pauline Haynes, and Cy & Dulcie Simpson), to
parents (Deane & Lenelle Simpson), and many aunts and uncles and cousins
who follow God every day. Not only that, but when Cyndi and I got married, I
gained another entire family who do the same.

I
cannot take inventory of my own spiritual life today without realizing the debt
I owe my parents and grandparents. My family tree consists of row after row of
people walking with God and preparing my path, and it gives me confidence when
raising our own children. Cyndi and I are not in this alone, we have a long
history behind us.”

I thought about all of that this
week knowing my turn to move up a branch on the family tree was imminent. I’ve
been looking forward to it, looking forward to the obligation and
responsibility. It’s time to step up.

Whenever any of us has a role as
leader or teacher we have an obligation to those in our circle of influence to
walk with God and publically live out the life he’s given us. But since those
relationships are voluntary, those in our circle can walk away at any time. The
pressure to live up to our obligations is less.

But family is different. Babies are
stuck with the family they fall in to. It is up to us to rise to the occasion,
just like my parents and grandparents did, and live lives of honor and grace
and gratitude. Holding Madden this afternoon was another call to action for me.
I am looking forward to my turn.

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

To learn more about Berry’s newest book, “Running
With God:” http://www.runningwithgodonline.com/

Follow Berry on Twitter at @berrysimpson … Contact
Berry directly: berry@stonefoot.org