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Last summer, my son and I took the opportunity to enjoy a beautiful day on the golf course. Our twosome was joined by 2 40-something African American men. Both were the size of professional athletes and, to my shame, I naturally fell into that stereotypical assumption. As I began to ask some questions, however, it was obvious that I was in WAY over my head.

Both men were scientists that had turned their brains into successful careers in business. I was amazed by their obvious skill and drive. I’m not always the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I realized this was a moment where I could parlay this acquaintance into a life lesson for my son. I asked these guys, “What advice would you give a 14 year-old to set him on the road to success?”

“Learn to communicate effectively! Debate team, speech class…whatever it takes. LEARN HOW TO COMMUNICATE!”

Simple, yet profound.

We live in the era of texting language, horrible grammar and limited vocabulary. It seems to me that one communicating with style, substance and power IS the one-eyed man.

Let the coronation begin.

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Perhaps you are not like me.

While I go through most of my days with my head down working my way through my long and varied to-do list, I am by nature an emotional guy. I can go below the surface for long periods of time when necessary, but eventually I need to come up for air. Laughter, reading, praying, sports, deep conversation, and engaging in social media relationships are but a few of the ways I unwind. Nothing engages my heart, however, like the one thing that seems to be hard-wired into my soul.

Music.

Whether it’s Jane Monheit’s version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow”, Andrea Bocelli singing “The Prayer”, Mercy Me’s interpretation of “The Love of God” or the Rolling Stones searing “Gimme Shelter”, there is something in music that refreshes me, focuses me and challenges me. It gets to my heart, and I get honest with myself and how I’m doing “right quick.”

If you looked at my MP3 collection, you’d find artists as diverse as you can imagine. KT Tunstall, Springsteen, Tomlin, Crowder, Chicago, Supertramp, Sufjan Stevens, Gladys and her pips, Placido Domingo, The Police, Ray Charles, Santana, Jason Mraz, U2, Third Day….the list goes on and on.

There are, of course, songs on my iPod that are there for background music…or I just ignore them. Who knows why they are there? Perhaps they hit a spot in my heart years ago, but I’ve long forgotten why I purchased them. Still, as I sat listening to carefully chosen songs this morning, songs I picked specifically for the condition of my heart, I remembered just how great a gift the Creator has bestowed on us.

Are you like me?

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You read the headlines, too.

Politicians fathering children out of wedlock….and lying about it. Superstar talk show host warring about who’s going to get the $45 million and the right time slot. Ordinary people in a shopping frenzy punching out someone who raced to the new “in” toy seconds before they got there. What’s wrong with us??

Then, in a moment of clarity, disaster strikes a destitute, needy people, and we respond. Sometimes, I really love “us.”

This week, I heard something remarkable. In Indianapolis, where I live, a local church put out a letter alerting their people that 300 orphans from Haiti needed homes. At first, it was stated that the commitment would be two months, but then the commitment was raised…the families needed to be willing to adopt these children.

I’m not sure of the exact numbers, but that’s not really the point. What I heard was that over 600 families responded….in just a few hours! (In fact, one of our friends called to get involved, and they were told so many had responded that they needed to stop taking names.)

So far it’s unclear whether the orphans will actually make their way to our city…there are clearly some administrative challenges their government, and ours, are facing. Still, I can’t begin to express how this outpouring of sacrifice has buoyed my faith in people. Just when I thought the world was being overwhelmed by headline-grabbing narcissists, a real crisis was met with compassion by real people.

Check this blog for the latest information: http://safefamilieshaiti.blogspot.com/

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I am a football fan. I love playing it, and I love watching it. It’s on a good deal these days, as both teams I root for have gone deep into the NFL Playoffs. For the most part it’s been fun for the whole family. We watch the games together….complete with groans, high-fives and chest bumps!!
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The exception to this year’s fun? The commercials.

They have been horrible. If it’s not some scantily clad woman or a promo for what should be an R-rated sit-com, it’s the unbelievably scary images of horror film commercials.

I have 4 kids, the youngest being a six year-old girl. When we’re watching television I have the remote perpetually “at the ready.” Occasionally I miss by a split second, and my daughter is greeted by an image that will undoubtedly haunt her as she sleeps. You mean to tell me that my six year-old can’t watch a football game with me at 2:30 in the afternoon without seeing some mutating body part preparing to slice and dice another human being?

I’m not advocating censorship here, just common sense. Do the network executives have children? Is money so important that they’ll sell their family-time ad slots to anyone?? How about a little integrity and self restraint?

How about you…have you noticed this?

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Much has been made of Randy Moss’ effort as a wide receiver for the New England Patriots last weekend. Moss has long been known as a mercurial star….at one moment looking like an intense, focused Hall-of-Famer, the next appearing to be disinterested, lazy and even pouty. As I thought about how Moss reacted to his reduced role in New England’s offense, I was reminded of an interaction I had with my dad many years ago.
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My dad is a singer/actor, and for years worked at an amazing dinner theater in Minneapolis. He had starring roles, minor roles, and even chorus roles. It was always a treat for me to go to the theater to see his shows. The pageantry, the music, the acting, the great dinners…I loved it.

It wasn’t always great for my dad.

While there were many shows he enjoyed, he often got stuck doing shows he genuinely disliked. When you’re killing yourself doing 8 performances a week for 6 months and you despise the content? Yikes. The conversation I had with him after watching one of his shows changed my life.

I went to the theater this particular evening with one thought…I was going to watch my dad throughout the entire show. He was in the chorus this time, so the focus was rarely on him. The musical had been running for several months, and my dad hated it.

From the opening overture to the closing curtain, I watched my dad. Never, and I mean never, did he lose one ounce of focus. He was always in character, always engaged. His energy and effort couldn’t have been more concentrated had he been the lead in a Broadway musical. I was dumbfounded.

After the show, I asked him how he mustered the emotional energy to deliver such a terrific performance despite his seemingly insignificant role in a production he had come to despise.

“Christopher, I am a professional.”

That comment brings tears to my eyes as I write it.

Thanks for being my living example, Dad. In an age of entitlement and narcissism, we’ve forgotten what you guys look like.

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When the big white car pulled up in front of our townhouse, I couldn’t have imagined how the moments that followed would affect my life.

I was 10 years old and we had just moved to Minneapolis. I was always a huge baseball fan. As an 8 year old, I was thrilled that my tonsillectomy was concurrent with the 1968 World Series….a series where my beloved Detroit Tigers erased a 3-1 deficit to defeat the St. Louis Cardinals behind Mickey Lolich’s 3 victories. Now in the Twin Cities, I wasn’t sure where my allegiance should lay.

I was throwing a tennis ball up and catching it when the well-dressed man stepped out of the car. He looked at me, smiled, and said, “Hey, you wanna play with a real ball?” I was elated as he threw me the ball, then walked to a townhouse three doors down from ours.

When I looked at the ball, it was the genuine Major League Baseball article! The ball had obviously been used in a game, since it had a black streak on it. Wanting to fit in to my new hometown, I wrote “Harmon Killebrew Home Run Ball” in green ink on the ball. I still tremble with excitement when I think of that moment!Rod

That evening at the dinner table, my mother said, “You know who’s moving in across the street? Rod Carew!”

What??

The guy who threw me the ball was Rod Carew? THE Rod Carew?? And I wrote Harmon Killebrew’s name on his ball?

In the next several months, when our paths would cross, Rod was amazingly nice to me. Once, while sitting in a car waiting for my dad on a rainy day, Rod knocked on the window of the car and handed me a baseball personally autographed by the entire team. He also took us into his apartment and showed us the silver bat he earned by winning his first batting title.

Years later, my family was dining at a local restaurant when my brother noticed Rod and his wife. I nervously approached his table to say hello, and when he saw me, his face lit up and he said, “the little red-headed kid from St. Louis Park!” I couldn’t have been prouder that he remembered me.

There are many ways this encounter changed me. The most obvious is that I have been a rabid Minnesota Twins fan since that day! Not so obvious is a lesson I learned from Rod and then had reinforced by watching my gracious, locally famous mother. It’s a cliche, but it’s absolutely true:

A person who is nice to you but rude to the waiter, or to others, is not a nice person.

What’s true of waiters is also true of 10 year-olds. Thanks, Rod, for taking time out of your Hall of Fame career to make an lasting impression on a little kid. In his eyes, you’re a true hero.

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We live in an age where innovation is essential to get ahead and stay ahead. Whatever your business, you need it to compete. At the same time, we also live in an age where many people….perhaps most people…are risk averse. They don’t want to lose their job, their reputation or their free time because they stuck their neck out to innovate. It’s easier to leave things the way they have always been.

I am not the CEO of Microsoft, but I have had the opportunity to lead a great group of people for several years. As I have done that, I have struggled to find ways to accurately convey my desire for people to think and act differently.speedingticket2

A few years ago, my friend Craig Parker shared something with me that revolutionized the way I approach this as a leader. The phrase, “I’d rather give speeding tickets than parking tickets” has become a part of my everyday conversation…and I love it!

To be sure, there are times when I have to call people into my office and give them a ticket for moving too quickly or unwisely. Still, I try to make sure that I “high five” them as they walk out of my office….congratulating them for taking a chance.

It’s true that this philosophy will create a little chaos, and it certainly won’t work if you want to live in a high control environment. If, however, you want some new energy in your mission, I encourage you to release your people to “go for it”, even if it means giving out some speeding tickets.

But don’t forget the “high fives”!!

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“Who is Martin Luther King?”

It was an innocent question to the mother of an inquisitive 7 year-old. While she continued to make the bed, she patiently explained the character of the man. She spoke of his peaceful, non-violent demonstrations, of his inspirational speeches, and how his leadership had provided hope to millions of oppressed blacks all over the nation.

She turned and asked, “Why do you want to know?”

“I was just watching TV and a news man said Martin Luther King had just been assassinated.”
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My mother fell to the bed, struck by disbelief and grief.

I knew what the word “assassination” meant, and I knew Dr. King was an important guy, but what I didn’t know then was how personal it would become to me.

As the father of an African American daughter, I am keenly aware that where racial equality and racism are concerned, all is not entirely well. Still, I am grateful that Dr. King and others gave their lives to the cause of freedom. I am grateful for the progress we’ve seen in our country, progress that includes, no matter what you think of his politics, an elected black president. And I am grateful, most of all, for a beautiful daughter that has a world of opportunities opened to her…opportunities brought about, in part, by the life work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

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It wasn’t that I really liked the color purple. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever owned anything purple. Still, when I was 13 years old, my parents let me pick out new shag carpeting for my bedroom.

I couldn’t resist the purple.

Why? Because I lived in a suburb of Minneapolis in an era where the “Purple People Eaters” ruled the gridiron. Was there a better way to honor my beloved Vikings than making my “field” purple?shag

About 15 years later, I moved to Orange County in southern California. I loved the ocean, the crisp morning air, the snow-capped mountains in the winter and the laid-back culture of SoCal. I loved it, but it also became an anesthetic. Don’t get me wrong, I had (and have) GREAT friendships…the kind that last a lifetime. But the longer I lived there, the more disconnected I was from a larger community.

When I moved back to the Midwest, I remember feeling a little claustrophobic. People back here talk to me in the grocery store, and they wear Colts blue every fall Friday. People notice me here, and it’s a lot harder to be invisible.

It was a little weird at first, but I’ve come to enjoy living in a place where we all generally hold some things in common. Like shoveling snow, summer concerts and potholes. Having a larger community has turned out to be a real blessing to my family and me.

As long as I don’t have to put in blue shag……

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Many years ago I spent 5 days in the wilderness as a part of an outdoor program. We hiked, rock-climbed, and repelled in one of our country’s most beautiful parks. It was a much-needed respite from the crazy-busy life I led, (and all too often still lead).

The last day of our trip, we were challenged by our guides to spend 24 hours completely alone in the nooks and crannies of the mountains. They put us in a spot where we couldn’t see a single human. (We were given geographic parameters that helped us stay out of site of each other.) I carried with me a pen, a journal and a Bible.

Alone. 24 hours. Alone.

The first few hours were torture. My brain just wouldn’t shut off. “I’m an extrovert! Where are the people?” Eventually I settled down and actually began to enjoy my forced solitude.

eagleFinally finding a comfortable perch on a rock, I turned to my right and saw an eagle flying high over a nearby canyon. For 15 minutes this magnificent bird mesmerized me as he soared effortlessly on the thermals. Up and down, left and right. Purposeful in every movement as he searched for prey.

The entire time I watched, I never saw him flap his wings.

In a moment, a bright yellow moth suddenly interrupted me as he darted just in front of my nose. He was the picture of activity, furiously batting his wings in the quest of…well…nothing. There were no plants or flowers anywhere near my rock. He didn’t land, and was, at that moment anyway, apparently void of any purpose at all.

But he sure was busy….

All is not as it seems, is it? My self-important busyness is often no more purposeful than the moth’s flight. I long for the peace and sense of direction of the eagle, but am I willing to lay aside my need to be noticed…my need to flutter colorfully in front of others?

What’s your story?