History serves little purpose it seems to me if not to teach and inform us about how to deal with the present age and to inspire us to prepare for and pursue a greater future. I say that as one who loves history, or more correctly loves old stories of the past as evidenced so often in these writings. While I do find myself amused by stories about the past, I also believe more than anything that they are the best source – if not the only source – for teaching us life’s most valuable lessons. It is for that very reason that we maintain historical facts and stories, otherwise we risk allowing them to become nothing more than the clutter in our attics collecting dust. In other words, do we preserve history as a means of moving us forward, or do we hang on to it simply to linger in the past?

We came face to face with that very question last week when in the process of unpacking boxes in our new home we came across two beautiful specially designed commemorative plates that had once adorned the walls of my parent’s home. Sentimental though they are to me, they’re really part of my parents’ story, not my own, besides the fact that there is no place for them in our home except to be stored in the attic. What to do? Then a pastor friend reminded us of the Biblical story of the Transfiguration when Peter, James and John ascended the mountain with Jesus and witnessed him in his glory. So overcome were they that Peter suggested they should stay there, but Jesus demanded that they return; for to have stayed would not have carried the “story” forward.

Would hanging on to those commemorative plates really benefit our lives and the lives of others moving forward, or would we simply be clinging to by-gone days? Pondering that question did not take long after what the pastor said. Soon it was settled, the plates should go.

Had Peter, James and John remained on the mountain the world might have been deprived the message of the Gospel. But through them it lived on. Likewise, had we clung to those plates they would have simply collected dust in the attic. Instead the lessons learned from my parents’ story will pass on through our own living, and that’s what really matters.

When I entered my freshman year of high school I had a dream, it was to earn as a freshman an athletic letter jacket in a sport, any sport, didn’t matter which one. For a little shrimp of guy like me with only modest athletic ability it was a tall order, what Jim Collins in his book Good to Great might refer to as a BHAG, that is a Big Hairy Audacious Goal. To compound the challenge I didn’t play football, freshman were not allowed on the varsity basketball squad, and our school did not have a baseball team, which left only one sport – track, and I wasn’t very fast. I did have enough endurance, though, that I could run longer distances such as the mile and half mile races, my only hope. But in spite of my hard work and diligent training I still fell short, never so much as placing in a single race. So it was heartbreaking when at the end of the school year came around my big dream had been a bust.

It was summer, maybe three or four weeks after the end of the school term when one day the doorbell rang. I answered the door and there much to my surprise stood the coach holding a box. “What’s this?” I asked as he presented it to me. “It’s your letter jacket,” he replied. “But, but I didn’t . . . ,” I stammered. “It’s for golf,” he explained before I could finish my sentence. Golf? I had forgotten all about that, didn’t know anyone paid attention to golf or even considered it a sport. “You guys won the district championship in golf, remember? That earned you a letter jacket.” I was speechless! But it was true, we were the first golf team our school ever had and by some miraculous stroke of fate we had won the district championship – and my dream, my BHAG, came true. After the coach left I took my new letter jacket to my room, put my face in it and cried.

Dreams and BHAGs are sometimes fulfilled in unexpected ways. “. . . we shake the apple tree,” as Julia Cameron describes it in her book The Artist’s Way, “and the universe delivers oranges.” The point being, of course, to keep shaking to apple tree – to keep dreaming big dreams and setting BHAGs for ourselves – but don’t be surprised if the payoff comes in unexpected ways, sometimes greater than we ever imagined. Mine did, and I have kept the letter off that jacket to remind me, not about golf which I don’t even play anymore, but about the potential rewards of big dreams, BHAGs, and hard work.

My office partners, Jim and Connie, are constantly on the lookout for better office space, or different ways to configure the space we currently occupy. It is not because they are necessarily dissatisfied with things the way they are, rather for them it is part of an ongoing process of finding ways to more effectively serve the needs of their clients. In their minds the right office space is a necessary ingredient in the growth and evolution of their business, and that’s why they continually examine it. I admire them for that, and have observed their business grow because of it.

Change, it is one of the most difficult and disruptive things we contend with, yet it is inevitable. Whether we are the initiators of change like my office partners or it simply occurs around us it is going to happen, and it is for our own good that it does; for without change or willingness to participate in change there is no progress. It is the only way growth and renewal can occur.

William Bridges in his classic book Transitions explains it this way: “Throughout nature, growth involves periodic accelerations and transformations: Things go slowly for a time and nothing seems to change – until suddenly the eggshell cracks, the branch blossoms, the tadpole’s tail shrinks away, the leaf falls, the bird molts, the hibernation begins. With us it is the same,” he goes on. “Although the signs are less clear than in the world of feather and leaf, the functions of transition times are the same. They are key times in the natural process of self-renewal.”

We just moved. It was a difficult and disruptive decision, as change always is, to leave the house we had lived in for the past twenty-three years. Neither did we do so because we were necessarily dissatisfied with things the way they were. Rather we had been searching – like my friends Jim and Connie – for ways that would better serve the needs of our family in the years to come. We found it, our beautiful new dream home, but we would never have done so had we not been willing to change.

(from the archives)
How much is enough? Arguably, this may be one of the most relevant questions of our modern age in the Western world. If we base our evidence on the excessive consumption we see around us there is no doubt about the extraordinary buying power that exists in our world today. But is there a direct correlation between more and happier, and if so how much is enough?

Contrast that by examining happiness among the poor. My own brief experiences of working with those we might consider the poorest of the poor, mostly in Central America, has offered me some insight about this question. Specifically I remember Isabel, a Honduran woman who resides in a deeply impoverished barrio community just outside the city of Tegucigalpa. For a week she and I worked side by side on a project and though we did not speak the same language we became fast friends. At the end of that week as we were saying goodbye Isabel hugged me, then handed me a sweet note written in Spanish on a small tattered card about the size of a business card. I didn’t know what it said but I understood what was meant by her kind gesture. Isabel and her companions were some of the happiest people I’ve ever met, yet they lived in conditions that are unimaginable to most of us.

Mother Teresa of Calcutta, perhaps the most renowned servant of the poor in our modern age, once noted of the Western world, “I have walked at night in your streets; I have entered your homes. I have found in them more poverty than in India.” What she was referring to was not economic poverty, but poverty of the soul. So we ask ourselves, how much is enough?

To live in a place where opportunities abound for financial success is a blessing and a privilege, but what are we to do with our abundance and how much is enough? The greatest reward in my profession as a business and executive coach occurs in helping high achieving successful clients transition their focus from success to significance, from money to meaning. It is then they discover that true enrichment is not obtained by gaining but by giving. So, how much is enough? That depends. But it depends not on how much we have, rather on how much we have to give.

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” - Luke 12:48

“Who will give when they go? Remarkable generation of donors is tough act to follow,” so stated the front page headline in the Sunday edition of the Dallas Morning News. The article praised the generosity of a number of wealthy donors who in their lifetimes have given millions of dollars toward the betterment of our community. Some have already passed on, and those remaining are not getting any younger, which leaves the big question of who will be the next generation of philanthropists.

I found this to be a rather refreshing article given that we are in the midst of a faltering economy and an ever widening gap between the wealthy and the middle-class, with protests raging across the country against Wall Street and the culture of big banks. Having spent thirty years of my own life as a Wall Street professional I can testify that the greed factor that so many are railing against is not a myth. I’ve witnessed it myself, even got caught up in it for a while. But the problem is not that some make excessive amounts of money while others in our culture struggle to find jobs. The problem is the lack of compassion some of the high paid corporate types seem to have toward the less fortunate. In a nutshell it is greed. But not all rich people are greedy. Many are extraordinarily generous, taking seriously the biblical view that “from everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded,” such as those praised by the Dallas Morning News. And that is what I found to be so refreshing about the article, a reminder that people of good will still exist at every socio-economic level.

Grateful as I am for the restoration of my health after a near fatal medical event two weeks ago, I too am faced with the same question as that newer generation who has amassed great fortunes. What am I to do with what I’ve been given; for “from everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.” I pray that I will somehow be as generous with my health as those good citizens from that “remarkable generation of donors” have been with their wealth.

One of my favorite stories which bears repeating has to do with a man who lived in the small community where I grew up by the name of Roy Wall. Considered to be somewhat of a character because of his opinionated views, crusty wit, and sometimes salty language, he was also a creative inventor, successful farmer, and community leader. Roy had another distinctive feature in that he was an amputee, having lost an arm in an accident when he was a small child, something he chose to use as a source of strength and determination in his life rather than a disability.

One day, so the story goes, while Roy was struggling to harness a cantankerous team of mules a young man came by the farm to call on him. Observing the situation the young man tried to help out with the mules, but was brusquely dismissed in a sea of unrepeatable language. The young man, a newly hired school teacher in the tiny country school where Roy served as school board president, was obviously unfamiliar with Roy’s volatile disposition. Later, though, once the mules settled down and were duly hitched to the wagon Roy apologized to the young man explaining to him that even though his intentions were good he in fact interfered with his ability to deal with the mules. “Young man,” he said, “I may only have one arm, but I can do almost anything with one arm that most men can do with two. Of course, I can’t play a fiddle – but then #@!&*#$ neither can you!”

As you might imagine there are hundreds of stories about Roy Wall. He designed and created an eating utensil, for example, that was sort of a knife and fork combined allowing him to cut his meat and eat it with one hand. That instrument I am told is his grandchildren’s most coveted family heirloom. Another thing he did was teach young kids how to tie their shoes with one hand. How many of us can do that?

Roy Wall may have been an amputee, but he was hardly disabled. In fact, he could do almost anything with one hand that most men can do with two. As I lay in the hospital last week after my recent mishap I thought a lot about Roy. I figure if he can do it, why should I allow my own health issues to limit me in any way. Of course, I can’t play a fiddle either – but then neither can most of you.

Every day is a blessing, we should all know that. But sometimes things happen that make us more keenly aware of how blessed we truly are and how precious life is. Friday was one of those days. We knew it would be because it was the day our newest granddaughter was supposed to arrive, and indeed she did, right on time. At exactly 10:33 a.m. Corrina Carol Wilson entered our world weighing in at seven pounds thirteen ounces, healthy and beautiful. The whole event could not have gone more perfectly for both mother and baby.

What we didn’t expect was that at the same time Corrina was being born Grandpa (that would be me) was being treated in the emergency room of the same hospital having passed out while on an early morning jog falling face down in the street. Fortunately, Tee was not far behind and two other joggers happened to be coming toward us. The joggers aroused neighbors to call 911 while Tee tended to me and our dog Cowgirl protectively stood guard over the situation. All were angels who had they not been there . . . . well, the outcome might have been much worse.

Doctors discovered pulmonary embolisms, blood clots that had developed in the pulmonary arteries of both my lungs reducing the oxygen in my blood to the extent that I passed out, no warning signs, no prior symptoms. Even my regular doctors confessed they could not have predicted such an occurrence. According to them had it not been for my otherwise good health and physical condition plus the rapid response of the angels nearby the whole event might have been much worse. The good news is I’m going to be okay, no long term damage. The bad news is that my face looks like I’ve been in the ring with Mike Tyson, black eye, broken teeth, and stitches in my chin. That, of course, will all heal over time.

Corrina and Grandpa in the same hospital at the same time – both here by the grace of God – what a family story that will be in years to come! It all serves to remind us that every day is a blessing, but sometimes things happen that make us more keenly aware of how blessed we truly are and how precious life really is, and that God is good – all the time. Friday was one of those days.

“You’re very creative,” she blurted out. I was startled by such a remark. No way, I thought. What does she see in me that I’m missing? “The problem is,” she began to explain, “you’ve become a very linear thinker, plus you have devoted almost thirty years of your life to a highly regulated business, following rules. What I am trying to do,” she went on, “is awaken your creativity, for you are a very creative person.”

That conversation between my coach and me is as vivid today as it was over seven years ago when it occurred. Eighteen months earlier I had retired from my previous career and had hired her to help me explore what my next one would be. And it was during that conversation that I received one of the greatest epiphanies I have ever experienced, not so much in discovering my creativity, but for the first time in my life I felt I had been given permission and encouragement to pursue it and use it.

Yes, I am creative as my coach revealed to me, but I am not unique in that. So are you. Does it surprise you to learn that as it did me? The truth is creativity is part of the human DNA. We all have it, it just manifests itself in different ways in each of us. We all have different talents. And it is through our unique talents that we are given the ability to transform chaos as we find it into some kind of meaningful order, which is what creativity is all about.

Consider this: “God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him,” we are told in Genesis 1:27. If that is true that God the Creator of all created mankind in his own likeness, does that not imply that we too are creators? Was that not his intention? If not, why did he give us naming rights and grant us dominion over all he had created?

My great epiphany that day was the realization that the answer is “yes” to all the above, that creativity is a gift from God. And when we use it as He intended – and use it we should – that is our gift back to Him.

When I was a bond trader there was an old saying that “bulls make money and bears make money, but hogs never do.” In other words, those who kept their positions moving, selling and buying, would consistently be profitable, but the greedy ones who were always holding out for the last dollar would sooner or later get in trouble and lose money. Another interpretation might be that those who consistently do the right things will end up winners while those who try to keep it all for themselves ultimately fail.

Last week’s Wall Street Journal contained a rather refreshing story about how Webster Bank, a regional banking company headquartered in Waterbury, Connecticut, has been aggressively working with its mortgage customers in helping them remain current and stay out of default. For them “Foreclosure Has Become a Dirty Word” the headline read. With job loss and other financial hardships bearing on their lending clients in this difficult economy, Webster is bending over backwards to restructure loans, extend payment periods, grant temporary interest rate relief – anything to help people stay current on their payments and avoid foreclosure. As a result, many of their clients have been able to work through their financial difficulties without losing their homes.

What is even more impressive about Webster Bank, though, is its attitude toward these struggling clients as reflected in this story: “Two years ago, Webster cut the monthly payment on Anne Glenzer’s $60,180 home-equity loan by $123 to $366 after her job as a learning and development specialist was eliminated. Webster recently cut the payment to $206 after Ms. Glenzer and her husband, a schoolteacher, exhausted their savings. Both times Ms. Glenzer worked with Natalie Clark, who joined Webster four years ago as a debt collector. ‘She was sympathetic,’ says Ms. Glenzer. ‘She didn’t make me feel like a failure.’” Speaks volumes about the culture of the bank and the character of Natalie Clark, doesn’t it?

And who’s the big winner in all this? Well, for sure it is the struggling homeowners, but time will most likely prove the bank to be the biggest winner. Why? Because by doing the right thing they will prove the point that bulls make money and bears make money, but hogs never do.

Forty Years with My Best Friend

The man said, “This is now bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh; she shall be called ‘woman’ for she was taken out of man.” For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. Genesis 2:23-24

Pretty, petite, funny, fun and adventurous, sometimes a little shy; determined, dedicated and dependable, that’s my best friend; sweet, loving, kind, gentle, soft spoken, and low key . . . except, “when someone messes with my children,” she once said of herself, “then I am the mother lion.” And that she is as I have witnessed many times through the years, my best friend’s gentle soft spoken nature turning into aggression when she would see her children in danger or under attack and in need of defense, protection or rescue. Even today off in the shadows but on high alert she continually keeps watch over her children and grandchildren, like a mother lion watching over her cubs ready to defend, protect, or rescue at the first sign of danger. That’s my best friend.

It was on a blind date arranged by a mutual friend that we first met. Skeptical at first, we both almost declined the invitation having had rather poor experiences in the past with such arrangements. “But oh well,” we each thought, “why not try it one more time.” And when our eyes met for the first time there was an instant connection, like no other either of us had ever experienced. By the end of our second date we were bonded – for life as it turned out. We became inseparable best friends, “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” Together we have raised a family, supported each other through all kinds of trials, laughed a lot, cried a little, suffered through scarce times and rejoiced in prosperous ones, tried things that didn’t work and some that did, shared meals together, traveled, read books and watched movies, worked together and played together – mostly we have a lot of fun together and still do. That’s what best friends do.

She’s still the same mother lion to our children and grandchildren, and the same pretty, petite, fun, funny, sweet, loving, kind, gentle person I met on that blind date, a gift from God. And today marks a special occasion – forty wonderful years with my best friend.