Bridges and Communities

Earlier this week I took a solo day away.  I intended to walk from our house to Forest Park, a very large park in N/NW Portland with many hiking trails.  It's about 2.5 miles' walk just to get to the park, including crossing the St Johns Bridge (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Johns_Bridge), a tall suspension bridge over the Willamette River.

As I walked through the neighborhoods on my way to the bridge, it occurred to me that I didn't know the people who lived in most of the housing units.  Over the past year plus I've been heavily involved in doing community organizing work, yet I still don't know most of the people in my community.  This sparked several reflections:

• I noted the size of most of the homes I was passing. Recently it has been bothering me that we all live in such large houses, and I've been attributing quite a bit of it to our attachment to stuff.  We can't think of moving to someplace smaller because we can't bear the thought of parting with our big-screen TVs, couches, and other furniture and gadgets and toys.  (Been recognizing my own attachments in slowly moving toward 100 personal possessions.)  This time, though, something deeper occurred to me.  We hold on to our big houses and possessions because by them we believe we can be independent. We have everything we need unto ourselves.  I get to choose with whom I interact ... which means I choose what they see and know about me ... which means I can hide from real relationship and even from being forced to confront my own self and its issues
• How can we pretend to help a community if we don't really know that community, and know it honestly?  I think most programs and individuals fail in their endeavors because they don't truly know the community -- the people, the culture, the customs, needs, and wants -- in which they are operating.  This could be because they keep too much distance (bullet #1) or because they are too close and unable to see what the truth is.  In my local context, there are a lot of people who have been in the community so long that when they want to "make the community better" they usually mean take it back to the way it used to be.  We need to recognize the warts and challenge the community to be all it really can be.  And if the makeup of the community changes, then our definition of who we are needs to change rather than just trying to make the new pieces fit into "our" community
• This becomes exponentially more important -- and difficult -- when you're talking about bridging (yep, the bridge got in there) between cultures.  That's what I typically end up doing: serving as a bridge between generations, races, nationalities, income levels, genders.  But to speak with credibility and sense the connection that can be made between those distinct groups, do I spend enough time listening to each that I understand?  Or do I simply "do the work" that I or others want to accomplish?  Do I skimp on the listening and relationship to get 'er done, or do I recognize that the real "work" is the relationship? Does the world really need another policy, process, structure, or similar?  When will we realize that those things don't heal the world; they simply provide us with the illusion that we are "solving" things, which mainly just serves to insulate us from what is really happening.

Next blog post will cover what happened when I reached the bridge.  (teaser alert)

To change or not to change?

I've been hearing a lot lately about people not wanting to change or, more specifically, not wanting others to try to force them to change.  The line that accompanies this (everyone say it with me) is "I am who I am."

Now, Popeye the philosopher to the contrary, I've come more and more to believe that this phrase is bunk.  Let me explain.

There are times, clearly, where we are what we are, and it is unreasonable for others to expect us to be other than what we are.  I am a thinker, and to expect me to instinctively feel instead of thinking, well, let's just say you'll be disappointed almost always.  Others are spontaneous, or serious, or detail-oriented.  If we can accept that, and learn how to work with it, we'll all be better off.

But there is a key phrase there, and a key concept hidden behind it.  "Learn how to work with it."  Having managed groups of people many times, I know that it's imperative to understand who they are as individuals: what they value, what motivates them, how they like to operate.  If I ignore these things, my group fails.  But if I adapt the way I work to set them up for success, we all win.

So I adapt.  I know I need to.  We do it all the time.  When we are interacting with a 3-year-old on a playground we talk and act different from our behaviors and speech in a corporate meeting or when we're out for dinner with a group of old friends.  We do it consciously at first but it soon becomes unconscious; we just naturally adapt.  Another word for adapt?  Change.

So we can change, and we don't expect to say "I am what I am" in every context.  So when do we use it?

When we don't feel like changing for the other person.  At least sometimes, then, it's not the other person who is the issue, but our own choice to stay the way we are.  We are often more committed to being who we want to be, how we like to be, than to being in healthy relationship with the other person.

And of course it's also ludicrous to think that we don't or won't change.  As we learn and grow, as we live, we become different from who we were.  The old bromide "You can't go home again" refers to the fact that we change, and others change, and we can't just go back to the way we all used to be.

As you are confronted with opportunities to change today, remember that you do have a choice.

Growing Weary?

One of the main leadership lessons I've been learning lately is that this work is tiring.  Thinking, planning, praying, writing, talking, serving, helping people work through change ... it doesn't stop.

But I also know there is a difference between being tired and being weary.

We usually get tired when we are working hard, from doing things that need to be done, from thinking forward and planning and collaborating to make it come to pass.

We usually get weary when we having been working hard and it seems we are having no effect.  Either the vision doesn't catch on, the planning goes too slow (or too fast), or the people don't cooperate (or actively resist).

Likely we've all been both of these at different times, working on different efforts.  What it reminds me is that the work of leadership will only happen when we have a calling, a passion, a specific desire to do something.  Otherwise it's too much and we'll throw up our hands and walk away.

The corollary, of course, is the critical step of defining to what it is that we are called.  It can be easy, at times, to think that we are called to a specific job, a specific ministry, a specific project.  But I would argue that careers and positions are simply expressions of that call, vehicles to live out our call or our passion.

That is why connection as my passion can enable me to direct a local Portland nonprofit ... at the same time co-directing an international microenterprise ministry ... at the same time I chair a denominational board.  In each case, the work that I do is cast a vision for connecting people to people, groups to groups, organizations to organizations.

And while I am almost always tired, it is that vision, that passion for connection, that keeps me from growing weary.

What is your passion?

Leading by Lessening

A couple of months ago, I saw a book at the library called The 100 Thing Challenge.  It sounded interesting so I picked it up.  Essentially, the author was overcome at his own consumerism (as I often am) and worked out a plan to get himself down to 100 personal possessions or less and stay that way for at least a year.

I've been thinking about this a lot, and finally this past week I decided I'm going to do it.  So you can follow along on my journey through this.  First, a few rules I know I'll use to make this clearer for me:

1. This is my challenge, not anyone else's.  I learned this from the author, who shared that just because he decided to take the challenge didn't mean he needed to go through his wife's or kids' possessions and do the same thing.  This will be key for me, along with not judging others who have more, even many more.
2. This can only be about my personal possessions, not shared possessions.  While in some ways I suppose this is cheating, if I counted all of our furniture, games, and the like, I'd be left without clothes.  Maybe eventually as a family we'll have this conversation about winnowing our family possessions, but for now those things don't count against my total
3. Only permanent possessions will count.  I wasn't sure how to word this, but essentially what I mean is that I'm not going to count things like toothpaste, deodorant, or food and drink.  While I certainly possess them and can be a consumer about them, things related to sustenance and daily necessities are not my primary concern related to stockpiling them
4. Some things will only count as one even though there are more than one of them.  The most obvious examples here are going to be underwear and socks and (more controversial, I know) books, music, and movies.  Each of those latter things will count as "1 collection" or "1 library."  Hear me out before you accuse too strongly, though :)  Some of those possessions are family possessions, but recognizing my own ability to cop out in these areas, I have put limits on my personal items in these areas: 100 books (believe me, that's going to involve some serious winnowing), 20 DVDs, 8 board games.  Music is hard because it's all electronic now; needs more reflection
5. I'll still be able to buy things.  As the author pointed out, the goal wasn't to avoid buying (though that will have to be part of it) but to reduce possessions and live more simply.  So as long as I'm below the 100 items, I can purchase.  If I'm at 100, I will have to give away one thing before purchasing another, making my purchases much more thoughtful

I've started with my closet.  The author of the book only ended with about 25 clothing items ... but he didn't have a job where he had to be in meetings or presenting, and he lived in San Diego.  I will often be meeting with local pastors, or with denominational leaders here and abroad, and I live in Portland, Oregon, so my clothing is already up to about 40 items and may climb a little more.

I'm curious about your feedback about this idea and about my rules. Are there other things I should consider?  I'll post my initial list in the next week and keep you updated as I continue to think it through.

Leadership is love

I spent several hours yesterday and today in my 3rd grade son's class.  Yesterday I was volunteering, helping students with some grammar assignments and helping them finish a craft project (papier-mache masks).  Today was the end-of-the-year picnic so I came to play games and be an extra adult (mostly) helping the teacher.

I've been volunteering all year and have grown very fond of the kids; the reverse is also true.  Many of the kids call me Uncle David, or Dad.  I've shrugged off most of the banter but today realized there might be more underlying it than I thought.

I learned today that one kid's mom divorced her dad this year, and that another has one parent here and the other in a different country.  I learned that the grandmother of one lives in a garage -- finished and very nice, the kid hastened to add, but a garage nonetheless.  I know of several other family and housing issues as well.

It's certainly true that our public school teachers have great potential to make a lasting difference not just on an individual child but on a family and a community.  The corollary is also true: parents have a tremendous opportunity to make a difference in the lives of the kids at their local school.  I guarantee you that the love I have poured out on the kids in my son's class has made a difference, already, in their education and their quality of life.

It is here where I have such difficulty with homeschooling.  My wife and I are fully committed to having our children in public school, and to walking with our children through that sometimes unpleasant journey.  We know they may not get the best academic situations ... but that's not our number one priority.  We are determined to live in our community, to partake of the life of the people who surround us.

Our senior pastor last week spoke about how holiness is not a boundary, a barrier that keeps things out, but how it comes from the center, as a means of influence.  This is our philosophy, too: we believe in the power of God and in our ability as his children to influence those around us.  We believe our children can do that as well, and that our children seeing us involved in their lives and those of their classmates will make a lasting impression on them and inspire them to make a difference also.

It may not happen ... but it strikes me that leadership is really all about love.  I'm grateful that a group of 9-year-olds can teach me great leadership lessons even as I try to teach them some.

Hope and Expectations

I've been combing through my old papers and files recently and coming across some real gems.  There's a lot of dross in there, too, of course, but it's amazing the things we learn that we forget we learned.

Just now I read this:

"Jesus dared to raise people's expectations, to give them hope.  And when he didn't fulfill it, in the way they expected, they were not willing to wait, to give him the benefit of the doubt, even for those two days [between Good Friday and Easter].  That is why they had shouted for him to be crucified.

"Our problem is that we don't want to disappoint people, so we don't raise expectations.  We don't give hope for fear of failing them."

That really is pretty profound, isn't it?  We all recognize that we fail at times, that none of us can perfectly fulfill anyone else's expectations.  So we're left with a choice.

We can, on the one hand, live our lives lowering people's expectations (think Calvin of Calvin & Hobbes here) so we don't disappoint them.  That absolves us, so we think, of being the cause of anyone's depression or spite or envy.  The problem with this approach, of course, is there is no least common denominator of expectations.  You'll have to keep going lower and lower in this cycle, until at some point you become who you have tried to project yourself to be: not worth expecting from.

On the other hand, we can live our lives the way we know we should and take the risk of disappointing people.  And we will.  But this provides me opportunities, certainly, to engage people in relationship and dialogue about their expectations, and mine, and how those interrelate.

Will there be hurt with this latter approach?  You bet.  But can I really afford to live my life doing all I can simply to avoid hurt?  And if I do, will I ever accomplish anything worth doing?

Leadership and Garage Sales

Today has been our family's sale (with contributions from a few others).  We weren't very prepared for it: we didn't do the go-through-each-room-in-the-house and get-rid-of-everything-we-can routine.  Maybe we'll do that next year.

But yesterday my wife and I went through a lot of stuff, and last night I set up, indoor at our church.  We were going to do the parking lot and have multiple families participate, but the weather forecast was chancy and we haven't been organized enough lately to really pull the latter together.  (I need not point out that after about 11.30 a.m. it's been a beautiful, sunny day, but there is no way I'm moving everything outside.)

Sales like this are interesting.  You see a whole different side of people.  I often say that I love helping people move, because when you start helping them pack or move or unpack you get to know what they are really like: you see that they have kept their elementary school claywork (which usually can't truthfully be called pottery) or their mug collection from all 50 states or their book and CD collection.

Hosting a sale gives you similar insights.  You can watch people's eyes as they scan the mounds of items, looking for just that one item that will jump out at them.  For one woman it's a book with buggy frog eyes, for one man it's playing with the toy lawnmower and smiling at the thought of playing with it with his son, for a kid it's grabbing a toy -- any toy -- and loudly proclaiming that she wants it.

I had two favorite customers today, so I'll share briefly about them.

The first was a former coworker of mine.  She, her husband, and their two kids drove about 30ish minutes to come visit, with the sale as the excuse.  And they found a lot of things they liked, I'm glad to report.  But Dannie used something going on in my life as a connection point, a chance to share an experience with me.  And next time I go to her house, you better believe I'll be looking to spot the things she and Bryan bought today.  :)

The second was a woman who came in with her three daughters, ages 8-14 maybe.  They looked around for a bit and didn't seem interested, but then she spotted some picture frames and started sorting through them.  Meanwhile her girls had opened one of the games (Whoonu) and were looking it over.  "What are you looking at?" she said, somewhat sharply.  Then her tone changed. "Oh, look, it's Chutes and Ladders! I used to play that all the time."  After she was done shopping, I said, "How would you like to have Chutes and Ladders for free, too?"  She and her girls were very excited, and she said thanks several times.

Both these stories illustrate what I think is one of the things that separates good leaders from not-so-good is this individuation: the ability to see each person as a person, and to understand, respect and honor them as an individual.  It's too easy -- and never works -- to see any group (employees, team members, family, etc) as monolithic, as the same.  Treating people equally does not mean treating people the same: I must adjust the words I use and the feeling I put into those words, the actions I take, to best show I'm on their side, that I am with them.