Identity... Being who I was created to be

I reread Orwell’s Animal Farm tonight and was reminded of the corruption deep within the heart of man – or pig – should you be familiar with the satire. The story goes something like this: Mr. Jones, the farmer, runs his farm in the normal fashion, that is, until his farm runs him off in a quite abnormal set of circumstances. After years of living under dictator Jones, Old Major the boar, the wisest of the farm animals, sows the seeds of revolution, inspiring a revolt which places the farm in the hands of the animals. Farmer Jones’ Manor Farm is renamed Animal Farm and the animals actually manage the farm better than Jones.

You see, the pigs had wisdom and they stepped up to the role of strategists and ran the farm with the core truth of the equality of all animals. They recognized that one gift is no better than another, they are simply different. Each gift was used in a way that benefited the society as opposed to the individual. Communism at its finest. Ahem...

But the real problem was, after the death of Old Major the boar, there were two power pigs left to guide the farm, Snowball and Napoleon. Two pigs, two visions. Therein lies the problem. While Snowball ran the farm the farm ran well. He was inventive and always thinking of the farm. Napoleon however, had self interest and was tired of Snowball’s ingenuity. In a coup of epic proportions Napoleon uses his soldiers, the dogs, to run Snowball off of the farm. He forcibly takes control. What results is inhuman animalistic behavior perfectly typical of the fallen human animal. History of the farm is rewritten, laws subtly changed to mean something different, and Snowball is systematically vilified until his memory is a symbol of evil. Napoleon, the Hitler-pig sets himself as the supreme ruler of the farm. But that’s not all…

Evil has a way of taking hold and turning one into something unrestrained. Napoleon does not simply rule with an iron hoof but begins a campaign of genocide to intimidate and prevent questioning, and by way of admiration does the most evil of deeds... He begins to act human.

The animals--at one time--had a mantra, a summation of their core beliefs, it stated; “Four legs good, two legs bad.” It was the foundational belief that helped to free them from the oppression of man. However, over time, man is exactly what Napoleon aspired to be. He learned to read, to bargain, to speak and to write. He even learned to drink alcohol and eventually walk on two legs. He changed the mantra to; “Four legs good, two legs better!” He became the object that inspired revolution in his previous master, Old Major. He became evil through self interest. He exalted self and forgot about others. In fact, the book ends with the animals peering in on a conversation between their leader, Napoleon the pig, and their enemy, the humans. They glance back and forth from pig to human and from human to pig, and in the final words of the book, it was impossible to say which was which.

Jesus called us light in darkness, light that cannot be hidden. The ones peering into the windows of our lives should be able to readily tell if we are darkness or light. They should not be pushing their noses to the window and trying to discern whether we are pig or human, sheep or goat. This world is an animal farm for sure, and I choose to be a sheep, I choose to hear “Well done good and faithful servant!”

I will be who I was created to be. I will be as good to my neighbor as to myself. I willseek humility not authority. Authority is given by God. Created a sheep, I will remain a sheep, and be the best sheep I am able to be.

When It Rains It Pours

[Note: Written a few years]

The beauty behind storms of adversity is that they tend to reveal who you truly are. For me it means focus and a sharpening of mind and action. But it also means a hint of calculated, emotional removal from the circumstances. Down to business. Hear Father. Do as instructed. I do not know whether this is a good or bad, healthy or harmful. I will leave that to the reader. However, after a week like this one, I thank Father for the ability to focus in the downpour. Life is grand and full of tragedy at the same time and I am often reminded that without the knowledge and covering of Father’s sovereignty it would at times be too difficult to bear. May I share?

The funny thing about storms is that--many times--they come out-of-nowhere. Skies are clear and then, “Crack!” Lightning splits the sky. Saturday was such a day. The skies were clear and the weatherman had given the “Thumbs Up!” On the sidewalk before me I saw the first drop of water darken the concrete. Little did I know it would be a violent and vicious storm.

Crack!

My elderly grandmother, who had always been both physically and mentally strong, suffered a massive stroke. Grabbing the umbrella, I braved the weather and made my way to her side. Praying into her--I believe--understanding ear, I shared Father’s spiritual and physical healing abilities so that she would have hope. It gave me hope as well. He and only He could speak through the noise of the rain and clear her storm.

Crack!

The next wave of the storm came in the form of a hostile dialog with an individual with whom I had to stand my ground for what was morally right! Without getting into it, Father was being portrayed as evil in a storm of hostility and I had no choice but to stand for Him. So again, I grabbed my umbrella. You see, I love Him--He gives me breath--and I had to make a stand on the side of righteousness. It brought harder rain, but I chose to ignore the downpour and do what was right.

Crack!

The storm had now grown to the height of its intensity. A call from the Sheriff’s Department… “Chaplain, we need you right now! We’ve got a dead baby! The guys are having some trouble handling the scene. We need you here.” So I grabbed the umbrella again, and flying to the scene I ministered in the storm.

It seems that the eleven-year-old babysitter decided she would give the one-year-old baby boy a bath. She was distracted and left the room. It was raining so hard by now that the child was left floating in one of the enemy’s puddles.

The baby was without a heartbeat for more than ten minutes and when I left the chopper was preparing to transport the child to Children’s Hospital. What did I do? I placed my umbrella over the child. I laid hands on him and prayed to Father. As the child was being prepped for flight, he opened his eyes and began to have a seizure. Is he alive today? I may never know. I did my part. I covered him with my umbrella. I protected him from the rain. It was all that I could do. That was all I was meant to do.

Clear Skies…

Right now, as I write, the umbrella is closed and in my hand. I have peace. The umbrella of Father’s sovereignty gives me that peace. The storm lasted four days. The sky still has clouds in it, they have not fully rolled away. Grandma is still in the hospital with little improvement, the hostilities from my moral stance are unsettled and I still have no idea about the child. However, the umbrella is right here in my hand, and I will open it again when the first drop of water appears on the road before me.

Hesitation Remorse

Michael Jackson - Oscar - CasanovaThe backdrop is the Sahara with the tops of the great pyramids in the distance slightly obscured by the sand and dust filled sky. The characters are my son Bryan upon a camel named Michael Jackson, my brother Robert upon a second named Oscar, and me upon the third named Casanova. The journey is a desert trek to the great pyramids of Giza. The lesson: Embrace moments in the unknown.

I had feared the moment and now suffer from hesitation remorse.

When you caravan across the Sahara the camels are necessarily tied to each other, each one with a rope firmly affixed to the saddle of the camel ahead (think of all those Christmas cards with the three wise men silhouetted at the top of a sand dune). This keeps these magnificent (albeit ugly) beasts in line as they have learned in their domestication that they cannot break free.

Toward the end of our journey we were situated on the crest of a dune with a great view of Giza. I asked the guide, using hand signals and broken English, if he would take a picture of the three of us, shoulder to shoulder, on our camels. "Yes, yes!" came the reply and he quickly began to untie each of our camels from the other. With switch in hand he smacked, yelled, and aligned all three camels so that he could step back and frame the scene. It was a beautiful picture, a Facebook favorite.

Having taken a couple of frames, the guide stepped forward and began to tie Michael Jackson to the saddle of Oscar. Much to my surprise, Casanova, noticing the guide had turned his back, realized that if he would ever be free from the switch of his taskmaster, that was the moment! In what became a futile attempt at freedom, he bolted!

With a voice that surprised me, sounding not unlike my morning voice, I pathetically whimpered, "Uh..." and quickly realized that I would need to do better than that. I ratcheted it up a notch with a nervous, "I'm leaving, Hello..." When that didn't work I cried out with conviction, "Hello!" Finally, the guide came running at us, switch in hand, screaming words of Arabic in what sounded like a Jihad moment of anger and subdued Casanova with a few good smacks of the switch and a tug or two of the rope. After a bit of commotion and a few deep breaths, I found myself once again leading the caravan as both Oscar and Michaelwere tied behind Casanova and the journey to the pyramids played itself out in all it's splendor.

Looking back on that moment, I ask myself why I did not immediately cry, "Help!"

After much thought, I have become convinced that some deep inner desire, which I refused to let surface, yearned for the adventure that the circumstance had presented. However, that deep longing for adventure was subdued by my fear.

In fact, I now wish that I had shut my mouth, overcome the fear, and held on tight for a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I can see myself bolting across the Sahara, bouncing like a golf ball in a blender on the back of that camel! Our guide would have found me... Eventually! Besides, a camel can go ten days without water. I had let my anxiety ruin an unbelievable life experience. I am not saying that the experience-to that point-had not been glorious, it had been. However, what fun it would have been galloping across the Sahara on the back of a camel running for his freedom from a tyrannical taskmaster. I had missed a life moment. One that others would have talked about for a lifetime.

I am typing this later in life and I realize that leadership is very much like that day. Every once in a while you are going to have the privilege of just holding on. There will be moments that at first seem out of your control, but as you tighten your grip, learn to steer, you will find that you possess the ability to navigate a grand adventure. Let it happen! Be pensive, resolved and keep your wits but do not forget to enjoy the ride. Today, I tell my own leaders that vision is good, but achieving the vision is not where the excitement is. The excitement is in the progressive, sometimes out of control, journey of getting there. This admonition reminds me of a bumper sticker that I recently saw on the back of a souped up, red, 1965 mustang. It read; "Get in, buckle up, hold on, and enjoy the ride!"

As leaders, if we learn to enter the territory of apprehension, unfamiliarity, and fear, it may just lead to our break-out moment. If it does, we will be remembered for that ride into the unknown. However, if we back out when faced with that fear, we will continue in the status quo and that break-out moment will be lost forever.

I will never be able to recreate that moment on the back of Casanova. It is, regrettably, gone forever.