2003-04-17T18:49:00.000-07:00

[4/17/2003 6:43:51 PM | Berry Simpson]
Journal entry 041703: Gods will
Berry D. Simpson

John Eldridge asked, “If you had permission to do what you
really want to do, what would you do? Don’t ask HOW, that will
cut your desire off at the knees. HOW is never the right
question; HOW is a faithless question ... He is asking you WHAT.
What is written on your heart? What makes you come alive?”
Eldridge wrote that the desires of our heart come from God, and
God uses those desires to communicate His will to us.

The truth is, I don’t know how to answer that question. I
don’t know how to power past the HOW and get to the WHAT. I don’t
know how to separate my heart’s desire from the responsibility of
earning a living.

Ironically, I wrote this in my journal while sitting in Burger
King and listening to Vivaldi through my earphones. In the
background I could hear the restaurant soundtrack playing 1960’s
pop songs. The contrast couldn’t be greater. I assume that both
Vivaldi and The Temptations were fulfilling their heart’s desire
when they composed (or recorded) their respective music. It would
be almost cliché to say Vivaldi was the better music since we are
still listening to Four Seasons 278 years after he composed it.
Will we (they) still be listening to “My Girl” in 2246?

Well, maybe that isn’t a fair example. Longevity isn’t
necessarily God’s measure, but a human convention. When I judge
my own heart’s desires by human conventions, I get stuck behind
HOW and WHY of my dreams and forget to consider the WHAT.

This past weekend I listened to a broadcast by Rick Warren,
who said, “We won’t take our career to heaven, we’ll take our
character. God cares more about character than career.” To me it
sounded he was saying, along with John Eldredge, to focus on WHAT
rather than HOW. We should be concerned with the content of our
desires, the substance of God’s will for us, our character,
rather than on how we were going to get there.

Warren cautioned against spending too much energy worrying
over specific career choices and how they fit in God’s will for
our lives. He said those decisions often have multiple-choice
answers, and most of the time God can work on our character
regardless of the path we take.

When I was much younger I had the impression that God had a
particular and specific and unique will for me, and it was
important for me make the right choice every time or I would end
up outside of His will. That was a lot of pressure on a young guy
with a teenager-sized brain. I was more concerned with making a
mistake than with following God. I thought, if I take the wrong
job, not only would I be out of God’s will, but the engineer
whose job I took would be out of God’s will, too. And the guy who
took the job God meant for me, well now he was stuck outside the
will of God. One bad decision made by one guy who didn’t pray
enough might propagate and mess up God’s will for hundreds and
thousands of people.

I don’t believe that any more. Like Rick Warren, I believe God
has a will for us, but it is much more fluid and adaptable. In
the Bible we read where God constantly worked through people who
made bad choices: Abraham, David, Paul, and Peter, to name a few.
God was more interested in their character development than
career choices or individual performance.

However, I am not saying our choices aren’t important. I’m not
saying we should be careless with our life. I believe God expects
us to pray to Him about those things and I believe He answers
those prayers and opens doors for us, and closes doors to protect
us.

What I am trying to write is that I am learning to not be so
uptight about knowing God’s exact will for my life. Actually, I
already know God’s exact will for my life – He wants me to become
like His Son, Jesus Christ. I just don’t yet know all the
techniques and circumstances he’ll use to do it.

What I am also trying to write is that I take all this very
seriously. While I believe there is flexibility, even multiple-
choice, in my future, I also believe it is my obligation to God
as his disciple to study and learn and pray and ask Him what I
should do.

II Corinthians 6:1 says, “We beg you; please don’t squander
one bit of this marvelous life God has given us!” We should allow
God to work on our character, be open to whatever choices He puts
before us, and most of all, never take God’s will casually? We
don’t want to squander what He has given us.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine
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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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[edit]
[4/14/2003 12:54:22 PM | Berry Simpson]
Journal entry 041003: For me
Berry D. Simpson

Saturday morning during my long run I listened to Scott Simon on
NPR Weekend Edition as he read a tribute to his reporter friend,
Mike Kelly of The Washington Post, who was drowned in a Humvee
accident in Iraq. Simon talked about the reporter's love of
storytelling, a "lost art among newer reporters who learned to
adapt their stories to fast one-sentence blurbs running across
the bottom of the TV screen." Simon said, "The power of
storytelling is that it doesn't jolt as it goes by with scattered
bits and pieces, but it draws you in, personally in, to the
story." His comments hammered home the point I had learned from
my friend, John, just the afternoon before.

On Friday I attended John's class on chronological Bible
storying; John spent three entertaining hours working his way
through the Bible narrative, telling story after story. He was
great, and I loved listening to him use the techniques that have
been so successful to spread the gospel among the oral cultures
of Africa.

As John talked, I analyzed, "Good story, good technique, yeah I
know that one, interesting question," and like that. I was
listening closely, fully engaged, yet with the intellectual
detachment of ongoing analysis. And so it was all the more
surprising later on when my emotions trumped my intellect and I
was reduced (or raised) to tears.

John told familiar stories beginning with Genesis 1 through the
gospels. Finally, when he started talking about Jesus and
Nicodemus, he quoted John 3:16 ("For God so loved the world that
he gave His only son, and whoever believes on Him has eternal
life"), I started crying. I was surprised at myself. How many
times in my life have I heard John 3:16? I thought I would be
used to this story by now.

I was so surprised to be emotionally moved, again, at this old
familiar story. It was as if the incarnation, Jesus, God and man,
just hit me all at once for the first time.

John asked, "Why did Jesus' sacrifice count for our sins?"

Someone in the class answered, "Because He was perfect, the
perfect Lamb of God."

John said, "And He could only be perfect if He was God Himself."

That made me cry even more. Of course it was all simple and
familiar and entry-level Christian truth -so why was I crying
about something I've known for more than 40 years?

John asked the group how it was different to hear the gospel from
all the stories, rather than from a typical four-step
presentation.

I wanted to raise my hand and respond to his question. I wanted
to tell him that I just heard John 3:16 for the first time in my
life. But I couldn't raise my hand to answer because every time
the thought crossed my mind I started crying again. So I waited
to calm down and then make my comment, but before I could catch
my breath I started crying again. As it was, I never spoke up.

Later that evening, over plates piled high with BBQ and potato
salad and beans, I asked John if he saw me sitting in the back of
his lecture wiping tears from my eyes. He said, "Yes, I noticed
that."

"I wanted to talk about John 3:16 but I couldn't stop crying."

"Were you afraid for people to see a logical engineer crying?"

"No, I've given up on that. I turned into a crybaby about five
years ago and now I can't turn it off," I said. "I didn't speak
up because I don't like to talk with that squeaky-tear voice."

I didn't understand my emotional reaction at all. It was a
mystery. And even more, I guess, was that I was trying to
intellectually analyze my emotional response.

I've known John for years. Every time he and his family come home
from Africa I have the opportunity to hear him talk about his
ministry and describe the storytelling techniques they use to
communicate the gospel. I love to listen to him, and I go to
school on his technique, watching how he works a room and asks
questions and uses his hands and face. I am a better teacher from
all the times I've watched him. The thing is, for all I've
learned from John, I always assumed the content of his teaching
was for Africans, not for me. It wasn't until Friday afternoon
that I realized he was teaching directly to me.

And maybe I thought John 3:16 was for others, too? Surely not.
Surely I knew it was for me; but Friday night I learned it for
certain. Again.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 040303: Conduit of grace
Berry D. Simpson

"Listen to me, all you who are serious about right living and
committed to seeking GOD. Ponder the rock from which you were
cut, the quarry from which you were dug." – Isaiah 51:1

"I hope I have her optimism when I'm eighty-six year old," I said
to my Dad, talking about my grandmother. She was in the hospital
to get her knee replaced but discovered she needed angioplasty
first. Her old knees had ached for a long time and she resented
the heart surgery somewhat because it delayed her new knees. I
told my dad, "I hope when I'm her age I'll have enough hope for
the future that I tolerate heart surgery just to get new knees."
That was in December 1997.

Sunday morning, March 30, 2003, my grandmother, Pauline Haynes,
died. She was 92; she had two great knees, but only one tired
heart that proved too weak to pull her through this last bout of
illness.

I remember drinking ice-cold Cokes while sitting in her recliner.
My grandparents kept a refrigerator full of those old-fashioned
green glass bottles and we could have one Coke a day. I can still
hear the satisfying "pop" then a soft "whoosh" as we opened the
bottles with a wooden-handled bottle opener. Those Cokes were so
tasty and so cold; I'm certain that during the past forty years
the flavor of Cokes has diminished, and I sure don't remember
drinking one as cold as those.

I also remember fishing with my grandmother. Actually, I spent
more one-on-one fishing time with my grandfather. We used to get
up early in the morning and drive out to one of those combination
stock tanks and prize fishing ponds, the ones only a chosen few
people knew about. He had access because he was the preacher and
everyone took good care of him.

But my grandmother was the one who gave me all the fishing advice
– both about how to catch fish, and how to behave on a fishing
trip. She used to say, "Don't talk, you'll scare the fish away,"
whenever I couldn't sit quietly like she thought I should, or
"you can't catch a fish unless your hook's in the water,"
whenever she caught me fooling with my bait. I must have heard
those two phrases a thousand times each.

She also made her own custom smelly catfish bait. She was very
proud of it, and she always made a big deal about keeping the
recipe a secret. The truth is I never used it myself because it
was pink, and it didn't seem right for a young boy to use pink
catfish pink.

I have good memories of her patience and her attentiveness. I
often wished she were still young enough to take my two children
fishing, because I believe a lot of the best parts of my
personality were formed while fishing with her.

But the most profound memory I have of her is from my
grandfather's funeral. He died in the spring of 1980, the same
spring that Cyndi and I discovered we were expecting our first
child, Byron.

As a young boy I spent summer after summer with my grandparents,
and because my grandfather was a minister I attended at least one
funeral every summer. At the time, it seemed like many more –
funeral homes are extremely boring places for kids. I was
accustomed to seeing my grandmother in her conservative black
dress as she comforted the grieving friends; however, at the
funeral of her own husband of 49 years, she wore a beige dress.

No one gets dressed for her husband's funeral by accident. You
don't just reach in the closet and pull out the first thing you
see. That's one of those times of life when you spend time
thinking about the right thing. People wear black because they
are grieving and because they respect the person who died, and my
grandmother had done just that many times. Her beige dress was a
significant, bold departure from the expected behavior of the
wife of a deceased country preacher. It was an obvious statement
to the world that she knew God … that she knew Him personally …
that He was faithful … and that He had given her hope for the
future.

I am a fortunate guy. I've known grandparents, parents, uncles
and aunts, who followed God all the days of their lives,
preparing my path. The grace of God flows through my family, and
a special personal conduit flowed from Pauline Haynes to me. I
could talk to her, joke with her, help her, make fun of her, and
encourage her, in a way no one else in the family could do. It
was a blessing to know her, and I will miss her.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 032703: Adventure
Berry D. Simpson

I was reading Wild at Heart, by John Eldridge, and he wrote
this about men: "Adventure, with all its requisite danger
and wildness, is a deeply spiritual longing written into the
soul of man. The masculine heart needs a place where nothing
is prefabricated, modular, nonfat, Ziploc, franchised,
online, microwavable. Where there are no deadlines, cell
phones, or committee meetings. Where there is room for the
soul."

I read that weeks ago and haven't stopped thinking about it
since. What does that mean, and does it apply to me? Was it
just about guys who spend every weekend in the outback
hanging by their fingertips from some impossible rock face?
Did it apply to guys who run long distances and read books?
Unlike Eldridge, I like the organization Ziploc bags bring
to my life. I also like cell phones (as long as I can turn
if off whenever I want). I also like being online - I would
have stopped writing long ago without such a ready outlet.
And I like microwaves, too.

However, Eldridge did remind me of a vacation many years ago
when we traveled with family friends and all our kids to
Disney World in Florida. We had a package deal for four
entry tickets into any Disney park. We were in town for five
days, so that gave us an extra day to drive across to Cape
Canaveral and see the NASA exhibit and museum.

I remember one of the first things we said when looking at
the landscaping and decorations and rest rooms and cafeteria
at NASA was, "Well, we aren't in Disney any more." None of
those features were up to Disney standards, by any measure.

Don't get me wrong; it was great and I loved the museum. In
fact, I just loved just being at Cape Canaveral and soaking
up the astronaut vibes. But no government facility can ever
measure up to the cleanliness and landscaping and attention
to detail of Disney World.

The truth is, I remember thinking I could relax at NASA in a
way that I couldn't do at Disney. It seemed more real to me.
Nothing was manufactured to look older than it really was.
There were no coils of rope glued to the top of a fake
wooden barrel made to look like a pirate had just left
before I walked up. There were no mechanical parrots singing
songs of the south Pacific and no food stands every 100
feet. Now I really enjoyed our time at Disney and I hope we
can go again sometime, and while it was fun to be pampered
with details, I remember thinking I was hungry for a dose of
reality. Maybe that longing for vacation reality is on-topic
with what Eldridge was said about a deep longing for a place
where nothing was prefabricated?

He also described men's longing for adventure as a longing
to escape the world of cell phones and faxes and computers.
However, I have a great personal friend who has so many
projects and businesses going he wears two cell phones at
the same time. The buzz of life is the adventure for him. He
continually takes on new projects because he needs the
energy of activity in his life. Anything less that two cells
phones is boring to him, and he once told me that when he
gets bored, he starts making mistakes.

I recently read about a rock climber who talked about
"feeding the rat" that lived inside of him. He was referring
to his inborn urge to climb, his desire to experience the
clarity of thought while defying death on the side of a
cliff, the feeling of freedom he got from empty air beneath
his heels. If he didn't climb regularly, if he didn't feed
that rat, the rat would start feeding on him … eating him
from the inside in the form of nervous tension and anxiety.
Feeding the rat, as dangerous as it was, kept him at peace.
Maybe my cell-phone friend needs all those projects going at
the same time to keep the rat fed?

And so, what is my rat? What do I have to keep doing to be
at peace? Well, it isn't business, or climbing the corporate
ladder, or public attention … and so far, certainly not rock
climbing (although I'd love to give it a try). I do know
that I need reading in my life, and solitude, and writing,
but that is a benign rat compared to climbing rock faces in
the Grand Tetons.

According to Eldridge "the masculine heart needs a place
where … there is room for the soul." The spiritual longing
isn't about defying death or avoiding technology, but about
finding room for God.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless
until it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 032003: Wind
Berry D. Simpson

I was thinking about wind because we just had a beautiful
weekend, temperatures in the upper 70's, and the wind didn't
blow. That was very unusual for March in West Texas. It's the
kind of weather that reminds us why we live here. However, more
typical are the warm days with hard blowing wind that stirs up
the dirt and dust in the air. And in truth, we need a few windy
dirty days to send the weaklings back home so we can keep the
gene pool strong.

We have these cool wind chimes in our backyard that we bought
from a Texas folk artist at Septemberfest many years ago. I love
to hear them bang away in the wind. The patterns, pitches, and
rhythms create random music totally dependent on the gusts of
wind. It's not the sort of music you can sing along with unless
you happen to be John Cage. I like it because it gives the wind a
voice, a personality.

However, the chimes can be very loud. They were especially loud
when I used to relax on Sunday afternoons in my hammock under the
big honey locust tree in our backyard, but since the tree is no
longer with us I don't spend so much time in my hammock any more.

I engage the wind most intensely when I am running. I typically
run after I get home from work so I'm often out during the worst
part of the day. Sometimes the head wind is so brutal I am lucky
to stay upright, much less make forward progress. I'm sure I lose
an inch or two when between strides when I have both feet up in
the air.

I remember one time when I underestimated the weather and over-
estimated my judgment, making the mistake of running beside the
Nuevo Vista Golf Course when it was under construction. The wind
was howling, my shorts were flapping, my shirt was pinned to the
right side of my body, and I was sandblasted. My legs were stung,
my face was stung, and my hair filled with dirt. I was miserable.

At one point I drug my arm across my face to wipe away the sweat
and when I looked at the arm of my long-sleeved white T-shirt I
noticed it was covered with mud. Mud! And it came from my face! I
tried to wipe off as much mud and sweat as possible before I
reentered the populated portion of the route knowing someone
might recognize me through their windshields and think, "Hey,
running, what a great sport. Think I'll take it up!"

My friend John Witte reminded me that wind comes from God, and
controlling the wind is the exclusive prerogative of God Himself.
The Bible stories about wind point us toward the existence of
God, and His intervention in our lives. This time of year I
notice God intervenes a lot in my life, especially about 5:30
every afternoon.

Another quote: Pablo Picasso once said, "The older you get the
stronger the wind gets - and it's always in your face." I don't
know if I am happy about that, but it sure seems to be true.

Sometimes when I finally make it back to the house after battling
the wind for six miles, I sneak around into our back yard and put
the wind chimes back up. Cyndi often takes them down because
she's afraid they bother the neighbors. I sneak them back up
figuring since I have to put up with the neighbors' cats in my
yard they can put up with the melodious wind. However, Cyndi is a
more sensitive neighbor, indeed a more sensitive human being, and
so she takes them down. She just wants to live peaceably with our
boundary-sharers.

John 3:8 says, "You know well enough how the wind blows this way
and that. You hear it rustling through the trees, but you have no
idea where it comes from or where it's headed next. That's the
way it is with everyone born from above by the wind of God, the
Spirit of God." (The Message) The wind is certainly a mysterious
thing. I never understand why I can completely circle a
neighborhood and be in a head wind the entire time.

And like life, it's the gusts that make it so hard to stay
balanced. If the wind were constant I could lean into it and keep
running smoothly, but the gusts force me to continually shift my
balance. I guess since I was born in this windy country I have
learned to appreciate it, even though it makes life difficult.
Joan Didion wrote, "The wind shows us how close to the edge we
are," and I always like to know if I am close to the edge.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 031303: Yard work
Berry D. Simpson

Once again Laddy stopped his pickup in front of our house to see
what Cyndi and I were up to. I think he's made our street his
regular route home so he can keep up with our evolving landscape
project. He just grins at me and asks, "What are you doing this
time?" It's been a challenging project, I must admit, and I've
often had trouble explaining why we do this seemingly futile work
in our yard. I'm not sure I know the answer myself.

Several years ago, 1998, I intentionally killed all the Bermuda
grass in our front yard and side yard, tilled and fertilized, and
planted ivy. I wanted to do something with my weekends besides
mowing grass, and I thought the ivy-covered yards around Midland
were pretty. However, through the years, our particular ivy has
never taken off, even though I've spent hours and hours fooling
with it and digging weeds and feeding and watering. Now I resent
it, like the father of a wayward child: "After all I've done for
you and all the money I've spent and sacrifices I've made and
after I've provided this pristine environment for you to grow,
yet you can't even show enough initiative to spread and grow and
fill the front yard. In fact, instead of spreading, you've
intentionally stayed small and even started dying back in pure
rebellion. How could you do this to me?" And like that. I guess I
shouldn't treat a stupid plant like a human being that has a
will, and can make choices, but after all the time I've spent …

Actually, it the truth was told, in spite of our delinquent ivy,
I've enjoyed goofing around with this ground cover. There was
time when we had a beautiful homogenous weed-free lawn that set
off our house like a brilliant dark-green carpet. Then one day
when I was mowing, and it was 100 degrees, I decided, "Well,
that's enough of that." I turned against conventional yard
maintenance just in that instant. It must have been Cyndi's
influence on me, because while she changes her mind at point
blank range all the time, liking something one minute and hating
it the next, I almost always need a long time to ponder and
consider and finally decide if changing my mind is the
appropriate and responsible move for me to make. Not this time,
however. I woke up that morning loving our yard, and went to bed
that night hating it. Just like that.

I must say we have several plants out front that are doing well,
much better than the cursed ivy. We have a nice stand of ice
plant that the neighborhood walkers stop to admire. We also have
a large patch of thyme that Cyndi planted last year. We even have
some vinca that literally snuck around a retaining wall after
Cyndi bricked our front courtyard and has, entirely on its own
initiative (making a bold statement in the face of that listless
ivy), started moving creatively toward the front yard. This vinca
has actually transplanted itself to a better place and a better
life, it's a roll model for all spreading plants everywhere, and
I am proud to know it.

And I don't mind having all this variety in our yard, which is
another divergence from my old default personality. I used to
like everything to be the same, but again Cyndi has had her
influences on me. Now I like all this variety. In fact, I see our
front yard as a small-scale Darwinian laboratory. Whichever plant
is man enough to seize the territory and hold off the weeds and
encroaching neighborhood grass can have the yard. Let the
toughest ground cover win, I say.

So last night I was sitting on my blue plastic stool, with both
feet buried deep into the dark dirt of our side yard, digging out
grass roots, when my friend David came jogging by. He saw me
sitting in the dirt and said, "Berry, what are you doing?"

I told him I was digging out roots to give the next set of plants
a better chance in life. Cyndi recently ordered a collection of
heat-resistant drought-tolerant plants and I wanted the ground to
be ready whenever they come in. "Good idea," he said.

David's question reminded me that what I was really doing was
bigger than digging roots. I was meditating while doing a
mindless task, in direct contact with God's own earth. I don't
have a clue what it means to be a farmer, and I don't intend to
find out, but I enjoy the smell of this dirt when I dig it up. It
make me feel good, and Bermuda grass never did that at all.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 030603: Ambition
Berry D. Simpson

Sunday morning I asked: Do you consider yourself to be an
ambitious person? Is it OK to be ambitious? How do we distinguish
between Godly ambition and self-centered ambition?

The question is not that easy to answer. Personally, I don't
think about ambition as much as I think about goals. I have goals
as a runner (keep running, do some marathons), as a reader (60
books per year, pick a topic), as a teacher (learn better skills,
earn a graduate degree), as an engineer (income goals, but not
necessarily career goals … I no longer dream of moving up the
corporate ladder), as a writer (to be published and widely-read).
Do those goals make me ambitious?

My questions were prompted by our study of the first two chapters
of I Kings, about the last days of King David, and the attempts
by his son Adonijah to seize the throne. He was not David's
choice to be the next king, and his raw ambition couldn't wait
for someone else to choose him. He put himself forward through
political maneuvering and manipulation. He gathered a circle of
influential people including military, religious, and royal
connections. He made all the correct moves except he never
consulted with David and he never asked God. As a result, he lost
his life, all due to his impatient ambition.

In my own life, my greatest struggle with ambition is through
politics and government. I remember back in 1998 when I was
reelected to my city council seat with an overwhelming majority,
I spent a lot of time thinking about what might come next. Was
this reelection a sign from God that bigger things are ahead?
Almost immediately after the election I went on a business trip
to Farmington, New Mexico, and while I was there I made pages and
pages of notes regarding where my life might be heading and what
I should do to get ready.

Should I become more involved in the local political party so
people will know who I am and so I'll be ready when the next
opportunity comes along? Should I go to college in my spare time
to study economics and political science, so I'll be more
attractive as a candidate? My list of questions and comments went
on and on, day after day, until one evening over a plate of chile
rellenos I realized that I was all wrong in my thinking.

How did I get involved in government in the first place? Was it
through my connections and ambitions and clever wit? No. Through
a phone call from a friend, God picked me out of the crowd at a
time I expected it the least. I was unemployed with few
prospects, personal ambition was a faded memory, yet God brought
me forward and gave me a turn. What I decided that night in
Farmington was that my future in government, whether local or
state or national, would come when God pushed me forward, not
when I moved with my own ambition.

So I asked my Sunday school class another question … does holding
our ambition in check mean we sit on the couch and wait? Does
waiting on God give us a spiritual-sounding excuse to avoid
something we are afraid of? Can waiting actually be fear? And so,
is all ambition wrong?

I don't believe all ambition is wrong. I also believe God calls
us into positions of leadership or moments of challenge and we
have to move forward in faith and hope. I don't believe we are
presuming on God when we set goals or have ambitions to become a
leader or a manager or a minister or a success.

Cyndi and I talked about this one night over smothered burritos
(Mexican food seems to be a theme, doesn't it?), and she said the
difference between godly leadership and worldly ambition was
ownership. For example, if I believe a project is my project, it
lives or dies due to my efforts, and it must carry the stamp of
my personality and my decisions, well … I have taken ownership
and probably left little room for God. If however, I take on the
same project, but instead of stamping it with myself I stay
flexible and wait to see what God does, because He owns it, well
I have let ambition have it's rightful place. The difference is
subtle, but important.

I know I am rambling too much in this journal, but I am still
trying to work this ambition thing out in my own life. If
anything, I tend to hold my ambition in check out of fear of
failure rather than submission to God's plan, and I am not happy
about that aspect of my life. I want to be brave enough to step
forward when God calls me, yet patient enough to wait on His
timing.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 022703: Recognition
Berry D. Simpson

"So why was Jesus so hard to recognize? These guys had lived with
Him for three years." We were discussing the story in The Gospel
of John, chapter 21, when seven of the disciples, led by Peter,
went fishing all night, only to encounter Jesus at dawn.

There were a lot of possible reasons they didn't recognize Jesus.
"It was still too dark. He was standing on the bank 100-yards
away. They had been fishing all night and weren't at their best.
They were frustrated because they caught nothing and they were in
no mood to recognize anyone. Maybe the resurrected Jesus looked
different than He did before."

This wasn't the first account of Jesus going unrecognized after
His resurrection. In fact, being unrecognized was the pattern.
Mary didn't recognize Him at the tomb until Jesus called her
name. The two disciples who walked the road to Emmaus with Jesus
didn't recognize Him until the end of the day when He prayed over
their dinner.

However, he had scars from the crucifixion, He was human enough
to eat meals with His friends, and physical enough that they
could touch Him and hug Him and feel His human body. Yet, He
could also suddenly appear in a room whenever He wanted, and He
could move around at will, as if He were all spirit.

"So why was it hard for these guys to recognize Jesus?" As far as
the fishing disciples go, they did recognize Jesus very quickly.
He told them to try their nets one more time, and when they
filled with so many fish they couldn't pull the nets on board,
they knew it was Jesus who helped them. The text says that John
knew right away, exclaiming, "It's the Lord." As soon Peter heard
that, he threw on his clothes and jumped in the water and swam
and splashed the 100 yards to be with Jesus. They knew who He
was.

"So why did Peter put on his clothes only to jump in the water?
Isn't that the opposite of what we would do?" Well, apparently
Peter had undressed to keep the fish from soiling his clothes.
But when he realized the opportunity to go to Jesus, he wanted to
be dressed, even if that meant his clothes would be soaking wet.
I think Peter impulsively jumped into the water because he
couldn't stand one more minute away from Jesus; but first,
unimpulsively, he got dressed to be respectful of the man he
loved.

Jesus was waiting for the men on the bank with breakfast already
prepared, and that might be the most significant part of the
story. This wasn't a chance encounter, the fishing disciples
didn't get lucky and stumble onto Jesus, but this was planned and
arranged by Jesus from the beginning. He came to them, He entered
their world on their terms on their schedule in a way that would
impact their lives. It was an act of grace.

This story about Jesus and the disciples is a reminder to me that
I only know Jesus because He has chosen to reveal Himself to me.
I like to think that I understand more about spiritual things
because I read a lot of books and read my Bible and learn Bible
verses and write in my journal and teach a Bible class, and all
that. It's true that I learn a lot of facts because I do all
those things, but it is always Jesus' choice to reveal Himself.
He does it as an act of grace.

Yet, even though Jesus' revelations are on His initiative and His
timing, He doesn't want us to merely wait passively for Him to
show up. The author of "Spiritual Genius" asked Tony Campolo
where he got his spiritual energy and his insight into God.
Campolo said, "I wake up a half hour early and without saying
anything, just lie in bed and very much surrender to Jesus." He
said that if you really want to pray, go into the closet – what
the Celts called a thin place - a place where the wall between
you and God is so transparent that the divine presence comes
through and envelops and transforms you.

Jesus wants us to actively search for Him. Searching makes those
encounters more frequent, or maybe it's better to say makes us
more receptive and aware so that we recognize Him. There are
certain places and events of my life, my own thin places, when I
encountered God in a close and new way, and the memory those
times and places affect the way I think about God every day. I
was able to recognize Him, thanks to His act of grace.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 022003: Hope
Berry D. Simpson

"So how was your run on Saturday … better than my golf game I hope,"
asked a coworker. "Did you get your long run in like you wanted?"

"I got two-thirds of it."

"What happened?"

"I had planned to run 18 miles – three 6-mile loops through the
neighborhood. But toward the end of the first loop my shins started
hurting."

"What was it, shin splints?" he asked. "Shin splints are the only
running injury I remember from my high school days."

"Maybe. Shin splints is more of a condition than a specific injury
and so I don't know if one time counts as a condition," I
said. "Anyway, I stopped by the house for a drink of water and
hobbled my way through the second loop."

"Didn't your shins still hurt?"

"Yeah, from the very first step. It was a long six miles. At least it
didn't get worse, just stayed the same pain level the entire way. So
when I finished that second lap I knew I was done for the day and I
just quit. I couldn't push myself back out the door for another hour
of hobbling."

"I can't believe you ran six miles if your shins were hurting."

"Well, I doubt it was very smart, and I hope I didn't do any lasting
damage. I think I just kept going out of habit."

"I don't know if you're brave, or tough. Tell me again why you wanted
to run so far on a Saturday morning."

"I don't think I am very tough or brave. I certainly don't consider
myself brave for running through the neighborhood. It wasn't like I
was rescuing someone's baby or carrying a message back to the Alamo.
And if I were really tough I would have finished the third lap."

"Why were you doing this?"

"Cyndi and I are hoping to run the Country Music Marathon in
Nashville in April and this was part of the training."

"Why do you think your shins were hurting? What caused it all of a
sudden?"

"Well, I've had shin splints a couple of times before. One time came
from playing indoor soccer on concrete floors but I haven't done that
in ten years or so. Another time I got them from bad running shoes …
and I was trying to increase my mileage too quickly while still
carrying around too much weight."

"So what do you think about this time?"

"Well, the time with the bad shoes, they were actually very good
shoes and brand new, but when I ran in them the first time it was as
if my feet just gave up and said, "Enough, no more," and I had to
exchange them for a different model," I said.

"So do you have new shoes again?"

"Yes, and they are the same model of New Balances I've worn for the
past three pairs. But the first time I wore them my feet felt flat
and my legs were dead. I was hoping it would get better after a few
miles. Only it got worse."

"So what's next?"

"I'll exchange them for a different model of New Balances and try to
run long again this next weekend."

"What about the part you said about increasing your mileage while
packing around too much weight?"

"Thanks for reminding me."

"Do you ever wonder if the real problem is that you are 46 years old
and trying to run too far? All in the name of hoping to do a
marathon?"

"Well, I admit I do it mostly out of habit; I've been running so long
it is just what I do. But hoping for another marathon is the key. I
think I do all my long runs out of hope."

"What are you hoping for?"

"I am hoping than one day I'll have a great race and achieve a
breakthrough when I'll be brilliantly fast and amazing and Cyndi will
be proud of me and I will be king for the day. That's my hope."

"Hope is a mighty thing, isn't it?"

"It sure is. I was just reading a book called "The Sacred Romance,"
by John Eldridge, and he wrote about the three Christian graces –
faith, hope, and love. He said, "Love may be the greatest but hope
plays the deciding role." He was right. I will do a lot of things out
of hope that I won't do out of love or faith. Hope is how I confront
the future. Hope is a mighty thing."

"How do you get to theology from shin splints?"

"Frederick Buechner said all theology is at its heart autobiography.
We use the rough-and-tumble of our own lives to understand the truths
about God. Even shin splints might tell us something about God."

"Well, good luck next weekend. Hope is a might thing."

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until it
rests in You." … Augustine
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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 021303: Boiling pot
Berry D. Simpson

Cyndi and I were talking over a lunch table piled high with
shrimp, new potatoes, corn, and sausage, at the Boiling Pot
Restaurant on 6th Street in Austin. It was hard to be serious
while wearing a plastic bib with a smiling lobster on the front;
however, come to think of it, maybe more discussions should be
done from behind those bibs to remove pretension and get down to
pure ideas alone.

What Cyndi and I were discussing, besides the fact that we West
Texas landlubbers didn't know what to do with the angry-looking
crab in the middle of our immense pile of food, was how God had
taken care of us these past years.

We were reviewing the years of our married life - the economic
downturns and job changes and lay-offs, the dreams and goals, and
even forgotten dreams. It was often hard to see God in all that
happened – especially as it happened in real-time.

I must proudly say that Cyndi and I never gave up on God during
all those years, or loosened our faith that He would bring us
through it all. The times certainly weren't all bad; we had many
great experiences and opportunities, but those don't stick in my
memory as well as the struggles do. And while we never doubted
that God would help us, we were often concerned that He might
decide to bring us through debtor's prison, or at least the poor
house, along the way.

Sometimes it's easier to have faith than hope. I've wondered if
our faith was actually a form of denial, but I know that wasn't
true. We weren't denying reality; we were living through
uncertainty and difficulty without answers in the name of faith.
Faith looks back and draws courage while hope looks ahead and
keeps desire alive.

So as Cyndi and I munched on the delicious pile of food we
recounted how God had protected us, rescued us, and sustained us.
I told Cyndi about an old prayer list that I recently uncovered,
and my realization upon reading the list that God had answered
every one of my requests. He did it in ways I never would've
anticipated - in scarier ways than I'd have preferred - but His
hand was undeniable. Looking over that prayer list confirmed the
faith in my heart and my hope for our future.

Brent Curtis and John Eldredge wrote, "Blessings come, to be
sure. But they tend to be infrequent, unpredictable, and
transient. In the day-to-day pattern of things, our journey is
shaped more often by dragons and nits – crises that shake us to
the core and persistent troubles that threaten to nag us to
death." (The Sacred Romance)

I could think of only one or two times when I got a phone call or
saw an opportunity and knew immediately that God was giving me
specific direction or instant rescue. Those times have been rare
and isolated exceptions. Most of the decisions we've made don't
seem especially God-inspired at the time; they just feel like
normal daily decisions. I mostly see God's answers in retrospect.
When I am in the middle of my life - the details and worries and
frets - when I am in the boiling pot, problems are all I can see.
God is mostly invisible. But later, after sufficient time and
looking back, the hand of God is very clear. I guess that's the
faith part. We have to have faith that God is working in our
lives even when it seems He isn't, and then be grateful when
later He gives us a backward glimpse of His handicraft.

A skeptic might say that looking back and seeing God's hand is
merely giving God credit for the hand of fate … giving Him credit
when all that really happened was a random set of unpredictable
events. I don't know, maybe the skeptic would be correct, but if
that were true, then my look-back would make me nervous. Instead,
it gives me peace. I doubt random events would result in peace.

And so as Cyndi and I ate our lunch and enjoyed each other, I was
grateful that I don't have to conduct these life-review exercises
alone. Having Cyndi as a partner makes faith in God easy for me.
My only complaint was that the table was so big (in order to hold
the giant pile of food) we couldn't touch kneecaps as we ate,
which happens to be one of my favorite way to eat. And even as we
counted our blessings, we had to admit that our future is no less
uncertain, no less scary, today, than in any time during the past
twenty years. But God has proved that He's faithful and
dependable, and we were full of hope and faith and shrimp.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine
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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 020603: About Peter?
Berry D. Simpson

So what was Simon Peter doing with a sword is something I've
always wanted to know.

I was reading from John 18 about Jesus and His disciples in the
Garden of Gethsemane when the soldiers came to arrest Him. John
says that when the soldiers and temple guards made a move toward
Jesus, Peter slashed out with his sword cutting the ear off a
young guard named Malchus. Jesus told Peter to put his sword
away, and he healed Malchus' ear.

So why did Peter have a sword? Did he carry one around all the
time, and in this case, even to Passover? Did everyone carry
swords, like in the old wild west days in America when every man
carried a gun? One friend suggested that since Peter was a
fisherman by trade, maybe he wielded his filet knife instead of
an actual sword. Maybe so.

For whatever reason he had the sword, Peter used it bravely, if
not foolishly, against a group of trained professional soldiers.
He was brave, but he was also lucky that Jesus stopped the
encounter when he did; the soldiers would have killed Peter in
short order.

Peter wasn't so different from me. I don't carry a sword, but I
carry plenty of other weapons that I pull out whenever I think I
have to solve my own problems, or as in Peter's case, whenever I
think I have to defend someone else. Solving problems and
defending friends isn't wrong, but when the problem is a
spiritual one, the weapons should be spiritual as well.

And actually, I don't usually strike out impulsively like Peter.
I tend to withdraw into myself and plan my counterattack
carefully. Fortunately, and often, conditions change or minds
change (sometimes mine) before I make my well-planned attack and
I am spared from the embarrassment of attacking with earthly
human weapons. I think God holds me back, just like Jesus held
Peter back, so I won't cause irreversible damage. God wants me to
be patient and watch the spiritual issues unfold before leaping
into action with my human weapons.

Later in the story from the Gospel of John, we read that Peter
was confronted by bystanders about his connection to Jesus, and
Peter denied that he was a follower. It's curious that one moment
Peter was ready for a sword fight to the death, and then in
another moment he lost his nerve and denied his Lord under simple
questioning. When I read the account I wonder what would have
happened had Peter simply said, "Yes, I have been following Him
for the past three years." I doubt anything would have happened.

Unfortunately, while I can't really put myself in Peter's shoes
(sandals) regarding his sword fight, I can put myself in his
place when he denied Jesus. I don't know if I've actually said,
"No, I don't know Him," but I know there have been many times
when I kept my mouth shut when I should have spoken up. A tacit
denial isn't much different than a verbal one.

And so that's the reason Peter's story is so compelling. We are
all like Peter more than we admit. His conflict – brave one
minute cowardly the next – doesn't make him unusual. It makes him
just like all of us.

The part of Peter that is not typical is what he did after Jesus'
resurrection. Instead of slinking away from Jesus in
embarrassment over his failure, he ran full-speed into Jesus'
arms seeking forgiveness. That is hard to do. We all want
forgiveness, but none of us want to admit we were wrong. Peter is
unique in his desire for Jesus.

I believe the same forgiveness offered to Peter was available to
Judas. Had Judas run to Jesus for forgiveness after Jesus'
resurrection, he would have been welcomed with open arms the same
as Peter. Unfortunately, Judas couldn't deal with his own guilt
(who can), and he was afraid to let Jesus confront him with his
betrayal, and so he took maters into his own hands and hung
himself. He tried to solve a spiritual problem with human tools,
but his tool was suicide. If he had returned to Jesus seeking a
spiritual solution, forgiveness, how different the story would
have been. But seeking forgiveness means admitting failure, and
for Judas, and often for me, admitting failure is more
vulnerability than we can handle.

I also wonder about Malchus. I hope he became a believer after
Jesus healed him, but the Bible doesn't say. I like to think of
Malchus and Peter sitting side-by-side in church comparing their
unique stories of how Jesus healed them both.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 013003: Belonging
Berry D. Simpson

I recently received a generous offer by email that promised to
change my life and solve all my church problems. It said,
"Considering ordination? We can assist you." The offer was from
someone called Street Bishops, a "U.S. based international
ministry." They promised that if I pursued ordination through
them and became a member of the clergy, I could legally perform
weddings ("some pastors work full-time as a wedding officiate"),
funerals ("people die every day, providing a never-ending need
…"), or baptisms ("what a special way to welcome a child of God
and add to your part-time or full-time income as a minister!"
(People pay money to be baptized?)).

For only $29 the Street Bishops promised to send a
professionally-printed certificate and Letter of Ordination, and
as a bonus, submit my file to an independent Catholic order for
consideration of apostolic succession. That's something I had
never considered a possibility!

The email also offered assistance with starting my own
congregation. Why go through the hassles of an existing church
when it would be so easy to "begin my own place of worship?" Why,
indeed?

I am such a church insider the thought of starting my own is no
temptation. However, I meet a lot of church-hopping people
nowadays, and it always surprises me to learn how many times
someone will change places of worship before settling down – if
they ever settle, that is. I shouldn't be too critical because I
know it's hard to find the best place for an entire family to
worship, and even bouncing from congregation to congregation is
better than dropping out entirely. At least they are still
searching for God. Yet, until we settle in and join a church with
the intent to stay and serve and help, we are missing the
blessings of God.

I also know what it is like to join a church and be content
sitting still as a total observer. Not because I didn't have the
Street Bishops organization to help me get started, but because
it was easy. I was engaged in spectator worship.

Cyndi and I joined our church when we moved to Midland in the
fall of 1982, yet I was content to sit still and watch for the
next eight years. Previously we had been heavily involved in our
church in Brownfield, teaching high-school kids during a stretch
when the church hired three different youth ministers. We were
very young, we worked hard, and it was a great and rewarding
time. It was also fun.

Yet, when we moved to Midland I decided to sit back and absorb
this new church before jumping into action. Unfortunately my
sitting back was too comfortable and before I knew it eight years
had passed. I missed out on the fellowship and brotherhood of
fellow travelers working together in God's kingdom.

That isn't what church is supposed to be. Rick Warren wrote,
"Following Christ includes belonging, not just believing … being
a member of a church means being a vital organ of a living body,
an indispensable, interconnected part of the Body of Christ."

Today, things are different. Church provides the basic framework
of my entire life. I hang all my activities around the fact that
I teach Sunday School every Sunday morning. It is a highlight of
my week and I do not like to miss. My friend Bill once asked if I
missed so few Sundays because I was afraid to let someone else
teach. No, I hate to miss because teaching is important to me, it
adds energy to my life, and it is a constant tug on my life
pulling me toward God. I can't stray very far down the wrong
pathway when I am constantly thinking about how to teach the
Bible. Every Sunday morning I leave with more than I bring. I
always learn more than I share.

The church also gives my life structure. I'm not a loosy-goosy
kind of guy, and if I didn't have the church, I'd have to go off
looking for structure somewhere else. And beyond the structure,
church surrounds me and my family with fellow believers who care
about us and pray for us and who will do anything to help us.
Where else does that happen?

And as for the question of what I like or dislike about the
church, my "church problems" according to the Street Bishops,
well that all seems silly to me. Church has become such a part of
my life and character that I don't think about likes and
dislikes. It sounds trivial and whiney.

Henri Nouwen wrote, "We must keep reminding ourselves that all
people in the church –whether powerful or powerless, conservative
or progressive, tolerant or fanatical – belong to that long line
of witnesses moving through this valley of tears, singing songs
of praise and thanksgiving, listening to the voice of their Lord,
and eating together from the bread that keeps multiplying as it
is shared … loving the church is our sacred duty."

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 012303: What did you say?
Berry D. Simpson

I asked the young-yet-experienced lady across the counter, "May I
have hot cakes with sausage and a large Diet Coke?"

She asked, even as she punched my order into the cash register, "OK,
that's a biscuit and sausage sandwich and a small orange juice?"

It was so incorrect I thought she was joking. The only common words
in what we said were "sausage" and "and."

When I corrected the order she smiled sweetly and entered the data
into her cash register. I gave her $3.72 and took my food to the back
corner where I could hole up with my journal and books, baffled at
how she could get my order so completely wrong on first hearing.

I felt pretty smug in my superior listening and communicating skills,
knowing I'd never make such a mistake myself, until I opened my Daily
Bible and realized that after all the years I've read from this same
Bible I still live contrary to God's commands. He says to love my
neighbor as myself; yet I love mostly myself. He says to keep my life
I must lose it; yet I make personal improvement one of my top
priorities above even prayer and worship. He wants me to be filled
with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, and self-
control; yet as I look over my past week I see contempt, anger,
turmoil, impatience, selfishness, and compulsiveness. How can I get
God's request so wrong? He says one thing yet I do another! He says
hot cakes and sausage; I respond with biscuit sandwich. He must be
baffled at how I can get His order so completely wrong.

Maybe I'm as good a listener as I thought.

I recently read a magazine article about the physiological advantages
of changing environments; how unfamiliar circumstances stimulate the
brain's reticular activating system, which ordinarily blocks out
anything that's not a threat or of value. It's like a junk-mail
filter. When you're in a comfortable routine, your brain allows only
the perceptions that are necessary; but when you're out in the woods,
your brain goes on heightened alert. This primitive consciousness
kicks in whenever you take on a new challenge. Suddenly you find
yourself drawing on hidden talents and discovering resources around
you that you'd never noticed.

It occurred to me that maybe one of the reasons God keeps changing my
surroundings, keeping me off-balance, leaving me in permanent
transition, is to heighten my senses so I will finally hear what He
really says instead of what I assume He should be saying. Maybe He's
tired of me getting His requests so wrong.

And so, in my search for God's purpose in my life, I have to make
sure I am listening to what He really says. I must remember the
difference between a purpose-driven life and a purpose-filled life.

I'm not sure God is so concerned whether I find or embrace my purpose
as He is wanting me to be driven and motivated by His purpose.
This "purpose thing" isn't about me, about finding personal
fulfillment, or about self-awareness, or self-actualization. It isn't
about finding myself and thus being fulfilled. It's about finding God
and letting His purpose drive me, drive what I do and where I go.

It isn't a modern concept and maybe that is why I have so much
trouble hearing it correctly. We modern folks don't like being driven
anywhere; we want to drive ourselves. The thought that someone else
has a purpose for us which we should embrace, rather than discovering
or inventing our own individual purpose is not a modern way to think.
Even if that someone is God Himself.

So is it my adventure to find myself or find God? That's not an easy
question for an introspective writer-type who constantly questions
himself, digging the roots of his own character. Yet, it is God I
must seek, not myself.

I am currently doing engineering work for a worldwide major oil
company, and one of the posters in our conference room reminds, "We
were put on this earth to do more than help people drive to the video
store." And so with God's purpose for us. It is bigger and wilder
than we imagine, yet it points always to Him, not us.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until it
rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 011603: Inside outside
Berry D. Simpson

This week I got a chance to run one of my favorite places - the
Town Lake urban trail system near downtown Austin - and it was
great. I ran west from the Doubletree Hotel toward the Shoal
Creek Greenbelt, where I turned south and followed the trail to
Town Lake. My plan worked except for the places where floodwater
had washed away the concrete trail. And, since it was January,
too cold for most under-the-bridge dwellers, I only saw one
person sleeping on the concrete.

It was good to be running. I always enjoy hitting the streets
after I've been inside all day, and in this case, inside the
state capital building. I had just left a reception where I
mingled much longer than my usual five minutes and I was ready to
do something I was good at. Actually, I'm not very good at
running, but I'm better at running than at mingling. If I could
mingle all by myself I might be better at that, too.

The thing is, as I was running and thinking about the reception
and all the conversations, I realized I felt very much an
outsider, as if I'd crashed someone else's party where I didn't
belong. It was a silly anxiety; most of the people in the room
would've said I was very much an insider. But I didn't feel that
way.

I thought - maybe we all feel like outsiders, like children in an
adult world, surrounded by knowledgeable people who know what to
do and know what to say, and if we aren't careful we'll say
something goofy and be found out for imposters and tossed into
the street. At least, I hope I'm not the only one.

I've always been an insider at church. I was very young when I
was baptized in the Grace Temple Baptist Church in Kermit, Texas.
I didn't go through any big lifestyle changes since I was only
seven years old at the time, and even those first seven years
were spent inside a church. My mom told me that the first person
I told about my decision was my grandfather, Roy Haynes, a
Baptist minister. She said I called him that very Sunday night
after we got home from church..

And so my past 40 years have been lived as a believer, and much
of that time has been spent inside a church. I am definitely a
church insider. I am comfortable within the church walls and
comfortable among the people.

What do I mean by comfortable? I mean I am at ease. I know which
questions to ask and which to avoid. I know which theological
points will start a fight and which I can talk about and even
push toward the edge without getting into too much trouble. I
feel at home teaching and expressing my opinion. I know what is
orthodox and what is not, and when I can safely stray toward non-
orthodox without stirring up too much trouble.

Only, as I ran up Congress Avenue thinking about my hotel room
and longing for a hot bathtub, I realized that being a consummate
insider has it's dangers. Insiders tend to get caught up in - to
steal a political catch phrase - "inside the Beltway" thinking.
It is easy to get caught up in procedures and structures and
arcane details of church operation and forget the heart of our
ministry..., which is, being an outsider. Living inside the world
as an outsider who belongs to Jesus.

I thought about the person I saw sleeping under the bridge on
Shoal Creek. I didn't know whether it was a man or woman wrapped
in that old cheap hotel blanket, but I could see a shock of brown
hair and the subtle rise and fall of slow breathing. Did I do
the right thing to keep on running? There I was, worried all
about myself again, whether I was an insider or an outsider,
whether I felt anxious or comfortable, knowing I was headed for a
long hot bath before a big dinner, and I ran right past this guy
(or girl) sleeping under a bridge, in January, twelve blocks from
the Texas state capital. Did I do the right thing to run right on
by? I doubt I could have helped very much since all I had with me
was sweaty clothes and a city map. And I certainly didn't want to
get mugged.

Well, as it turned out, I'd underestimated the distance from my
hotel to the trail, so my run took about an hour longer than I
planned. I finally made it back to the hotel and my hot bath and
my book and I relaxed for the evening. Inside.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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Journal entry 0109103: Heaven
Berry D. Simpson

OK, I admit that I hardly ever think about heaven. I expect to be
there one day, but, except for a recent running incident when I
tripped and fell onto the hardpan and rolled side-over-side
through the caliche and mesquite, I don't think about going there
any time soon.

I certainly don't pretend to know what heaven will be like, but I
have a lot of ideas and dreams. I guess we will spend the entire
time praising God, but what exactly does that mean? What does it
mean for us to praise God all day long?

I think it means more than singing and waving our arms. I love to
sing, and I love to worship God with singing, but it is only one
small way out of thousands of ways to praise God.

Rick Warren wrote, "True worship – bringing God pleasure –
happens when you give yourself completely to God." Since God made
each of us individually distinct with different gifts and
abilities and desires, then it stands to reason that giving
ourselves completely to God will mean different things for each
of us.

Warren wrote, "The secret to a lifestyle of worship is doing
everything as if you were doing it for Jesus." That means doing
what we do, sharing what we have to share, giving what we have,
serving with the gifts and personality God gave us.

Does that mean that the experience of heaven may not be the same
for all of us? I think so. Just as our desires and gifts and
personalities here on earth mean we enjoy and worship and serve
God in unique ways, I believe our time in heaven will be unique
and individual.

Fred, my very smart marathoner friend, wrote, "I hope there is
running in heaven. And, I hope that it's not effortless running,
like skipping lightly from cloud top to cloud top. Although I do
hope that everything else in heaven is effortless and totally
pleasant, I want running to remain a purposeful act of will. I
want to have to work at it. I want to be able to improve at
running (or, as I am valiantly trying now, not lose any more
ability)."

I don't think Fred and I will be the only runners. I'm sure the
Apostle Paul was a distance runner since he used so many running
analogies in his writing. Maybe we can train with Paul; however,
I doubt if Paul would allow any slacking off when we start to
hurt … he doesn't seem the slacking-off type. Maybe Elijah might
come along too. After all, he did outrun a chariot.

Fred went on to write, "However, I do want weight loss to be
effortless. I do want God to grant me my daily food portion and
no more and I want to be satisfied with "enough."

"Do you think this is all too much to ask for? All I am asking
for is a miracle. Effortless weight loss and a running workout
that counts. (Also, while I am making my list, I want 20/20
vision, a full head of hair, and to be at least 6' tall, to have
6-pack abs, and not flat feet.)" Go Fred - sounds like heaven to
me.

Recently, while I was still healing up from my running fall, soon
after receiving Fred's email about heaven, I read this devotion
by Henri Nouwen, "There comes a time in all our lives when we
must prepare for death." Well, I thought, that's enough French
fries for today.

Nouwen continued, "Speculations about the afterlife are little
more than that: speculations. Beyond death there is no "first"
and "later," no "here" and "there," no "past," "present," or
"future." God is all in all. The end of time."

In my own selfish way of thinking, the end of time is a good
thing if my goal is to read 10,000 books before bedtime, but it's
a bad thing if I want to set a personal record for running a
marathon in my perfected, heavenly (and FAST) body. How can I
know how fast I am if there is no time?

Nouwen wrote, "For us who still live in time, it is important not
to act as if the new life in Christ is something we can
comprehend or explain. God's heart and mind are greater than
ours. All that is asked of us is trust." That's right. I may
dream about heaven, but there is no pressure to get it right.

One more thing. Chuck Swindoll says, "Heaven is not really a
place, it is not really an activity, but it is a person." That's
what I have to remember. Heaven is about God, and what He wants,
and bringing Him pleasure. It isn't about me. However, I can
still dream.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine

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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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[4/13/2003 8:52:37 PM | Berry Simpson]
Journal entry 041003: For me
Berry D. Simpson

Saturday morning during my long run I listened to Scott Simon on
NPR Weekend Edition as he read a tribute to his reporter friend,
Mike Kelly of The Washington Post, who was drowned in a Humvee
accident in Iraq. Simon talked about the reporter's love of
storytelling, a "lost art among newer reporters who learned to
adapt their stories to fast one-sentence blurbs running across
the bottom of the TV screen." Simon said, "The power of
storytelling is that it doesn't jolt as it goes by with scattered
bits and pieces, but it draws you in, personally in, to the
story." His comments hammered home the point I had learned from
my friend, John, just the afternoon before.

On Friday I attended John's class on chronological Bible
storying; John spent three entertaining hours working his way
through the Bible narrative, telling story after story. He was
great, and I loved listening to him use the techniques that have
been so successful to spread the gospel among the oral cultures
of Africa.

As John talked, I analyzed, "Good story, good technique, yeah I
know that one, interesting question," and like that. I was
listening closely, fully engaged, yet with the intellectual
detachment of ongoing analysis. And so it was all the more
surprising later on when my emotions trumped my intellect and I
was reduced (or raised) to tears.

John told familiar stories beginning with Genesis 1 through the
gospels. Finally, when he started talking about Jesus and
Nicodemus, he quoted John 3:16 ("For God so loved the world that
he gave His only son, and whoever believes on Him has eternal
life"), I started crying. I was surprised at myself. How many
times in my life have I heard John 3:16? I thought I would be
used to this story by now.

I was so surprised to be emotionally moved, again, at this old
familiar story. It was as if the incarnation, Jesus, God and man,
just hit me all at once for the first time.

John asked, "Why did Jesus' sacrifice count for our sins?"

Someone in the class answered, "Because He was perfect, the
perfect Lamb of God."

John said, "And He could only be perfect if He was God Himself."

That made me cry even more. Of course it was all simple and
familiar and entry-level Christian truth -so why was I crying
about something I've known for more than 40 years?

John asked the group how it was different to hear the gospel from
all the stories, rather than from a typical four-step
presentation.

I wanted to raise my hand and respond to his question. I wanted
to tell him that I just heard John 3:16 for the first time in my
life. But I couldn't raise my hand to answer because every time
the thought crossed my mind I started crying again. So I waited
to calm down and then make my comment, but before I could catch
my breath I started crying again. As it was, I never spoke up.

Later that evening, over plates piled high with BBQ and potato
salad and beans, I asked John if he saw me sitting in the back of
his lecture wiping tears from my eyes. He said, "Yes, I noticed
that."

"I wanted to talk about John 3:16 but I couldn't stop crying."

"Were you afraid for people to see a logical engineer crying?"

"No, I've given up on that. I turned into a crybaby about five
years ago and now I can't turn it off," I said. "I didn't speak
up because I don't like to talk with that squeaky-tear voice."

I didn't understand my emotional reaction at all. It was a
mystery. And even more, I guess, was that I was trying to
intellectually analyze my emotional response.

I've known John for years. Every time he and his family come home
from Africa I have the opportunity to hear him talk about his
ministry and describe the storytelling techniques they use to
communicate the gospel. I love to listen to him, and I go to
school on his technique, watching how he works a room and asks
questions and uses his hands and face. I am a better teacher from
all the times I've watched him. The thing is, for all I've
learned from John, I always assumed the content of his teaching
was for Africans, not for me. It wasn't until Friday afternoon
that I realized he was teaching directly to me.

And maybe I thought John 3:16 was for others, too? Surely not.
Surely I knew it was for me; but Friday night I learned it for
certain. Again.

"You have made us for Yourself, and our heart is restless until
it rests in You." … Augustine
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Berry D. Simpson - Midland, Texas - berry@stonefoot.org
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Copyright 2003 Berry D. Simpson, all rights reserved
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