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Last month Penelope Trunk, writer for the Boston Globe and the Brazen Careerest blog, wrote about her relationship with her favorite mentor, Chris Yeh. It’s a great read (here) about the importance and cultivation of mentoring relationships. When Penelope started her company, she asked Chris to be an advisor. He agreed and told her the best way to use advisors:
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Call at times you know are easy for them to talk,
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Keep them up to date, and
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Ask them what you should be asking them about.
Read that last one again. Chris understands something about leadership, productivity, and guiding people toward personal and professional excellence: Exceptional leaders aren’t the ones with all the right answers; they’re the ones who ask the right questions.
Want an interesting study? Check out the lives of great leaders, past and present. Find their guiding questions. Go beyond what Churchill, Ghandi, Dr. King, Golda Meir, Jack Welch, Lincoln, Margaret Thatcher, Colonel Sanders, or General Patton said or did. (How’s that for an eclectic bunch?) Look at the questions they asked.
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If there’s one thing I can’t stand (actually there are a few), it’s jealous, insecure, or bitter preachers. Neurotic crybabies or arrogant kingdom builders, God help them and us when they’re forced to face their own “stuff.”
Imagine my surprise when I discovered I was one.
A few months ago, my son Joel wrote about a former pastor he had met who now owns a smoke shop. He got burned by a church experience, and I guess he decided to keep the fire going.
I fired off a riff about ministry, and found myself using a compelling phrase to describe our calling – The Relentless Pursuit of the Glory of God.
That term kept resonating in my spirit.
Later the same night, I heard about a new church plant not far away, whose first two Sundays had doubled anything my church plant had done back in the day.
Jealous.
Couldn’t help it. Well, maybe I could help it, but I didn’t want to.
We were going through a difficult season at the time, and here was some guy (actually a great guy) rocking and rolling on his church’s honeymoon.
As I went to bed, feeling sorry for myself for all our troubles and stresses, that original phrase kept coming back. The Relentless Pursuit of the Glory of God. The Lord was reminding me of what ministry – and life – is all about.
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“Bruce likes to terrify himself.” So began a story years ago in Success magazine.
One day Bruce led some friends 9,000 feet up Mount Hood, and decided to show them how much fun it would be to slide down part of the way. While zipping down an ice field at 30 miles an hour, Bruce suddenly realized he had forgotten to remove his crampons – the spikes that attach to hiking boots. His feet were useless as brakes.
Uh oh.
Bruce had the presence of mind to realize that jabbing the spikes at the ice whizzing past him wouldn’t work either – that would risk breaking his ankles and hurtling off the side of the mountain. So as the edge of the cliff came rapidly into view, Bruce flopped over on his stomach and jabbed repeatedly, frantically, with his ice axe. He finally came to a halt about 50 feet from the edge of the cliff. He later said that the thing that kept running through his mind as he got closer and closer to the edge was, “Boy, this is a stupid way to die.”
Uh huh.
Oh, and just a thought – if it’s a stupid way to die, then maybe it’s a stupid way to live. But hey, that’s just me.
I don’t know if Bruce ever went ice surfing again. And for all I know, he may be the ultimate LifeVestor. But on this day, he was a gambler.
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I never knew Bill Hyde.
I will one day.
Bill was a church planter. I know a little about that; I planted a church five years ago. Bill planted six hundred, and just before he died, he hosted a then-record 3,700 participants in a Pioneer Evangelism conference. His vision: to plant 3,000 churches. He took what people were adding in the Philippines, and began multiplying their efforts ten-fold.
I never heard Bill’s deep bass voice, singing or otherwise.
I will one day.
Bill gave up a career in music or teaching because, as one person put it, he wasn’t content leading a quiet, happy life teaching music. Instead, he and Lyn, his wife, chose the frontlines of the battle. They were appointed as missionaries in 1978.
I never hung out, played golf, argued, or even shook hands with Bill. I sure hope I can one day.
Jim Cox, his former co-worker, said that Bill was a big guy:
Big in stature, big smile, big laugh, big hands, big heart. Bill was a musician, a teacher, a planner, an organizer and a doer. He had strong opinions, enjoyed a good argument and a game of dominoes. Bill and I played golf together weekly. He was my perfect golfing companion because he was as bad a golfer as I—not that we kept score anyway.
Bill and I have met in one way. [click to continue…]
Tense Truth: For every big answered prayer you experience, you can find some trivial something God chose not to say “yes” to. For every simple request He responds to, you can find some issue of global significance or suffering that He appears oblivious to. Regardless, the Kingdom of God moves forward on that praying of its people, and when we don’t ask, we don’t receive.
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Did you ever dissect a rose or a tulip or something in biology class? You know – where you learned about those parts, like the pistil, the anvil, the stirrup, the air ducts, the seaman, and all that stuff? Did the thought ever occur to you that no matter how interesting the inner understanding may be, what makes the flower beautiful is the whole?
A lot of people approach prayer the same way. They feel compelled to slice it, dice it, dissect it, analyze it. They ask “Why?” and “How?” questions a lot. I’ll confess, those kinds of thoughts rattle around in my head. My wife, the faith warrior, will talk about some simple thing the Lord wonderfully gave her, like a parking place or a sale at Kirkland’s or a thought to call somebody. And I’ll be thinking, “Okay, but really…” Or I’ll go off on a riff like I did last week about praying for the economy or gas prices (are they really slipping?) or the environment, and the whole time I’m opining, I’m thinking, “People are going to think I’m nuts.”
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(A Turning Point Story)
“This is my god,” he said, pointing emphatically to the marquee below him.
“This” was the Midtown Cinema – Mobile’s downtown porn theater in the 1970s.
It was a Friday night, and a group of us had met to do street ministry in downtown Mobile. We left the church parking lot armed with tracts – little booklets that explain the facts of the gospel – and hearts filled with boldness and expectancy. The people I joined on that particular night were a who’s who of influence and friendship during my high school and early college days – Terry, Wayne, Greg, Pat, Pam, among others. We spent some time at the bus station, as well as the sidewalks beneath the majestic oaks that line Government Boulevard. We gave literature to anybody who would take it, and talked to anybody who would stop. I remember that several people prayed to receive Christ that night. Most didn’t.
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Bret* was a Sherman tank. Didn’t drive one; he was one. He was ticked off – at me! And he wasn’t in a mood to pout or negotiate. He came with a verbal Uzi, convinced I had done him wrong, and he was going to let me know about it. (For the record, he was wrong about me doing him wrong, but he was in no mood to hear it. Or hear anything, for that matter.)
Right in the middle of the tirade, as this hulk of a man was blowing me away, I had this surreal experience. It was the Lord, I believe, speaking to me. “Just let him finish. With everything he has to say.” So I did. I just sat there and took it. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like his attitude. I didn’t like his complete blindness to the facts. But I took it.
“Is there anything else?”
“No, that’s about it,” he said very gruffly.
“Okay, well I’m very sorry you feel that way. I’ll see to it that you never feel that way because of me again.”
That was 11:00 a.m. At 2:00 p.m., the phone rang; it was Bret again. Totally different story.
“Man, I just want you to know, I’m on your team. I so appreciate you.”
I quickly ruled out the possibility of demon possession, mental illness (that one took a bit longer), or bribe money. No, Bret had just emptied himself of his poison. And he meant it. He was on my team.
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