Wednesday, February 10, 2010

I checked in at the Persimmon Gap entrance to Big Bend National Park
and paid my $20 vehicle fee, then drove to the main ranger station at Panther
Junction to get my back-country permit. They completed a solo hiker form, which
included all my details, my vehicle, my gear and pack and boots, and food and
water. A cute young curly-haired ranger took photos of me: one of me from the
front, one of my boot print, and one of me wearing my backpack. She got down on
her knees to take the photo of the sole of my boot, and the other rangers joked
that she was the only one young enough to get down that close to the floor. I
told them “my wife will be very happy to know that you are taking such great
care of me.”

Following all that paperwork and stuff, I drove to the Homer Wilson
Ranch House, on the road to Castolon, where I parked my pickup at the trailhead
and loaded up my gear. I hiked about a mile up the Blue Creek Trail until I
found a good camping spot, up above any potential water flow. It made me
nervous that my spot straddled a game trail. I just hoped all the scary animals
were hibernating since it would be too hard to find another clear spot without
rocks or ocotillo or catclaw.

Once I stopped moving and the sun dropped I got cold, so by 6:30 I was
already into my sleeping bag. I slept with a stocking cap pulled down over my
ears and gloves on my hands. I was cozy.

My new gear for this trip: Black Diamond trekking poles, Big Agnes
2”-thick air mattress, Keen Voyageur hiking boots, smart-wool socks, RailRiders
Versa-Tac pants, and waterproof stuff bag for my sleeping bag (I lost the
original bag on the Pecos Wilderness trip).

Thursday, February 11, 2010

I was surprisingly comfortable all night; sleeping much warmer than I
expected. My new air mattress was cushy and warm. It started raining about 6:45
AM, and it continued raining on-and-off all morning. But I finally had to go
outside to take care of personal business. I couldn’t wait any longer.

Outside, there was no evidence of rain save the cloudy sky. No dampness
on the ground or on the plants. The desert drank it up immediately, as if
sucking it directly out of the air before it had a chance to make contact. The
only evidence of rain were the water drops on the roof of my tent.

During the next lull in the rain I got dressed and ready to move. I
hiked at a leisurely pace northwest up the Blue Creek Trail toward the Chisos Basin.
My goal was the Laguna Meadow Trail and I was hoping to get a big sweeping view
from up on top. However, after an hour the clouds started sprinkling again,
which soon turned into rain, which eventually turned into sleet.

Soon I was as wet on the inside of my rain jacket as on the outside,
and feeling very cold. I sat down under a big oak tree to eat a Cliff Bar
and hope for a break in the weather, but it just got worse. I thought to
myself, I need better rain gear. I finally gave up, turned around, and started
back toward my camp.

Once I got back to camp I still had plenty of daylight left, so I read
Edward Abbey (Desert Solitaire) and wrote in my journal. And I read from my
Daily Bible about Balaam. The introduction said something interesting: “Balaam
obviously knows God’s will, but he is so intrigued by the possibility of wealth
that he hopes God will change his mind.”

I often worry about that sort of thing – am I praying for God’s will,
or for God’s endorsement of my own will.

At 6:30 I finally went back outside to eat a sausage-and-cheese sandwich
and drink a Jet Boil of coffee. It was still cold outside, but the quiet and
stillness was pleasant.

Friday, February 12, 2010

It was bright and clear. I had hoped the sun would hit my tent to warm
everything before I started packing, but I didn’t wait for it. It was a good
thing I didn’t wait. I didn’t encounter direct sunlight until I’d walked
half-way out of the canyon.

Later, over lunch at Ft.
Stockton, I read from my
Daily Bible, Deuteronomy 4, when Moses said, “If you seek the Lord your God,
you will find him if you look for him with all your heart and with all your
soul.”

I pause every time I read that phrase because it makes me happy. All
over the world, all through history, people have gone to great lengths to find
God. They make pilgrimages, get instructions from wise leaders, read books,
study ancient wisdom, learn new insights, travel to holy places, to find God. I
do all of that, too. Yet God promised that if we seek him we can find him. It
isn’t a puzzle or a secret code or a mystical insight available only to the
enlightened elite; God is there for all who seek him. I believe the important
word is “seek.” While I believe God is everywhere, he isn’t knowable unless we
seek him out.

I admit I don’t know what all that entails. I don’t know how to seek
with ALL my heart and ALL my soul. I am such a cautious reserved person I don’t
know how to commit ALL my forces, ALL my energy, ALL my talent, ALL my heart
and soul to anything. But one thing I do know about seeking God is that it demands
intentionality on our part. We have to seek him on purpose. I can at least do
that much.

Which brings me back to my backpacking trip. I have learned that I seek
God best when my feet are moving, whether running down the road or hiking down
the trail. So I will keep going back to the road and trail as long as my knees
and feet and heart will let me.

“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

Monday night, after a crushing Body
Pump class at Gold’s Gym, and after an excellent dinner of tilapia with green
beans and Himalayan rice, all cooked by my sister-in-law, Tanya, I set up my
camp in what passes as a hallway in our house. That is, at the drop-off counter
near the coat rack where we keep our home computer, near our combination
printer/scanner. I had a 3” stack of old photos to scan. The oldest were
Polaroid snapshots of Cyndi and me with newborn Byron at the hospital in Lubbock in September 1980.

I worked for a couple of hours,
eventually scanning 132 pictures. I scanned a photo of 5-year-old Byron with a
black eye, his remaining injury only a few days after he was hit by a car while
riding his bicycle. I scanned pictures of toddler Byron holding newborn Katie
in his small lap. She weighed almost as much as he did that day. I scanned
photos of both kids in their LHS band uniforms holding trombones, both kids on
family ski trips, and lots of photos of kids on horseback at the Tramperos
Ranch in northeast New Mexico.
I scanned vacation pictures and holiday pictures and school pictures and
running pictures and piano recital pictures. I scanned photos of Katie running
cross-country and track.

In fact, I have been scanning photos
for months preparing to publish a collection of family albums. In a digital
world there is no excuse for not sharing pictures and preserving pictures. My
problem is that when I think I am ready to start assembling an album I find
another box of old pictures. Then I am back to scanning.

My other problem is that there are
too many choices. Back in the old analog photo album days you just put your
pictures on a page in chronological order and you were happy about it. Now,
with digital photos, it is possible to mix and match and arrange and rearrange
pictures in an infinite number of ways, which means, for an analytical thinker
like me, it is hard to decide which is best. There are too many choices.

Should I make a separate album with
photos of each family member? Should I make albums chronologically? Should I
make an album of  vacations, or holidays,
or school?

I know a lot of people love
scrapbooking and they produce creative and imaginative albums. But I am not going
to do that. I just want pictures on a page without a lot of rickrack.

One cool thing about old pictures is
that we are smiling and happy in all of them. Well, there are a few crying baby
shots, but those are exceptions. Ninety percent of the pictures show happy
people.

It reminds me of a runner who only
keeps track of his personal records (we call them PRs) and not his worst races.
After a lifetime of racing the only numbers that matter are those PRs. Who
cares about all the slow times, the hurt times, the sick times. We want to
remember only the best times.

And so with the family pictures I’ve
been scanning. Back in the days of paying money to buy film and paying money to
have it developed, we were choosy about what we captured with our cameras. We
didn’t snap off indiscriminate or temporary photos like we do nowadays with
digital cameras or phones. So the pictures I am scanning, the ones from the old
shoe boxes, are mementos of our best moments. We are smiling and strong and
happy to be with each other.

It isn’t that I am ignoring the bad
times or the struggles. I am not pretending they didn’t exist. Neither do I
pretend I was never injured as a runner, or failed at a goal, or any of that.
It’s just that I am choosing to preserve the happiest moments. In fact, I know
not all of our family life was smiles and sunshine. We had plenty of battles
and hurt feelings and offended hearts and skinned knees. But those fade away
into the fog of the past as we remember our family PRs.

Maybe that’s what the Apostle Paul
meant when he said he didn’t consider the sufferings of his life to be worthy
to be compared to the glory that awaited him after his death. At the end of
Paul’s life he didn’t dwell as much on the times he was beaten for preaching
the gospel as he did on the people who had changed because of his ministry. Me
too. I have been reminded once again of the fun ride we had together, and how
all of us have changed.

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

Last year I read Wild Goose Chase by
Mark Batterson, and one of his recommendations was to write out a list of life
goals. In the book he shared his own personal list, and I used it to help me
write my own. One of his life goals was to publish 25 books. When I read that
number, 25, I knew it was my goal, too.

Writing has been one of my goals for
a long time. I have been publishing this weekly journal since 1998, writing for
newsletters since the 1980s, and dreaming of publishing a book for even longer.
But as soon as I embraced the goal to publish 25 books, it changed everything.
Even as I typed it into my list I could feel my vision of myself changing. That
simple goal put me on an entirely different path of life. I moved away from my
previous path of “I hope I can be published someday” to a new path of “I have
to make it happen right now.” After all, since I am 53 years old, publishing 25
books means I cannot wait to see how #1 sells before starting #2.

Not only did my new goal put me on a
path of urgency, it also removed some of the pressure of success. I don’t
expect all 25 books to be successful. In fact, if only one is successful I will
be very happy. But I can’t know which book might be my best ahead of time, so
I’ll just have to keep writing and hoping.

But now it’s a year later and
another bit of wisdom has entered the equation. I am teaching a book by Andy
Stanley titled Principle of the Path, and reading it has made me a little
nervous. I wonder if I’m on the right path.

What’s the difference between
following the call of God on a wild adventure with the Holy Spirit (such as
publishing 25 books) and risking sending my family to the poorhouse while
chasing a lame dream (such as selling none of those books)? That is the
question I asked myself one morning while in the shower. Am I living by faith,
or living in fantasy.

A few years back I described my
passion to friends Wes and Paul and they invited me to join them in investments
that have made it possible for me to spend more time writing. Another friend,
Brent, gave me a place to sit, an office, a home space, which helped make it
seem more real. But passion alone does not equal success. What makes me think I
might have a future as a writer? I don’t know.

I can’t ignore the basic truth of
book publishing. In America,
79% of books sell fewer than 100 copies, while only 2% sell more than 5,000
copies. The average book in America
sells only about 500 copies. I have to ask myself, is this a good path to be
on? I don’t know, and that’s what makes me nervous.

But the desire to write and to be
read by others is a burning in my heart that I don’t want to ignore. While I
know that pursuing a career in oil and gas is a respectable life and most of my
closest friends have chosen that path, it isn’t what makes me come alive. I
want to change the world around me. I want to leave a wide wake of changed
lives, of people living closer to God, of couples loving each other more, and
like that.

Not only is writing in my heart, on
more than one occasion I’ve heard specific words from God about my calling to
be a leader and teacher and writer; they have been clear and unmistakable. As
Captain Bart Mancuso said, “My orders are specific, Mr. Ryan,” my call from God
has been specific. Still, I understand fully that the call to write is not a
promise of success.

Just after Christmas, Cyndi and I
attended a funeral for a friend’s husband who was killed suddenly in a head-on
auto collision while driving home from Lubbock.
Funerals always cause me to evaluate my life and my motives, especially when
the death was as sudden as a car wreck. As I sat beside Cyndi, holding her
hand, I scribbled in the margin of my program, using my left hand: “Earning a
living is a worthy goal and a noble motivation, but my heart needs more. I want
to change the world around me. My circle of influence is bigger as a teacher,
and even bigger as a writer, that as an engineer.”

So maybe my first book won’t be the
one that sells. Maybe my second book, or third, or fourth won’t sell either.
Maybe none of them will ever sell 500 copies. Am I OK with that? Is that enough
to satisfy my heart? Am I on the right path with my life?

Don’t get me wrong. I am very excited to be working on books, and I
have big dreams for the future. But I still wonder if I am putting my energy
into the best thing. At least for now, I will keep moving forward. My
moment of opportunity is open now, and I feel I have to walk out this
particular path to see where it goes.

“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

OK I will admit it. I ran on a
treadmill on Monday.

How many times have I looked with
pity at the unimaginative runners trapped on a treadmill and sequestered in a
dark gym as I walked past them on my way to run outside in the weather? Too
many. And so, now, I’m almost embarrassed to admit that on a day when the skies
were blue and the sun was shining and wind non-existent and temperature in
mid-60s, I spent the noon hour inside on a treadmill. What gives, you might
ask, and well you should.

I wasn’t inside for comfort or
safety. I ran inside for accountability and predictability. All the miles of
running by myself over the past 30 years have left me a terrible judge of pace.
By that I mean they have left me slow.

One reason I like running so much is
for the time alone on my feet. But while that’s good for contemplation and
meditation, it isn’t good for maintaining a meaningful pace. My friend, Fred,
once told me, “Run alone, run slow.” He always trains with other runners. He is
also much faster than me.

So I ran on the treadmill last
Monday so I couldn’t cheat the pace. The treadmill kept going at whatever pace
I told it no matter how I felt. It didn’t matter if my legs and head thought
they were running six minute miles; if the treadmill said they were actually
ten minute miles, well, the treadmill was correct.

Loners like me are easy to entertain
and usually easy to please, but we have to design accountability into our
lives. One reason we like to be alone is because when we’re alone we don’t have
to please anyone else or measure up to their standards. Maybe we claim we don’t
need other people to be complete human beings (which is incorrect, by the way),
and we are living up to our own standards which are higher standards than that
of the teeming crowd, but in fact being alone all the time makes it too easy to
cheat. We need accountability. And we need help seeing the bigger world.

So on the treadmill I listened to my
currently favorite podcast, Radiolab, from radio station WNYC. I like listening
to voices that are smarter than me, so I might be pulled in their direction,
and this is certainly one of those.

Radiolab is a science show that goes
into great detail about specific and often obscure topics, but it isn’t like
any other science show I’ve ever heard. It also isn’t as nerdy as that
description. I like to listen to it even when I’m not that interested in a
particular topic because their presentation is always so creative and
entertaining.

But the real reason I like to listen
to Radiolab is because it opens my eyes. It’s a reminder that life is bigger
than I thought, bolder and deeper than I thought, that there is more to life
than meets the eye. I love things that open up the world, enlarge my view, and
open up the window to a spacious view by pulling back the curtains.

So from now on when I see the other
treadmill runners at the gym I will assume they are working on their pace and
widening their view. I’ll probably give it another try next week.

“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 night during the holidays I was
watching a college football bowl game on TV, the Las Vegas Bowl, featuring Oregon State
and BYU. It was a game I was interested in only because I was running a bowl
game contest and my own pick to win the game was getting hammered. At the end,
after a decisive win by BYU, I reached for my favorite red felt-tip pen to
grade everyone’s pick sheets, only to discover my pen wasn’t on the library
table where I left it. I looked all over for my pen. I looked in and around my
own small neat stack of projects. I also dug around Cyndi’s piles of papers and
stuff. No pen.

Then Cyndi came into the library to
ask how the game was going (she was entered in the bowl game contest as well,
which was the only reason she cared who won). I said, “Bad. We all got
slammed.” Then I added, “But I can’t find my favorite red pen. Do you see it
anywhere on this table?”

“You took it into the kitchen and
left it on the counter. I put it away in the drawer to keep it safe for you.”

“I’m sure I didn’t put it in the
kitchen. Why would I take my pen in there?” I could tell she was starting to
walk toward the kitchen and plant my pen in the drawer to make her own story
plausible, so I jumped up out of my chair to get there before she did. We ended
up race walking through the house. I tried to bump her off against the
entertainment center but she slipped around me just in time. She did have a
head start, after all.

She pulled out the drawer near the
refrigerator and grabbed my red pen and held it up. I don’t know how she palmed
it into the drawer without my noticing; slight-of-hand tricks have never been
Cyndi’s style.

“Why is my favorite red pen in
there?” I asked.

“You left it in here on the counter.”

“No I didn’t.”

Then I noticed the freshly-baked
sugar cookies piled on the counter and I got distracted. I looked for the
telltale pile of rejected brown-bottomed “family cookies” that would be
acceptable for eating, but I didn’t see them. Cyndi noticed my subtle glance
and offered me a cookie. She said, “I can’t believe you would sneak your pen in
here on the counter just so you could get a cookie.”

“Well, I don’t believe it, either.
I’m pretty sure that isn’t what happened. And besides, I’ve been hinting around
all evening about you sharing your cookies but you just kept ignoring me.”

“So you snuck your pen into the
kitchen?”

“So you smuggled my pen off the
library table and hid it in this drawer?”

Well, I would have kept arguing but
now my mouth was full of delicious freshly-baked sugar cookie and I could no
longer speak clearly. It was a primo cookie, not even from the family pile. I
took my pen from Cyndi and went back to the library to grade my stack of bowl
game pick sheets.

However, once I finished, I left my
pen in the middle of the table, hoping Cyndi might sneak it away again. I heard
she was planning to bake her famous cinnamon roles next and I couldn’t wait.

“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

Story #1: Reading in Genesis about Noah in the ark,
verse 7:16 says “Then the Lord shut him in.” I wrote in the margin of my Bible,
“We talk a lot about God opening and closing doors. Here is a case when God
closed a door as protection … yet, I usually pray for open doors.”

For my entire life as a believer
I’ve heard the phrase, “When God closes a door he opens a window.” The idea is
that if an opportunity goes away God provides another. It is meant to be a
comfort when something we wanted gets closed down. In later years I learned a
Quaker phrase, “Proceed as the way opens,” meaning in our pursuit of God’s life
we seldom get to see very far in advance but we should simply move forward as
opportunities open up. Both of those phrases have proven true for me at
different stages of life.

In Noah’s case God closed the door
to protect Noah and his family. I wonder how often God has closed a door,
slamming it shut, to protect me and my family? How many missed opportunities or
regrets that seemed bad at the time but were actually God’s grace?

Story #2: Genesis 14 tells
the story when Lot and his family was captured
by four warlords. This was after Abram and Lot made their famous split and Lot chose the land that eventually led to this downfall.
They were taken along with other people and possessions from Sodom
and Gomorrah.

When Abram heard that his nephew had
been taken captive he assembled his own men and pursued the warring tribes,
chasing them across the countryside until he soundly defeated them. He
recovered all the goods and people and brought them back home.

As I read this I wondered if being
captured and destined for slavery or death was Lot’s
wake-up call from God. I wondered if God allowed this to happen to Lot to show him he would share in the bad fortunes of the
people he had chosen to live with, and to give him an opportunity to pack up
his stuff and rejoin Abram, which would mean rejoining God? Maybe this was
God’s warning to Lot that life was about to get much worse at Sodom
and Gomorrah
and he should get out now.

But Lot
settled back into his old life. After he was rescued he went home to Sodom and there is no
mention of his presence at the worship service with Melchizedek to honor God
for the victory. Lot was conspicuously absent
from the record. In spite of God’s grace and warning, he learned nothing.

Story #3: Genesis 16
describes the plight of Hagar, servant to Abram and Sarai, who was tossed out
of the family through no fault of her own. Hagar called the place where God
spoke to her “Beer Lahai Roi,” saying, “You are the God who sees me.” What a
comfort to know we are seen, to know we are valued, to know our efforts and
contribution have made a significant impact and have been noticed by those who
matter, to know we are not alone, to know we are not abandoned, to know God
sees us. In ancient religions it was not good to be seen or noticed by god.
Worship was about appeasing god and keeping him satisfied and keeping him
distant. But here is a God who showed himself to Hagar and she was blessed. She
knew she was not alone. Even when pushed out of her family, out of her own
life, and left alone, she knew the one who mattered saw her and noticed her.
Sometimes that’s the grace we need most.

Story #4: Finally, in Genesis
19, angels had to drag Lot and his wife by the hand to save them from
destruction in Sodom.
Even then, Lot tried to bargain with them as
they saved his life. I wonder how many times I have been rescued by God
dragging me by the hand, while I complained the entire time?

“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’ve written about this before so it
should come as no surprise: I’m a goal-setter, a list-maker, and a box-checker.
I like to write my goals on paper in a list so I can check them off. When
working with daily goals or weekend projects, I even draw little boxes beside
each item so I have a place to put my checkmark.

I prefer to set goals that I have a
solid chance to achieve, and goals that I can measure. For example, I never set
abstract goals to be a better person or impossible goals to learn Einstein’s
Theory of General Relativity. I wouldn’t know how to begin with Einstein, and I
wouldn’t know if I was successful at becoming a better person.

I also believe in incremental
improvement over a lifetime, so I don’t mind if my goals are small. I know that
small changes today equal big differences tomorrow. As long as I make goals
that are sustainable and repeatable, they’ll add up over time to shape new
habits and new life. That’s my plan.

So, as has been my habit, I have a
list of goals for 2010. They are a subset of my big list of 100 Life Goals,
which, if you are interested, can be found at: http://journalentries.typepad.com/journal-entries/life-goals.html

Send my next book to my editor, and
publish it this year.

Start working on book #3. I already
have a broad idea in my head and I am ready to start working on it.

Run a marathon this spring, and an
ultramarathon next fall. I know this depends on staying healthy and keeping my
knee safe, so it is actually an every-day goal.

Continue my 2009 weight loss plan (I
went from 220 down to 195), moving down to 175 pounds. I don’t know if I can go
that low (I haven’t weighed that since high school), but I would like to try it
to see if it helps my knee. The bit I lost in 2009 helped me do almost
everything better.

Spend time backpacking in Big Bend, the desert flatland in the winter, and the Rim
in the summer.

Read several books by Hemmingway, as
part of my long-term study of great storytellers. I hope, by reading their
stories, I will get better at telling mine.

Build a chin-up bar in the garage
and pursue one of my life goals of doing my age in pull-ups, sit-ups, and
push-ups. The sit-ups and push-ups are hard, but doable. The pull-ups are a
killer, but I have located a plan and I think I can do it.

Play my trombone more often. I took
most of 2009 off because of my extra deacon duties at my church, but those are
now over and I want to reengage. I am afraid if I leave my horn in the case too
long it will stay there forever, and I am not ready for that yet.

Have lunch with at least one of my
guys at least once a week. God has surrounded me with great guys and I need
more one-on-one time with them

Update our wills. Our current wills
were written when both children were very young; it’s high time we caught up to
this stage of our life. This has actually been on my list of goals for a couple
of years now, and I’ve made no progress other than placing the forms on top of
my desk to remind me of what I haven’t done. This is the year to get it done.

Read 60 books on various topics, and
read through the Bible. This is actually a yearly goal for me that never
changes.

Think about the possibility of maybe
beginning to consider learning Spanish. I’m not sure how to go about this, so I
am open to suggestions.

Print at least one family photo
album. This project has been on my list for a couple of years, but I keep
finding more photos in shoe boxes and old albums and in the bottom of desk
drawers and I’ve been afraid to start, thinking there must be even more photos
somewhere. It is time to move on with this.

Do you have a list? Do you have any
goals for 2010? What are they?

“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 was in the Live Nativity
again at First Baptist Church.
I don’t know when I first started doing this, but I’ve been participating
on-and-off for several years. I think they keep asking me back because I have a
real beard. Through the years I have been a shepherd, a wise man, and even
Joseph. This year, I was a shepherd.

It is the most simple of all drama
assignments. We dress in costume, submit to stage makeup so we’ll look Middle
Eastern, go outside in the cold and stand for an hour without moving or
speaking. I think I am actually too old to be a convincing third-world
shepherd; I expect they were all teenagers or younger. However, after living
outside all day all year, maybe even teenagers looked 50-years-old.

So the best news about being a
shepherd was that I didn’t have to be a wise man. The wise men have to kneel,
and I would never have made it even twenty minutes kneeling. And if I
miraculously survived kneeling, I wouldn’t be able to stand and walk back into
the church afterward. As a shepherd all I had to was stand behind Mary, off her
left shoulder, lean against my staff, and gaze at the baby Jesus. My knees
handled that assignment just fine.

It was cold outside, but I was very
comfortable. Underneath my costume I wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved
T-shirt. (A friend saw me walking into church beforehand, noticed my all-black
outfit, and said, “Merry Christmas.”) I remember doing this in previous years
when piercing cold was the dominate factor of the night. One year was so cold
we stayed outside only 30 minute at a time. But this year was almost balmy.

So we posed nearly motionless for an
hour; the hardest part of the evening was deciding what to think about for so
long. I thought about my own experience as a new father when Byron and Katie
were born, and it occurred to me that if I had been Joseph I would have been
staring at Mary rather than Jesus. I remember being so proud of our new babies,
but even more than that, I was proud of Cyndi. She was wonderful as a brand-new
mother, and I just wanted to hold her close and make her feel safe and guarded
and well-loved. I’ll bet Joseph felt the same way about Mary.

To keep my mind entertained, I
reviewed all the Bible verses I could remember, several times, only to discover
we still had thirty minutes left. So, I stood staring at baby Jesus and prayed
my way through my life and my family. I’ve never thought of myself as a great
prayer warrior, but I’ve learned to cherish private prayer moments. I tend to
start by praying for specific needs in my life and in the life of friends, but
the time is most meaningful when I systematically walk through my life and
discuss all my thoughts and concerns with God.

This year my strongest and longest
prayers were about writing and selling books. I reminded God of my passions and
dreams, and then asked him to speak to my heart and align it with his. I am
sometimes embarrassed that my prayers are nothing more than pitching my
best-case scenario at God and hoping he buys into it. I want to do better.

“Lord, I have all these dreams of
writing and publishing books and being read by people all around the world, and
I have dreams of creating trusts funds and scholarships and giving money away …
I have lots of dreams, but my most honest prayer is this, I want to honor you
with my life, and I don’t know how to do that on my own. You have to teach me.”

It was my genuine prayer, the prayer
of my life. I think Joseph’s prayer was similar. He didn’t have many answers
for his life, or special insights into the future of his young family. He just
followed God, trying to protect the gifts God had given Him (Mary and baby
Jesus), and trusting God for the future.

The Live Nativity is an unselfish
gift from First Baptist Church
to our community; its one more point of contact aimed at a city full of
searching people, one more method of telling the grand story of Jesus. It’s
also a good reason to dress like a shepherd and stand in the cold once a year.
I need the time with God.

“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

Maybe the reason guys like me say
things like, “today’s music doesn’t’ speak to me,” isn’t just because we are
becoming geezers. Maybe it isn’t so much about the music or the lyrics or the
beat, but because we don’t yet have any stories linked to those new songs. However, speaking for myself, since my only
real exposure to current music is in Gold's Gym, and since if I didn't work out
I would hear only what they play on NPR, if I don't have any personal stories
tied to contemporary music, it might be my own fault.

In his clever book, “Manhood for
Amateurs,” Michael Chabon, lamented
the format change at his favorite radio station. They flipped from the oldies
of his youth to contemporary pop, and it hurt. Each of those old songs linked
to a story from Chabon’s life, and whenever he heard an old favorite he also
remembered a favorite old story. He called it, “the mysterious power of the
chance interaction between radio and memory.”

Chabon wrote, “More often there is
no obvious thematic connection between a song on the radio and the memory that
it somehow or other comes to preserve, between the iridescent bubble of the
music and the air of the past that it randomly traps.”

While reading the book I started
thinking of the memories and the stories that I flash to whenever I hear
certain old songs, and I scribbled several in the margin. If I hear Steely Day
singing “Reelin’ in the Years,” for example, I am transported back to the
evening when fellow trombone player Jan Ramey gave me a ride home after evening
band practice and we heard that song for the very first time her station wagon.

If I hear “Beginnings” by Chicago my memory runs
back to my first date with my first girlfriend. If I hear “Never Ending Love
For You” by Delaney and Bonnie I am instantly skiing with Cyndi, clicking my
poles behind me for a rhythm track, singing to her.

If I hear “Jesus is Just Alright
With Me” by The Doobie Brothers I remember sitting in my car on a rainy Sunday
evening outside of Bellview Baptist Church in Hobbs waiting for the song to end
before going inside, listening to the coolest song I had ever heard and the
coolest song I could imagine ever hearing containing the name “Jesus.”

Whenever I hear the opening beats of
“Fallen” by Lauren Woods my head snaps around looking for Cyndi who will
already be walking toward me with arms outstretched ready to dance. It’s part
of our ongoing story, forever linked to that song.

When I hear “Hit the Road Jack,” by
Ray Charles, I remember the weekend when Cyndi was away teaching an aerobics
workshop and the kids and I worked up a surprise for her. When we were ready to
go somewhere, I would say, “Well, it’s time to hit the road,” and Katie would
say, “Jack,” and Byron would say “Don’t you come back no more no more.” They
were both preschoolers, I think. We practiced over and over all weekend, and
when we picked Cyndi up at the airport and tried it on her, it worked
perfectly. We all laughed and laughed we were so proud of ourselves. We repeated
that little mantra many times through the years and I still think of it every
time I hear the song.

I remember the first time I heard
“Hey Jude” by Paul McCartney. I was riding in the backseat of my grandparent’s
car on the way to a family reunion at Kirkland Docks on Lake Brownwood.
I think of that scene every time I hear the song. I also think how strange it
is to link my kind and gentle grandfather, a very conservative small-town
Baptist preacher, with The Beatles and “Hey Jude.” He would’ve been shocked at
the connection.

When I hear “Life Less Ordinary” by
Carbon Leaf I am back on Highway 101 driving north from Ventura, California,
enjoying the sunshine and relaxed freedom of the road, thinking once again of
the extraordinary future I dream of with Cyndi, and I cannot help but smile.

Sunday night at our church we heard
a concert by classical guitarist Rodrigo
Rodriguez, and in one of his medleys
he played a worship song from a few years back titled, “As the Deer.” I was
immediately transported back to a Walk to Emmaus spiritual retreat that I
attended in 1998 during an especially soft spiritual time in my life. After the
concert I told Cyndi, “I could feel my biorhythms slow down when he played that
song. It was as if I settled into a comfortable place.” That song, among
others, will be forever linked to my stories from that weekend.

In fact, I could go on and on to the
point of boredom listing songs linked to stories of my life, and perhaps I
already have. I’m not sure the ones I mentioned are even the most important
ones; they are just the first few I thought of right away. And I wonder if I
would even remember those stories at all if I never heard the songs again. I
can learn to enjoy new songs, but I would hate to lose my stories.

How about you. What are your songs
with stories?

“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

Michael
Chabon wrote about how his life changed when his younger brother was born. “But
it was not until that moment, in early September 1968, that my story truly
began. Until my brother was born, I had no one to tell it to.” (Manhood for
Amateurs)

I wrote in the margin of my book,
“So our story doesn’t exist unless we have someone to tell it to?”

A few years ago Cyndi and I went to Uganda and Kenya to visit our friends John and
Linda Witte. After we came back I couldn’t stop telling stories and writing
about our adventures. One friend told me, “I would rather send you on a trip
and listen to your stories than go on the trip myself.”

Well, I didn’t believe that was
exactly true, but I realized the corollary was true. If I don’t have an
opportunity to tell my stories when I get back, I might as well never go on the
trip. For me the stories were more important than souvenirs. Stories are the
artifacts of life.

One time I heard Gary Barkalow ask
at a Wild at Heart camp, “What is something that you cannot stop doing?” He
wasn’t asking about bad habits or eating chocolate or nervous tics, but rather
he was asking about the clues into our personality and character.

My answer to his question? I cannot
stop telling the stories of my life and the lives around me. If I have any sort
of experience, I have to tell about it. For me, the trip hasn’t happened unless
I have stories to tell. The book hasn’t been read without a story. A
backpacking trip never occurred without a story, and a story doesn’t usually
bubble up unless something spectacular happened – like a disaster, or a storm,
or a beautiful sunrise, or a wild animal. And the best part of running a
marathon is the story-telling session afterward. Without a story to tell, it’s
a waste of 26.2 miles.

One year at CornFest at our house my
friend Todd cut his hand while
carving an ear of corn. He thought he’d have to go to the emergency room to get
stitches until Linda put him back together with Super Glue. It worked
perfectly. In fact, he healed so completely he didn’t even have a scar. The
guys at work didn’t believe his story because he didn’t have a scar. Without a
scar, there was no story; and without a story, it never happened.

Like Michael
Chabon’s, my own brother was born twelve years after I was, so we each grew up
as an only children. We had nothing in common. I was a freshman in college when
Carroll started first grade. We grew up in different phases of a parent’s
lives. We grew up with different friends and different music and different
movies and different family stories. We finally connected during the past ten
years as we raised our own families. We finally had stories to share that both
of us understood; stories about our families and about each other. Now we talk
at least once a week for an hour, usually late at night (late in my world, not
in Carroll’s world). Carroll calls me because he actually remembers to make
phone calls and he is much more social than I am.

Recently we met for lunch at Rosa’s
in Midland and
told stories for a couple of hours. I think we were both surprised at how many
personality traits we had in common. Who knew? It took stories to bring it out.

Roy Blount wrote about a friend of
his who was visiting her mother in a nursing home. Many of the other residents
had Alzheimer’s, but the friend’s mother’s mind was unclouded. “They’ve
forgotten their stories!” she said of the others. “They can say anything!”

I always think of stories as
defining us, of communicating our heart. To say, let me tell you my story, is
to say, let me tell you who I am and what I believe and what I think is
important and who I love and where I’m headed, and all that. To know my stories
is to know me.

And in fact, if I want to describe
someone else to you, the best way to do it would be to tell you a story.

The mother in the nursing home said
if we have no stories we have no boundaries. We can be anybody, which is to be
nobody. One day we are a musician, the next a mountain climber, then a
mechanic, maybe a rocket scientist, maybe a street bum. Stories not only tell
who we are, they keep us true to ourselves.

“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