Dangerously Good

“I always thought it strange that the people who were there to protect us killed and wounded us for doing the right thing!” –Isam

Dangerously Good

“You’re not going to smoke, are you?” I asked, with a little snicker.

“Why did you ask me that?” The driver replied, in an Eastern European accent I couldn’t quite place.

“Because of the sign on your dash board.” I Retorted.

“Oh!” He said with a sparkle in his eye.  “No.  I won’t smoke. Smoking isn’t good for you.  Neither is marijuana.” He continued.

I listened quietly at his change in our conversation, sensing the light tone was about to shift.

“Before I came to this country I was a policeman in Bosnia.  We found a three-hundred-acre marijuana field and burned it.  It made the international peace keeping force so mad they began to shell us!”

The shelling killed two of his fellow police officers.  He was wounded an still has at least three pieces of shrapnel in right leg and at least one in his back.

“I always thought it strange that the people who were there to protect us killed and wounded us for doing the right thing!  I guess they just couldn’t live without their drugs.”  He said.

When we arrived at the hotel, I watched as Isam got out and walked around to the side of the long white van and slid my door open.  I watched the way he moved because of his revelation.  But, I also marveled at the man himself.

As he slid the door to his left, he said, “I love it here!  I’ve been in this country since two thousand.  I was lucky to be able to come to this beautiful city.  Most people here seem to try to do the right thing.  But, when I see laws changing in some places to let bad things become legal I worry.  I don’t want this place to become like my old country.  I am thankful to be here.”

I got out of the van and thanked him for his service.  He smiled as he limped away.

“Have a happy Thanksgiving!”  He called after me.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” I replied back, realizing that I too have a lot to be thankful for.  After all, I’ve never had people shooting missiles at me as I was doing the right thing.

Still, I’ve sometimes found it hard to do the right thing on occasion.  But, Isam’s life story reminded me that doing the right thing is important even when it’s dangerous and puts lives in seemingly in peril.  Living a life based on principle has never been more important.

Leave Your Corral

Tepid steps toward a greener pasture.

Leave Your Corral

First there was the stretching of the neck.  Then, I could hear a little snorting.  One front hoof took a small, timid step forward.  I knew he wanted to change his circumstance.  It was obvious the green grass, just through the open gate, was tempting him.  At the same time, I could see the gears turning in his head.

“If I stay here I know I’m going to be fed on a regular basis!”

“What if I can’t get back here, where I know I’ll be fed?”

“Is the grass over there as good as it looks?”

Do these questions seem familiar to you?  They are familiar to the steers I raise and they’re intriguing to me because I’ve spent a lifetime battling these same questions.  Right now, in the fall season, I’m reminded of this internal battle because it is a time for preparation.

As the temperatures plummet, the grass in my pasture goes dormant.  That means I need to shift my steers from the pasture to the corral where I can feed them hay.  It’s a place where they can stand around to eat and not destroy the pasture that will sustain them through the spring, summer and early fall.  It doesn’t take them long to understand that if they just hang around in this location, lots of food will automatically be delivered to them twice each day.  Still, I leave the gate open so they have room to roam and graze on the vestiges of the summer’s bounty.

But, roaming and grazing almost immediately lose their appeal when ease, comfort and a full stomach are the rewards of stasis.  Immobility comes with a cost though.  While they get seemingly everything they need by just showing up, I’ve noticed that their hearts become greedy and the joy they feel by romping and chomping in the field disappears and turns cold with the season.

Being out in the broader world does indeed have its dangers.  The unknown scares both cows and humans.  But, it shouldn’t stop you and me from stretching our necks a little.  It shouldn’t stop us from sniffing and snorting to see if the air in a little different circumstance is better than where we are today.  Taking short steps toward a happier and more joyous life is the mark of a leader.

One steer stretches his neck through the open gate.  He sniffs and snorts.  Then, one hoof takes a tentative step into the broader, greener pasture.  He walks through!  The others are soon to follow.  They begin to roam.  They begin to romp.  They begin to chomp.  Joy pulses through their whole being!

You and I were created to live a life of joy.  Being a leader means that you open the gate and blaze a trail toward joy for others who will follow you.

Shared Emotion

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“It was one thing to be kept safe from the harm of violence during the war, but everyone was hungry.  There was little to no food!”- Rachel Burk at Maggie’s Veteran’s Solute Concert

Shared Emotion

The lights went low and Maggie Burke’s young orchestra began to play on stage in soft, beguiling tones.  For the first time in my life I was completely mesmerized by music!  The enchanting tune seemed some how familiar to me, but I couldn’t place it.

Then, after about one minute, its familiarity began to tug ever so gently in my heart and mind.  As it turns out I knew this tune well and have know it my whole life.  This arrangement was different and pleasing.  I have never experienced anything like it before.  Gratitude filled my heart for the performers playing and for my friends Rachel and Tony Burke for inviting my daughter Annie and me.  It was the beginning of an experience I can only describe as shared emotion.

The author of this shared emotion took actual newsreels and letters from World War II and combined them in a multimedia combined live performance to allow the audience to understand that the war was not just a story.  It was the life experience of real people.  But its effect went well beyond performance to me.

During the intermission I talked with Tony and Rachel and made the comment that I was struck with how thin everyone was in the newsreels.  Rachel said, “It was one thing to be kept safe from the harm of violence during the war, but everyone was hungry.  There was little to no food!”  She then explained that her family had been hidden away in the Vatican for their personal safety.  “At the ending of the war they were some of the lucky ones who received an invitation to enter the United States.”

They traveled to the USA on a military vessel and received their first real food in over four years.  It wasn’t really a lot, but it was overwhelming to them as they ate and then lost it all since their bodies were no longer able to tolerate a regular meal!

“They had to eat sparingly the entire voyage to America!”  Rachel explained.

Rachel’s shared story intensified the collective emotion after the intermission.  The audience was still.  The presentation was punctuated with sniffles and applause from the audience. And, at its end, everyone in the auditorium rose as one body in a standing recognition of what was accomplished by those who triumphed in war, spirit and presentation.

“I’m glad it ended!”  Annie said.  “I don’t think I could have endured the intense emotions one more moment!”

It wasn’t that she didn’t love the performance.  She did!  It was just that we had shared the emotion with more than the sublime orchestra.  We had shared the deepest kind of emotion possible, a linking of generations.  We saw much of what they saw.  We felt much of what they felt.  We were overcome by their triumph and our inability to repay the good we have received from their hands.

Bravery

“I have chemo scheduled for the morning, but I’ll be there in the afternoon.” –Clint Robertson

Bravery

“We have a presentation that would benefit you tomorrow beginning at three in the afternoon.”  I said

“I have chemo scheduled for the morning, but I’ll be there in the afternoon.” Clint replied.

I looked across the table at him with wondering eyes.  I hadn’t known Clint for very long, but he always has a positive outlook and a pleasant air about him.  He could tell I had a question coming so he volunteered more information.

“I have a chemo treatment in the morning, but I don’t start to get sick until the next morning unless I try to eat.  So, I’m pretty sure I can make it.  I’m really looking forward to it.”  He explained.

I was sympathetic in a way that only those of us who have had a battle with cancer can be.  As Clint unwaveringly spoke to me, I watched as his stature grew and grew before my eyes.

“I wish you well!” I said.  “I will do anything I can to help you.”

The next afternoon arrived and so did Clint.  I greeted him and asked if he was all right to be there.

“I’m doing well.” He said.  “I just won’t eat any food.

Everyone around him was eating, watching and getting to know the others in our meeting.  He was doing the same, except for the food part.  The other people, not knowing Clint, had no idea he had fire running through his veins at that very moment.  He had no idea that he had just become my new characterization of bravery.

I knew the next day would be his worst.  I called him in the afternoon just to see how things were going.  He didn’t answer.  I left a voice mail message along with a prayer for him in my heart. 

My prayer was answered soon. Not long after my call an email popped up on my screen telling me he was doing well enough and thanking me for fitting a call to him into my busy schedule.  He was also preparing for our meeting the next day.

We met the next afternoon with some other colleagues in a Cooperative Venturing session to work on his business.  It was only then that I found out how he hard he had worked, while so desperately ill, the day before and through the current day.

The thought of the current day had new meaning for me as I listened to Clint speak to our group.  He was facing the current day and every day as if they really mattered.  I could tell how much each day mattered to him by the way he bravely faced up to every challenge that came his way.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I did it any other way.”  He explained to me when I posited a question to him.

Are you and I answering life’s challenges with such bravery?