1. Be a gentleman and a professional at all times.
2. Be the person who deserves the things you want.
3. Never complain or explain.
4. Take credit and responsibility.
5. Everyone is special.
6. Always improve.
This one may be my favorite, though also the most difficult because it requires the most sacrifice and the most humility to execute.
Special: Christians easily understand that God gave His only begotten son to die for us. To die for me, actually. He was on the cross, pierced and bleeding, for me. It puts me on the same level as God, in a way. Oh, I'll deny it, but deep down...? And honestly, am I the only one? It proves we are special, special in the eyes of God. It was an amazing act of humility, of love, of sacrifice. I can get a little humble myself and use words like "broken" and "sinner" because He made a sacrifice for me, and I am grateful--grateful to be that special to Him. Sometimes we can even get teary eyed in church thinking of Jesus on the cross, suffering for us--for me! I am special!
I did this for effect. Keep reading.
Everyone: Turn it around: that guy at work who just got your promotion, who is always kissing up and kicking down. Jesus died for him. Your neighbor's kid, who walks his dog in your yard and leaves the leavings--he is special. Your mother-in-law, without whom your relationship with your wife would be perfect--Jesus carried her sins to the cross, and they are forgiven. If not by you, then at least by Him.
Go farther: that presidential candidate that you didn't vote for and who is ruining our country--Jesus died for him. Our governor--yes, Jesus' sacrifice can even cover that! Go to WWII, to the SS, the concentration camp workers--Jesus was on the cross loving them, hoping and wishing beyond belief that they will repent and come to Him. Some did, I'm sure. Their sin is not greater than His sacrifice.
Our attitude toward other people should be that the Lord that we love and submit to came down to die for them, and so how can we do any less than offer ourselves, our life, as a sacrifice to others? To all others. There are two kinds of people: Christians and potential Christians. That's it, and they all deserve our love. Like the old t-shirt--God gets to "sort them out." We do not.
How this plays out
Charlie: I worked at a camp for underprivileged kids while in high school and college. The camp had very high staff turnover, so eventually I got promoted to Head Counselor. As such, I was the first to wake and the last to sleep, and I took the worst jobs on camp: I cleaned and unstopped all the toilets. I washed the peepee sheets. I comforted the homesick kids. And I was the last resort for any behavioral problems.
Charlie was my first, and still my favorite. He had few friends. At the opening ceremony, he would sit by himself and heckle. When reprimanded, you could almost see the satisfaction wash his pimply face--he had gotten our attention, drawn us away from what we were doing, made himself the center of attention. At lights out, he would throw things at the other campers. Never anything creative--no traps or tricks--just garden variety rebellion. For my counseling staff, he had the power, through a look, a comment, a hesitation, to destroy their attitude. Their frustration was palpable, and in a different environment I would have feared for Charlie. That's why, when their frustration got beyond their willingness to tolerate it, they had the privilege of bringing him to me. You better believe they enjoyed that!
We weren't allowed to use physical punishment. We could take privileges, but to Charlie that was victory. For him and others like him, we used exercise, and I did it alongside them. I took Charlie to the gym and ran suicides until he stumbled. We jumped, we pushed, we climbed. Often, he and I each held a broom out in front of us, arms ruler straight and parallel to the floor. After 30 seconds, his arms burned. After a minute, the pain was like a million knives running through his deltoids. The beauty was, only a little repetition of this exercise would give me enough endurance so there was no pain. I was immune, but to prove himself, Charlie had to endure it.
Over the years, I had several dozen sessions with Charlie. We became friends. I asked him why he did it, why he refused to make friends, to join in, to enjoy, why he chose to be disruptive. He was a smart kid--he knew what he could do, and he was definitely in control. He chose his path.
Eventually, he told me. He told me about his brothers and sisters, about his mother. He told me about his father, his neighborhood. I understood, and our friendship grew--perhaps I was his only friend at camp, maybe his only friend anywhere. Eventually we made a deal that he could just skip the cutting up and come see me. As a favor to me he would behave and bring himself to me to be "punished," and we'd sneak off to grab a Coke and some cookies. It was our little joke. The other counselors knew, and let him. And he did. It was a unconventional, but Charlie was special.
Help: I once made a sales trip with a senior, seasoned executive who had built a company and sold it for a few tens of millions of dollars. He brought me to a couple old contacts who he was going to sell on investing in my company--and take a piece for himself, of course. He bragged how he knew each secretary, their names and how to chat them up, how to use them to get what he wanted. This one was a gardener, another a single mom. He was imparting this great technique to me, his protoge.
Ack. I could see thier eye rolling as soon as he turned. He would have been shocked.
I've always thought that a true test of character was how you treated those who could not help you, who you likely would never see again. Can you be a light for someone's day, knowing there is nothing to gain, no angle to maneuver? The checkout lady in another town, the person you bumped into, your daughter's ex-boyfriend?
I've been the recipient of this on a number of occasions, and so this is the standard to which I strive: to somehow help each person I contact--to tell them a light story, to give a smile, a squeeze of the shoulder--some measure of support, of love, with no expectation of anything in return--just a gift. Sometimes it is small or quite brief; sometimes it takes dozens of "sessions."
This is it: "Everyone is special," means just that. It means that everyone we encounter, every day, no matter how big or small, how important or insignificant, how lasting or brief--Jesus died for every one of them, and I should approach each encounter with the attitude and the goal of making their life a little better, a little brighter, to nudge them a little closer to God--to give them a little something, a little help, a little smile, and to expect nothing in return, because I've already gotten it.
Post Script: This weekend, a friend of mine died in a mountain biking accident. He was a fellow CEO of a startup in Greenville, almost exactly my age, and we walked in a few of the same circles. I didn't know him well, and never spoke with him about his walk with God. If I were to give myself a grade, based on the above criteria, it would hover between a D and an F. As I reminisce, it pains me to think of the opportunities that I lost. This week, I learned that he had been through something recently in which he needed friends, and I was not there--I had not built up the relationship to even be included in those who knew. It is difficult not to be disappointed--to set such high goals and then fall so short of them. I am grateful to those of you who have read all the way to this P.S., because going through these guidelines with you has helped to renew them in me, to make them more current, more today and real. I hope I don't pass up too many of these opportunities going forward.
