“Put your life where your mouth is;
add a shmear of better.”

• DO THINGS BETTER
• DO BETTER THINGS
• BETTER DO THINGS

Three words. Three sentences. Three meanings.

• Three Men: I moved back to Nashville last October and in the last twenty-four hours reconnected with two men I have known, and who know each other, for almost twenty years and with whom I had lost connection for almost ten years. Facebook made it possible. -- DO THINGS BETTER.

• Three Strands: In just a few moments of texting and exchanged "wassup" inquiries it became clear that each of them had recently become separated from their respective spouses and were going the process of redefining their lives. Knowing that I had also gone through the deserts of separation and divorce, I felt that this “coincidence” was an invitation to weave our (strung out) lives together and share our stories. Besides, “…a chord of three strands is not quickly broken.”Ecclesiastes 4:12 -- DO BETTER THINGS.

• Three Chances: There’s something pretty cool about “threes.” There’s the Three Bears, Three Amigos, Three Wise Men, 3 Dog Night (yes, I am dating myself), Three Tenors, Three Musketeers and those timeless sages, the Three Stooges. Feeling mostly related to the latter of the list, I know that if I hold off and wait till I have some spare time to gather the three of us together, the Stooges will have become the wise men, the Dogs will have been spayed and the Musketeers’ blades will be dull. I will have to create the margin for a part time commitment, if it really matters enough. – BETTER DO THINGS

TAKEAWAY:

1. There are more ways than ever to reach out and touch someone.
2. We are not alone in our blunders, pain and resolve to be better versions of ourselves.
3. Reassembling the broken pieces of our lives is a team sport.
4. Time is never given; it must be taken.
5. There is strength in threes. Remember Abraham, Isaac and Jacob? What about the Trinity?
6. From between the brackets.

From between the brackets -
(b)

"One man's trash, is everyone's treasure."

I can hardly believe how long it's been since I've added to my column. Even though I somehow missed the uproar of cries for more writings from my loyal readers, I have not been idle during the pause. I have followed my call (it was actually a "collect" call) to write a book about Leadership and Business. It's titled Get out of your own way: How High Impact Leaders take the wheel and drive the HI Way to wherever they want to get to. It's been quite a revealing ride, and now that I am writing the last chapter and conclusion I thought I'd scratch my itch for reconnecting with you. I've missed you, sniff sniff, really I have.

But my catalyst to write today has nothing to do with a new business book. It has everything to do with my flood of emotions over the last few weeks.

If you are not aware of the recent flood in Nashville you 1) are living under a large rock, 2) have joined the Tea Party, 3) ran out of your meds or 4) are so distracted by what will happen to Jack Bauer in Sunday's final episode of 24 that you have disconnected from reality.

The flood's devastation is staggering, beyond anything I can write and capture on camera. I came face-to-face with the real impact of a catastrophe (like I had only experienced on newscasts about Katrina) last week when Lynn, Spencer and his friend Anthony, Bentley and I joined the hundreds of people who unselfishly appeared in a Bordeaux neighborhood. This classic Nashville residential community was one of the city's most water-ravaged; some homes were submerged to their roof.

The assignment we were given was clear: "We are going to walk up to homes and tell people that we are here to do whatever we can do to help them save their possessions, remove sheet-rock, tear out floors, remove debris and anything else to help them to move toward reclaiming their lives.

By the end of the day the streets were lined with furniture, carpets, floorboards, appliances, light fixtures; the stuff of their lives that was now just garbage for a landfill. But all surrounding the molding debris were the torrent of people streaming in from every direction and washing over strangers' lives with the kind of sacrificial love that busts through the dams of disdain and indifference, spilling hope-filled colors palette of compassion.

The stuff of their lives and homes, now reduced to mold-covered refuse and stud-bared skeletons, were being replaced with the furnishings from strangers who were there to help fill the emptiness...just because. Our faces were masked and our eyes goggled, but our hearts fully exposed.

There was little dialogue. Everything needing to be said was exchanged in narratives; the ink of sweat, soil, nods of acknowledgment and passing hugs.

And then our day came to an end. We loaded the tools into the back of the car. We drove slowly out of the neighborhood and headed home. Filthy. Sore. Tired.

There was no conversation.


Just before reaching the highway, off to our left were huge piles of garbage, the debris from the surrounding community. Lynn reached for her camera as we raced past, craning our heads back to catch one more glimpse before the reality of our experience was reduced to the ongoing newscasts.

Our junk is still amidst the heaps of trash we left behind, for the treasures we brought home.

(b)

"Coming down from the mountain." (Visiting Utah in Oregon, February 2010)

I just returned from a week in Oregon visiting Victoria, Rick and my new five-month-old grandson, Utah Cohen Sewing. I was there to work on a new book, think about this season in my life and spend quality time with my family. It was perfect in every way imaginable. And it triggered the memory from a moment about a year ago that reflects the power of High Impact Leadership better than the business concepts from my book.

The time was 9:04 PM when I heard the faint chimes and saw the glow and name on my iPhone: “Victoria Sewing.” I was in the middle of the first gathering of the StoneAgers; a group of nine men from Living Stones (www.livingstonescov.org) who accepted the invitation to join me and Bentley for a movie, snacks and conversation. We were watching Miracle, the film about the “miracle on ice” when the 1980 U.S.A. hockey team, coached by the late (great) Herb Brooks, defeated the “unbeatable” Russian team.

This is the #1 film I have used in my 100+ ideation/vision-casting sessions; the quintessential testimony to the concepts of Individual and team character in pursuit of an impossible dream.

“Hi sweetie.”

“Hi, Dad. Are you OK? Why are you speaking so quietly?”

“I’m actually in a meeting with a group of men and we’re watching a movie. Can I call you back later when it is over?”

“Sure…and by the way, it’s a boy!”

“Oh my gosh. A boy. Victoria, that is wonderful news. I am so happy for you both. Such a blessing.”

The next moments shattered a shower of celluloid memories:

· I remembered my notes as a small boy; leaving messages scattered throughout the house at night for my parents to find when they'd arrive home late at night; I would fall asleep in the feathers of their joyful discoveries;

· I remembered climbing Boulder’s foothills, sitting on a ledge with a six-year-old boy named John whose eyes blazed cobalt, stolen from the Colorado sky. We dreamed of all the undiscovered lands past the horizon. He is the man who is now “daddy” to my four-year-old grandson Kinley;

· I remembered losing our first child: stillborn in pre-term;

· I remembered the moment Victoria came into the world and was tenderly offered into my arms - her new life sheathed in the nectar of countless tomorrows;

· I remembered the picture of my Dad holding me high into the air when I was two-years-old. I still carry the tickle of that moment in my belly.

Before beginning the movie with the guys, I asked them the following questions to consider while watching the film:

1. What defines us as men?

2. What defines a great team?

3. What defines a great moment?

4. What defines a great opportunity?

5. How do you know when it’s your time?

So what? As leaders, followers, seekers, teachers and learners:

1. Braveheart, Band of Brothers (a must see), First Knight and Lord of the Rings are logical and socially promoted images of manhood. And John Eldridge’s wonderful book, Wild at Heart, and Dan B. Allander’s Leading with a Limp offer complementary perspectives that round out the “hunt, smash, bleed and kill a dragon” image us guys love. They both remind us that it is not only acceptable, but essential to embrace your meekness and sensitivity in expressing your full man-ness. I, for one, admit that I am very comfortable with my feminine side – c’mon guys, admit that you watched and loved Sleepless in Seattle. Any question about the masculinity of C.S. Lewis, Rembrandt, Ghandi, Moses or Jesus?

2. At some point it would be good to remember, as Herb Brooks so aptly reminds his fragmented hockey team, that “You’d better figure out that the name on the front of your jersey is a hell of a lot more important than the name on the back.” If you are playing life’s game for your ends and outcomes only, consider the following: there is no way that any one of us can or will be better, smarter, more talented, more efficient and more effective than all of us together. No way, no how. Sure, it’s tempting to think that you are Superman; but remember that even he had Jimmy and Lois on the front lines to offset the blue tights thing;

3. “Great moments are born from great opportunities.” It matters little what position you play right now. There will be a time, sooner or later, that your great moment will open before you like the sapphire pathway up Mt. Sinai that God revealed to Moses after the food and fireworks show with the seventy elders (Exodus 24:9-11). Being fully present where you are and within what you are doing right now offers you a great opportunity to experience the fullness of this great moment; your moment to do it right, now. That takes a Brave Heart.

4. Read #3 again.

5. The time is there; it’s yours for the taking. Years ago one of the wise men in my life commented to my lamenting over the lack of respect from colleagues who were supposed to be taking direction from me. His comment still pierces today: “Brian, you must learn that power is never given to anyone; it is taken.” Take a moment. Take the time. Take the lead. Take the team. Take the mountain. This is your time. Take it.

Woman or man. Coach or player. It doesn't matter. What matters most is realizing that this very moment can begin the greatest moments of your life, if you take the time. High Impact time, leadership and success is never given; it's taken. Stop dwelling in the illusion of waiting for some "spare time" to do that thing you know in your heart and soul will make a difference. It's not coming. Start right now. Take "part" of your time to step out and take what is yours for the taking. It can and will make all the difference in the world.

Embraced in the brackets.

(b)

*FOOTNOTE:

It was my time; I didn’t take it. It is far easier, and often more painful, to look back at a seemingly innocent moment in our past that held the promise of riches beyond measure…and we let slip through our fingers. I leave you with one that I remember when my children were very young and I was absent a lot while “working hard to provide them the good life.”

I was on a business trip with a brief airport stop in Dallas. This was at a time when you still could come to the gate to meet a passenger; I invited my parents to come by so we could visit between flights. I hadn't seen them in a log time. We embraced, caught up, laughed and suddenly the time tapped its weary finger on my shoulder; it was time to board. We hugged again, and when I separated from my Dad’s embrace I saw something in his eyes; a longing and wish for more time. He was a traveling salesman and was absent a lot when I was a kid.

When I neared the end of the jet-way, I turned back and noticed their tear-swollen eyes. And then the moment was gone.

My father died eight years ago. He’s gone. I wish I had taken more time.

I remembered the picture of my Dad holding me high into the air when I was two-years-old. I still carry the tickle of that moment in my belly.

“This is your time. Now go out and take it.” Herb Brooks