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.

Go with the flow

I've just taken a few minutes to read through some blogs that I've fallen behind on reading.  Which prompts me to wonder how I can "fall behind" on reading blogs ... never mind.

Of course, that tells you something about me.  I am a very list-oriented person.  If something doesn't make it on my list, it's very likely to not get done (though of course many things on my list don't get done either; that's a different post).

So yesterday was my wife's birthday.  She's very spontaneous.  For those into Myers-Briggs, I'm an INTJ and she's an ENFP -- the J(udging) referring to my love of structure (and I'm a very strong J) and her P(erceiving) referring to her love of spontaneity.

So for her birthday I gave her a P gift: I just went along for the ride all day.  Literally.  We rode Portland's light-rail train from about 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.  We went from our home to the central transit station, then transferred to a line that took us to the airport; back on, we went as far east as we could go.  Then we got back on and went as far west as we could go.

We got off once to walk through IKEA, getting ideas for the international microenterprise ministry we co-direct, again for lunch at a nice little Thai place (Thai is her favorite ethnic cuisine) on the east end of town, and again at the far western end for a short walk (where we popped into a Mexican grocery and she bought a coffee and a wonderful taco).  Then it was back to central station and to pick up our kids.

We both have so many things going on, and I'd been thinking about "what to do" for her birthday ... but it turns out the best thing to do for both of us was just to be spontaneous, to go with the flow.

Maybe we don't need our whole life to be structured, after all.  Maybe sometimes leadership is not all about planning but is also sometimes about simply being with others.

Running and Leadership

I've recently restarted exercising for the first time in years.  And while running (a very short distance) this morning several thoughts occurred to me about the similarities between leadership and exercise, more specifically running (but I think they apply to other exercise as well).

Wise runners know that you must prepare for the exercise.  Once I got past about 25 years old, I realized I had to start stretching before I ran or I wouldn't be able to run as far, and I would pay for it later.  I can't just jump in and start doing but must get ready first.  Good leaders also recognize that sufficient preparation enables people and projects to go further and lessen the negative repercussions later.

Wise runners know that you build endurance.  When I started running three weeks ago, I didn't run a marathon.  Shoot, I didn't even run a mile that first day!  Now I'm up to about 2.5 miles, but it's been a slow endurance-building process.  Similarly, good leaders recognize that almost anything worth doing, and requiring leadership, takes endurance.  You don't ask family members, or new employees, or friends, to run a marathon right out of the gate.  You let them get used to an idea, and to doing bits of the work required, before asking them to go 26.2.

This point bears elaboration.  So much of our society focuses on people "hitting the ground running" as though there were no learning curve.  There is always a learning curve: even if I've done the same task 100 times in other places, or with other people, or at a different time, something is guaranteed to be different when I do it again.  New technology, new or changed personalities, my own life experiences, all these things make the way I approach a task different.  So instead of using the phrase "hit the ground running" maybe we need to change our terminology to recognize that there will always be a ramp-up time.  I think it's fine to delineate which elements are most important to have coming in, but people need to know there is space, and grace, to learn as well.  Running is the same way: I need technique, equipment, endurance, speed, strength ... and I need to know which of those are the most important to start exercising.

Wise runners know that you must push yourself beyond what you think you can do.  Already I've had many days where I think, "I can't run any further, I'm tired."  It probably doesn't help that my runs start by going uphill!  But I've set low enough goals for myself here at the beginning that I can encourage myself through the mental barrier.  And once I did that a couple of times, now I know I can push myself just a little more.  And it doesn't hurt that I know my return run will be downhill!  Good leaders also know that people are typically able to do more than they have done before but may just need a little encouragement (the "push").  Good leaders provide the opportunity for people to do something new, or something old in a new way, and empower people by affirming the skills and abilities they have to bring to bear on the task.

Wise runners know that the finish line is never the last finish line.  Each day I am glad to get back home, but I know the next day there is another run ahead of me.  I enjoy the satisfaction of finishing the day's run but I don't stop there or I lose everything I just worked to gain.  Similarly, good leaders help people to celebrate crossing the finish line but also set the stage for the next time.  Lessons learned sessions, project debriefings, exit interviews, or the like, help people process what they went through, what they learned and how they can use it in their ongoing lives.  This also shows a commitment not just to the task but also to the people, affirming their value as people.

Weakness and Community

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about weakness and leadership.  We all have weaknesses as individuals, even the best leaders -- though some of the less self-aware of us won't admit it and may not know what those weaknesses are.

It seems to me that the remedy for lack of self-awareness is community.  I suppose I can sit and reflect on my own strengths and weaknesses and figure some of it out, but to really see myself truly I need the reflection I can only get from the mirror of community.

As a simple example, think about a performance review for a job.  I've received and given many, and I am always struck by the interaction of reviewer and reviewee.  In good reviews, there is trust on both sides and willingness to listen and to speak by both parties. This is community: the ability on the one side to speak into someone else's life a truth that may be unrecognized or unwelcome, and the willingness on the other side to hear what is being said and to ingest it, to see whether it rings as true, why or why not, and what if anything I need to do about it.

One of my favorite stories in the Bible is when King David has been beaten in a battle and, as his army is walking past a hill, a man named Shimei calls out curses on him.  (Not the best method or timing for a performance review, you might say.)  David's men want to go kill Shimei, but David says, "No, let him speak.  It may be that he is speaking God's will to me."  Wow.  In the depth of despair, David has the willingness not just to listen to someone he respects, who he knows loves him, but even to listen to one who hates him and calls out curses upon him.

It is only when we have this attitude, when we are willing to listen to others in community, that we really come to know our weaknesses and how we should compensate for them.  And then we must take those steps, the first of which is generally to have someone near us who is strong where we are weak, and we must let them operate in that strength.

Leadership and Weeds

For the past week I was on a business trip.  Before I left, I'd noticed that spring had started to arrive.  The main indicator of this was that the weeds in our yard were starting to sprout.  So for the week prior to leaving, I weeded one section of yard -- and when I say yard, I'm not talking about flower beds, I'm talking about "lawn" -- each day.  Got through four of the six sections, and mowed three of them also.  Those three were looking all right.

The day we left, three hours before leaving for the airport, I put in one last-gasp effort to weed the two worst sections.  I filled our yard debris bin (very large) 2/3 full before I had to quit.  And those two sections of yard didn't look much different.

We arrived home late Sunday night (actually Monday morning at 1 a.m.), then I got up yesterday and got my third-grader off to school.  During both pre- and post-nap 3-year-old nap sessions, I got back to weeding those two sections again.  And a couple of critical leadership thoughts came to me that I thought I'd share in this brief post:

• Most tasks look fairly manageable from far away.  I learned this doing project management in the corporate world, and again while weeding.  The further away someone is from the work that needs to be done, the more reasonable it seems.  The deeper into the weeds you get, the more extensive the work gets.  This is important for leadership: never assume that someone else's job is manageable just because it looks that way from where you sit
• A lot of work takes place unseen.  People walking or driving by my house this morning undoubtedly still thinks my yard looks terrible.  The "grass" is still too high, there are still way too many weeds, and things are not neatly trimmed and edged.  If you asked one of my neighbors how much work I had put in on my yard in the past two weeks, they'd at least be tempted to say "none."  Truth be told, I've probably put in 25-30 hours in that time frame.  Again, leadership must acknowledge the amount of work that goes into every task.  Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert, loves to skewer project leaders for padding their project estimates.  But there's a valid side to those estimates: a lot of extra work will be done that no one will notice
• The best work is preventive and proactive.  This occurred to me as I plucked the 1000th wispy-white dandelion head to prevent it from seeding.  If I did a better job "taking care of" those weeds between November and February, maybe March and April wouldn't be so nasty.  This may be the great flaw in our current economic and social systems: we are so busy that we can't work ahead much of the time but instead just do what's next on the list.  Leadership must find a way to recognize -- and do -- the future tasks even if no one else sees them.  We have a million things to do for SEED, but the most important ones are the tasks that will prevent our having to do ten times as many later.  And that means more visible tasks may not get done when, or as fast as, others expect them to be done

Sometimes leadership is unpleasant, or unpopular, or even invisible, isn't it?

Politics, the Other Kind

It seems everywhere I go lately I've ended up in conversations with people about "politics."  Not the elected, government kind but the office and organizational kind.  Numerous people have commented that they hate politics -- a common lament.  Sadly, however, they have been following that with another comment: that they are withdrawing from full, active participation in the organization and some of its crucial conversations.

I don't remember who it was (apologies, especially if you're reading this) but a friend recently had an insight on this topic.  She (he?) said it's absurd to rail against "politics" because politics is really just about people.  She was right: what we refer to as politics is really just individuals and groups of people working hard for what they believe is best.

Now, I'm certainly not naive enough to think that everyone is always working for what really is best. And I'm not foolish enough to think that everyone is working for what is best for the organization, or for all involved.  Sometimes people work hard for what will be best for them, even though that might not be best for the organization, other employees, customers, etc. (Exhibit A: Congress).

Regardless, it is hard for me to be a part of something and not be willing to work to make it better.  It's part of what makes me: improvement, development, is my heartbeat.  Almost every group I join I end up either leading or trying to coach others.  This, as you can imagine, sometimes makes me unwelcome.  Some groups don't want to rethink the way they do things, don't want to look for ways to make it better.  Maybe they just went through a change, maybe the rest of their lives are full of hard work and they don't want to add another place of hard work.  I get that.  No need for me to be offended by it.  I am a change agent, and in a system that isn't ready for change, get ejected.  No problem.

But I don't think "politics" is a sufficient reason to stop trying.  Politics, in its real sense, is how groups of people make decisions.  I want to understand where people are coming from, why they think the way they do and want what they want.  Then I want to work with them to craft a solution that meets what they -- and others! -- want without all the hard feelings.

By God's good grace, he has gifted me in the very area of my passion.  I both thrill and excel at getting diverse groups of people to see each other's needs and collaborate to satisfy all.  You can see this in the work I did at Kaiser Permanente, my former employer; in my work with AllOne Community Services, striving against history to bring a group of churches and pastors into dialogue about collaboratively meeting community needs; and in my work with SEED Livelihood Network, encouraging pastors, lay people, resourced and un- or underresourced, first- and developing-world, to dream together about ways to promote economic justice and sustainable livelihoods for all people.

So to politics I say, "Bring it on!"  Let's enter into healthy, effective ways of making group decisions about our workgroups, our churches, our organizations, and let's keep the dialogue going.

Friends and Politics

I spent my five days in Colorado with my best college buddy Jim, and we also spent two days with another college friend Kellee.  Without knowing it, I've learned a lot about leadership from both of them.

In college I was two years ahead of both of them.  Based on personality and age, early on I was more often the leader in my friendship with Jim.  Over the years (exactly half my life I've known him now!) our relationship has morphed in many ways.  We lived thousands of miles away for two years when I moved back to Portland after college; then when he graduated we were apartment-mates for a year before Rose and I married; then we were an hour apart for the next three years when I still lived in Michigan; then three years I was in Philly; and now nine years I've been in Portland.

We've shown over time how a relationship can ebb and flow and change with distance, life stage, and technology.  (When I was in Portland he in Chicago or Rochester, MN, we used to write 8-page handwritten letters about once a week!)  We were each the best man in the other's wedding and have experienced the joy and pain, excitement and sometime frustration of being married to women who are so different from us.  Our firstborn kids were born about a week apart ... but his was very premature and ended up passing.  Zephaniah's birthday is always tinged with a bit of sadness for me for that reason.

Now we have this tradition of being together for the NCAA Tournament.  We've always talked about family, jobs, churches, what we're reading, new and old friends, and many other topics.  But this year, for the first time I can remember, we talked politics quite a bit, too.  And it was enlightening.

Through the Facebook posts and links we choose, we've learned that we are at very different places politically.  I tend to lean fairly heavily Democratic while he is holds pretty strong Republican views.  While I think he's made some mistakes, I still think the world of Obama; Jim is a strong supporter of Sarah Palin.

To be honest, I was a little concerned to broach the political topic during our time.  I know it can be a hot button for a lot of people.  And, probably, I've mentally bought into the press' opinion that Palin supporters won't listen to Obama supporters and vice versa.  I wasn't sure how well we'd do talking about these volatile topics.

You know what?  We did great.  We had a long conversation one evening and the next morning and explored each other's perspective and reason for that perspective.  Why did it work so well ... and why don't so many others have these kinds of conversations?  Let me list a few things I learned about this leadership through this dialogue:

1. At the end of the conversation, neither of us was convinced by the other ... and that wasn't the goal.  Leadership is not simply persuasion -- I'm tempted to say "anyone can persuade."  We didn't pick and choose the facts and opinions we shared, we just talked.  Leadership isn't afraid to put all the facts out there and let people decide for themselves.  Along a similar line, Jim and I are both staunch Christians, and one thing we both stand on in our faith is that Jesus will stand up to scrutiny.  You could put either of us in a room with people of other faiths for a free dialogue, and we would simply state who Jesus is.  We are not his primary defenders, He is, and He can handle it
2. Each of us entered the conversation knowing, in our hearts, that 'our side' had made some mistakes ... and we were willing to admit that to each other.  Too often, it seems, people don't want to admit that they, their opinions, their policies, are imperfect, incomplete, and open to changing.  The pressure to always have the full right answer, in the middle of a constantly changing world, is just foolish.  Leadership isn't afraid to admit that others have valuable insights, too, even - gasp! - those in the other political party
3. When the other opened that door of vulnerability, admitting uncertainty or possible failure, neither of us jumped on it.  If I recognize that I am imperfect, the admission of someone else's imperfection should be treated matter-of-factly, not jumped on or trumpeted.  Leadership gives grace to others to succeed or fail.  We started learning from each other what constitutes a success, and what each party contributes to the national conversation
4. We quickly recognized that part of the problem with the political conversation is that it is often portrayed as dichotomous, as though there were always and ever only two viewpoints on an issue, the Republican and the Democratic.  How foolish!  The first thing you learn in kindergarten is that everyone has their own opinions, their own ways of doing things, and that many of them are valid.  How is it that people in their 20s, 40s, or 70s have forgotten this?  How is it that we've allowed ourselves to be sold this?  Leadership doesn't allow those with a vested interest to limit the parameters of the discussion so that critical perspectives are shut out
5. Perhaps most importantly, we learned that if the discussion centers on an issue, it will divide, but if it starts from a perspective of relationship, it can strengthen us.  Too often conversations focus on our differences of opinion instead of on our mutual desired outcomes.  Jim and I both want the US to get better; we both want the ability to work and provide for our families and have our kids learn at school and to worship freely and ... you know, the basics.  All these political issues just represent different ways to try to accomplish these things.  Leadership focuses its energy on agreement about the ends first, then determining best means.  It's a waste of time, energy, and resources, and a danger to relationship, to focus on the how before we focus on the what and the why

This could keep going, but I'm hopeful this starts a dialogue about, well, how to dialogue.

Three Weeks

They say it takes three weeks to create a habit.  It's been three weeks since my last blog post -- a reprehensible length of time -- so I thought I better post immediately so non-posting doesn't become a habit.

It's been a very full three weeks.  Come to think of it, when are my weeks not full?  I've seen many examples of leadership and followership over these three weeks, both good and ill.  I'll try to touch on these in the next few, short, blog posts.

I keep coming back to the NCAA basketball tournament.  I was in Denver two weeks ago to watch the 2nd and 3rd rounds and saw six games in two days.  Some very good stuff ... and some dreadful stuff.

Jimmer Fredette was the nation's leading college scorer this year, and I could see why in the two games I saw him play.  Against poor little Wofford, he had the ball about 90 percent of the time: he took what seemed like every other shot, dribbled the ball upcourt and held it long each possession, made a series of ill-advised drives looking for fouls.  Just a terrible display of selfishness and basketball.  He looked like the kind of leader who feels he has to do everything himself.  He scored 32 points on 10-for-25 shooting (team 24-for-61).

In the second game, against Gonzaga, he was a mostly different player.  He passed a lot more, set up his teammates for open shots, and hit some amazing long-range shots at just the right times to tear Gonzaga's heart out.  He looked like the kind of leader who is comfortable in front and comfortable supporting and serving in the background.  He scored 34 points on 11-for-23 (team 31-for-59).

I just looked up the stats and was stunned to discover that the stat lines were basically the same.  In the first game, it felt like he took every shot; in the second, it felt like he rarely shot.

And that might be the most important leadership lesson of Jimmer Fredette: it's not all about the results ... it's about the people, and the process.

The Assumptions of David

I've found it to be a truism that good leadership and followership both avoid assumptions.  Except when they're appropriate, of course.

We've likely all heard about the dangers of assuming: it makes an A-- out of U and ME (spells assume).  And yet the paradox is that we have to build our lives on assumptions.  Evangelist Cliffe Knechtle always used to talk about how our daily lives were based completely on faith: the faith that cars would stop at a red light so we could cross the street and the like.

I live my life assuming that I'll wake up tomorrow, that my car and house will still be here, that I'll have electricity and Internet and fresh water and enough food or money to buy food.  We take out 10- to 30-year mortgages and 3- to 6-year car loans.  We lay out 5-year personal and professional development plans.  Our lives are built on assumptions that we don't even think about.

Recently my senior pastor spent a month in Malawi and blogged about this idea.  Here is what he said that struck me: "We in the U.S. take a whole lot of stuff for granted - hot showers every morning, the ability to flush the toilet every time you use it, the ability to jump on a computer and have internet access.  Or the fact that your children are not reading and doing their schoolwork by candle light because the power is out.  It sounds romantic, but it really is not.  I hope to return even more grateful for all these daily things and not take them so for granted.  I also pray for the ongoing development of nations like Malawi, who enjoy the comforts as much as we do, but have also learned how to live without them much of the time."

"Comforts" is a great word choice here.  We so often assume that God wants to bless us materially.  By materially here I don't simply mean physical stuff, but things in the material realm.  This would include all those non-essentials which we think of as "essentials" to the good life.  I currently have the luxury of choosing to leave my high-paying job and am now trying to reorient my eyes, my brain, and my calendar and checkbook around this new, more obviously dependent reality.

There are many in the world who do not have this luxury, for whom there is no choice but simply the daily reality of living with less.  And, curiously, they are often living more full, more satisfied lives.  What is this paradox?  How can this be?  Could it be that the abundance of our lives is not just disconnected from, but potentially inverse with, our earthly comforts?  Could this be the foundation of the beatitudes from Matthew 5: Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven?  Could it be that when we have the kingdom of earth, we don't desire the kingdom of God enough?

And, therefore, maybe we won't inherit it after all?  Sobering thought, is it not?

Belonging

It is said in leadership circles that one cannot lead in a vacuum, and that one cannot lead without followers.  In other words, leading and following both happen in the context of a relationship.

I've been thinking about this lately related to the work I'm doing with AllOne and with SEED.  In both cases, the hardest part of my work is getting people to recognize a relationship that may not appear obvious or beneficial (or sometimes exist at all).

I was talking with a good friend a couple of months ago about a group of churches in a specific geographic location and denomination.  Probably half of these churches have stopped participating in any meaningful way in the fellowship of this larger denominational body.

It is always tempting to think that we don't need others in our own local church, or other churches in our community, or in our denomination.  In my conversation with this friend, he said something insightful about how the minute we consider "that group" separate from ourselves, we create space that allows us to distance ourselves from it.  Hence the "District" or "Conference" or "Collaborative" or any such entity can be ignored because our identity is not invested in it.

This is illogical in any context.

• In an organization, for example: simply because someone works in another department or business unit, that does not mean their actions do not affect me; work flows in streams, and even if someone else's work is never directly connectable to my own, the culture and company reputation are partially formed by each other employee's actions, which affects me.
• In a neighborhood, the actions of my neighbors impact me. The color they paint their house, the state of their yard, the volume of music and hours they keep ... all these things affect me even if I try to avoid it all by hiding in my house all day and night
• In a family, the interplay between various family members impacts them all.  It is often said that you don't marry a person, you marry a family.  Even if I have no contact with anyone in my family any more, I still came out of that family, and you can't understand why I do (or intentionally do not do) what I do without recognizing the effects of growing up in that family

For Christians, Paul says in 1 Corinthians 12 that we are all part of one body, whether we acknowledge -- or like -- it or not.  When one part hurts, we all hurt; when one part receives honor, we all do.  To intentionally try to separate ourselves from other parts of the body, then, is delusional and harmful.

Jesus says in John 15 that so long as we remain connected to him, we will flourish, but as soon as we cut ourselves off from him we die.  A branch that is cut off from a tree is dead: it may still look alive but it cannot live on its own.  And if, as Paul says, we are now the body of Christ, then cutting ourselves off from the rest of the body means that we are dead, even if we still look alive for a time.  This is the same as Genesis 3, where God says that the day Adam and Eve eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil they "will surely die."  By eating the forbidden fruit, they died that day, even if they still looked alive for a time.

Why do we even want to keep ourselves separate, distinct from, those others in our company, our neighborhood, our family, our church or denomination?  Because we think by keeping ourselves separate we can be safe, secure from being hurt.  As if.

We are still connected, whether we like it or not.  By pretending we are not part, we are guaranteed to die.  By recognizing and living out our connectedness, we are almost guaranteed to get hurt ... but we are also guaranteed to receive fresh nutrients, the inflow and outflow of what is good and necessary for life.  I know many, including close friends and family members, who are mere shells because they have cut themselves off from the world, from those who might (or have) hurt them.  What they don't realize is that they have cut themselves off from life.

We were made to belong, and we do belong.  Do we try to avoid it, pretend it isn't so, or do we acknowledge it, recognize that pain will come, and commit to being in relationship anyway?

Posting Pressure

This blogging thing is a pretty fascinating experience.  Surreal in many ways.

There is the fact that I (and many other bloggers) essentially use cyberspace, open and public, the way an 18th century American girl would have used a diary.

Then there is the fact that bloggers have the audacity to think that others are interested in reading our diaries when they aren't forbidden.  (Surely that was always one of the attractions of reading someone's diary, right?)

Add to that the pressure to produce something interesting to keep people coming back, and to expand who might be reading your diary.  (If you kept a secret diary, someone stole it to read once and then put it back, never caring to read it again, you'd likely presume that your life wasn't worth reading about, even the top secret parts.)

A college friend of mine writes a terrific blog, and I've told her so.  This week she posted that my compliments actually added pressure to her.  Now she felt like she had to come up with something great every time she posted.  I understand that, too.

I've had many ideas for blog posts but don't want to simply dash off a quick note.  I want each post to have something substantial, profound, existential, transformational, to it.  I think I've confused two things: interest and worth.

See, I often focus on the externals, and so piquing the interest of others -- especially, I admit, those I hold in high esteem -- is consistently high in my priority list.  It's why I incessantly make jokes, though half of them (or more) bomb miserably.  I am working very hard to have people perceive me as clever, as interesting.  I face the same thing with the blog: I must post often, and every post must be perceived as terrific.

But worth is more important.  It's so obvious, right?  Given a choice between a post that someone else finds interesting or amusing, or a post that actually means something (more on that in a moment), wouldn't we almost always choose worth over interest?  Sometimes, if we're honest, we'd rather have someone be interested in our blather than disinterested in our profundity.  That's relationship talking, and it is ironically, worth considering.  But by and large, we should be opting for importance over interest.

But how does a post "mean" something?  I suppose this gets back to the purpose of a blog.  If it's supposed to be a money maker or an attraction, then I'm a slave to being interesting.  Which means I may or may not be honest, or substantive, or beneficial, when those things don't make me interesting.

If, on the other hand, a blog is more of a diary -- a way of processing externally what is happening to me internally -- then the worth is the honesty, the personal substance, the beneficence to the reader.  The worth is intrinsic, because it's about the person doing the blogging and not the grammar, syntax, or clever turn of phrase or storytelling of the blog.  That's the kind of blog I'm hoping to write here.

(Of course, then you have the fact that if I write this blog to let people see what's going on inside me, and no one is reading it ...)

Poverty is a mental thing

I live a very rich life, and yet so often I am frustrated at my own poverty.

My rich life is evident for all to see: I own a home (well, the mortgage company and I sort of co-own it), a minivan, furnishing, clothing, books (lots of books), and the like.  I have immediate, extended, and in-law families that love and support me.  I have many friends all over the world, including many of my neighbors, current and former coworkers, and classmates.  I have an active life, with many worthwhile things to do.  I never lack for anything I need, and almost never for anything I want.

And yet I am poor.

I am poor because it never seems enough.  There is always something more I want to own, to do, to, well, I suppose to be.  I suppose that gets at the crux of the issue, doesn't it?  I want more friends, more goods, more knowledge, more ... because I am not satisfied with who I am.

When I go through a buffet line, or even open my own refrigerator and cupboards, and I see a limited quantity of something, my instinct is to grab it because it will soon be gone.  My instinct, that is, is to get mine while I can, because there isn't enough ... and the implication is that I must have it.  If four of us go out to eat and there are only three items on the appetizer plate, someone must go without it, and it shouldn't be me.  Not because I "deserve" it, really, but because I'm afraid I don't deserve it.

Where does this attitude come from?  What insecurity do I have, and is it unique to me?  I imagine -- though the theologians reading this might beg to differ -- that this is some of what James 4 is talking about.  He says that no one who is a friend of the world can claim to be a friend of God.  God owns it all, and never runs out.  Jesus was the same way: the heir of God, and he never seemed to lack.

Romans 8.17 says that we are co-heirs with Christ.  So that means ... that I also have everything, and lack nothing.  But I don't live that way.  I am stingy, not generous; hoarding, not free-giving; always noting what I don't have rather than what I do have.

Could it be that poverty is not determined based on my bank account?  Or my balance sheet?  Or my closet?  But instead based on my mind?

And if so, and I am poor, then that means ... my poverty is a lack, not of funds or things, but of faith.  And that's going to be much harder to deal with.

Love of money, part II

Apologies to those who don't want to read about money :) it's been on my mind a lot the past few months as I have set out on giving up a high-paying job for completely uncertain (from a human standpoint) financial prospects.

Dave Ramsey says “money is amoral.”  And he quotes the famous verse about “love of money.”  It's interesting that any time someone quotes that verse, and emphasizes the fact that it's not "money" but the "love of money" that is a root of all evil, their intent is to anesthetize us to money's power over us.  The intent is never to put out a bold challenge as to whether we should value money at all but to assuage our consciences so that the acquisitiveness, the lust for possessions (or bargains?) doesn't come under close scrutiny.  We can then tell ourselves -- very likely deceive ourselves -- into thinking that we don't love money and therefore are safe.

But I believe Ramsey is misguided: money does in fact exert a power, and it seems to me that it is toward addiction, toward more, toward the values of the world.  Richard Foster's brilliant work Money, Sex, and Power (republished with the sanitized title of Challenge of the Disciplined Life) states this outright.  Money does not just lay around.  It preys on my mind and worms its way into my soul.

Think of it this way: how much of my time do I spend making money?  If I work a "regular" full-time job, I spend 40 hours (one-fourth of my weekly allotment) making money.  Add to that the time I spend shopping, financial planning, tracking my finances, and caring for the stuff I have spent my money on.  Likely I'm spending about 100 hours a week on money and its accoutrements.  And I'm always thinking about what comes next.  What's the next thing we should buy when we have the money?  When I get my tax return, what will I spend that on?  If I get a bonus, or have a month with three paychecks, what will I do with that money?  My impulses, my thoughts, and my emotions are all tied up with money.

That doesn't sound amoral to me.

Foster's solution is to fight the power of money by intentionally and freely giving it away.  Not so much by planned giving, but by treating money with disdain, with contempt.  I'm reading a biography of John D Rockefeller, in his time the richest man in the world.  Into his 50s, he personally read or talked with every person who wanted some of his money.  He was very thoughtful and (one gets the impression from the biography) prayerful about where God wanted him to use his wealth.

That's admirable.  And we like to think that's what we do.  We don't want to waste our money.  We call that "bad stewardship."  As though giving money to a panhandler who might use it on alcohol is worse stewardship than spending 10 percent of my income on buying a big-screen TV and cable and cell phone bills.

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and dust destroy and thieves break in and steal." (Matthew 6.19)  As I look at my own house, my own life, I sure see a lot of stuff that I've spent my money on, that moth and rust can (and do) destroy.  Wouldn't it be better to "freely receive, freely give"?  Or to "give to the one who asks you" without thinking of how it might be used?

Of course, stewardship comes into play.

Notice what I just did?  This whole blog was wending toward hard, significant challenges, and instinctively I typed a line that undercut the whole argument.  For just a second, we all felt safe again, didn't we?

Why is it so important for us to feel safe about our spiritual and moral and social selves when it comes to money?  Could it be that we recognize the hold money has on us?

Which God do I serve? The Lord, or money?

One of the most interesting facets of my movement away from my well-paying job into directing and co-directing two different nonprofits is the uncertainty of income.

You'll note I didn't say the absence of income.  I am quite confident that we will have income sufficient to cover our needs.  I am, however, uncertain where it will come from.

I had many conversations with people from my old job, from church, through the nonprofits where I serve on the board, from my contacts in the community, my neighbors, and my family.  Everyone I talk with, it seems, has one central question: how will you pay your bills?  (Closely followed by: what about health insurance?  That's another blog post for another day.)

My answer is as simple as it is hard.  I believe the Lord will provide to pay the bills.  If indeed he has called me, called us as a couple and a family, to do what we are setting out to do, then how could I do otherwise than to trust him?  I'm reminded of Psalm 20.7: "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God."  In my early 20s I trusted this way, but somehow over the past 15 years that seems to have changed.  Now I'm getting back to it.

Many don't believe me about security and trusting.  But I recently, on many folks' recommendations, started listening to Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University talks.  There is much sense in there, I agree ... but to me, it sure seems like human wisdom and not God's plan.  Let me briefly explain.

Ramsey talks about saving to create "financial security."  How is this different from trusting in horses and chariots?  Am I really to save money so that I will be secure?  And how much money is "security"?  As John D Rockefeller once famously said when asked how much was enough: "Just a little more."  No amount of money is ever enough; there is always something more we want, something more we want to do.  And even if we could reach a set amount ($5k? $10k? $1m?) where are we going to draw that definition?  Shouldn't we be going to Jesus to see what he would have us do with our money?

I'm not saying saving is a bad idea, but when I save so that I have "security" I make it a human, Pharisaic rule.  Does want me to be "secure" in my finances, or in his provision?  Does he really ask me to "build wealth"?  To "pay myself first"?  Is it more important for me to own my own home, for me to have $5k in the bank ... or is it more important to use all I have so that others might have food, water, clothing, shelter, opportunity?

I'll continue to process this topic over time.  I currently think and speak like only a black-and-white new convert can.  I have thoughts of selling all I have and giving it all to the poor, trusting in God to provide for my needs in the future.  Are we all called to do that?  No, I suppose not ... but I bet some of us are.  And I bet many others of us are called to take in, to provide for, those who do.

Where is your security today?  In your possessions?  Your bank account?  Your job, which provides that income and (likely) insurance?  Or are you trusting in the Lord to take care of things regardless of your job, income, housing, and bank statuses?  May we learn better how to follow the one true God.

Juggling but that's all right

Those of you who have read my first three blog posts may ask yourselves: how in the world does he juggle these major efforts (direct one nonprofit, co-direct another, pursue the PhD)?  It's a question I often get asked, especially as I currently serve as Board Chair for two other organizations (a local nonprofit, FamilyWorks! Ministries (famworks.org) and a state denominational committee).  And of course I value and prioritize the time I spend with Rose and my boys.

Fifteen years ago my best friend Jim Smith and I were corresponding across 2300 miles: I was living in my parents' downstairs in Vancouver, Washington, having graduated a year or so earlier, and Jim was finishing up his undergrad education at Northwestern University in Evanston, Illinois.  We'd write 6-8 page letters, single-spaced, sometimes written and sometimes typed, but always covering a range of topics both wide and deep.

In one letter, Jim wrote about the various activities he had going on and said he was struggling to understand how to prioritize.  He said he knew God came first, but then what was second.  And in prayer one day, the answer came to him: as long as God is first, it doesn't matter what comes second.  Or rather, what comes second may change based on the leading of the Holy Spirit who lives within us.  Profound, and true.

I've often thought of that over the past three years as my workload has piled up.  God built me with a large capacity for work.  Part of that is that I don't need much sleep, part is that I tend to quickly organize my work to finish it as efficiently as possible, and part is that (as an INTJ) even while I am working on one thing my brain is processing the other things I need to spend time on, so that when I sit down to actually work on them, they go much faster.  I first discovered this in college when I would routinely write 10-page papers for my literature or history courses in two hours or less, and get A's on them.

So the key is not how I prioritize my own work today, or this week, or for the next 12 months.  I make plans, of course -- I am a J who loves structure, after all -- but I've become much more comfortable with God changing my plans.

My life -- as yours, I'm guessing -- is a juggling act, where I may change what I'm focused on every half an hour.  But as Jim Elliot once said "Wherever you are, be all there."  It's okay for me to have 10 things to work on, so long as God has called me to them and so long as I am not distracted and frittering away my time and energy.  When I am talking with someone about AllOne, I am completely focused on that effort; when I have a phone call about the SEED web site, I am only thinking about SEED; when I sit down to research articles for the dissertation, that's what I do.  And when I have a date with my wife, I focus on her.  When I am hiking or wrestling with my boys, I am with them.

Would I like to spend more time in each of these areas?  Sure.  But if I am called to multiple expressions for what God has built in me, my job is simply to be obedient and do my best in each.  Just as the call was his, so the results are God's.

Doctor who?

To finish the background sketching here so we can move on to the things that strike and profoundly affect me, today's subject is the PhD in Organizational Leadership.

I have completed my three years of coursework at Eastern University, have passed comprehensive exams, and am now officially A Candidate For The PhD.  Somehow that sounds better when I put every word in caps.

As an INTJ personality, writing a dissertation is especially challenging.  Why? Well ...

• the I means I don't share what I'm thinking with other people often enough to get constructive feedback before I get too far down a road
• the N means everything is interesting and I have trouble sticking to one topic/concept long enough to research and write 200 pages on it
• the T means I live in my brain, which would seem perfect for a scholarly pursuit such as the PhD ... but I'm in a program dedicated to the practitioner-scholar, so I have to live it and not just think it
• the J means I crave and thrive in structure.  And as anyone who has pursued the PhD can tell you, once your coursework is done, you have no structure other than what you impose yourself.  (See: N for my difficulties with self-imposed structure.)

My topic started as a brand new theory of leadership: the interaction between leader, follower, and organization as a Venn diagram, recognizing that even a subtle and slight change in one results in significant changes to the way the three interact.  And that means that any theory that only discusses the interaction of two of those three components is missing the boat; and it also means that the Bolman-Deal human resources frame is probably the most important of all (hard for an INTJ to say) is because an organization is mostly the sum of the relationships involved.

What did my advisor say when I shared this with him?  Two comments.  "That's a brand-new theory, and very interesting."  "Don't do that for your dissertation; the best dissertation is a done dissertation.  Do one small piece of that theory and save the rest for the book."

Good advice, I think.

So I've settled in on trying to help small community nonprofits (SCNPs) be more effective organizations, specifically in the areas of recruitment, selection, and socialization of employees.  In essence, when the local homeless shelter needs an employee, what are some tools and practices they can employ to make sure they locate, hire, and orient that employee so that both individual and organization are most effective?

In ways only God could figure out, somehow this has dovetailed with AllOne and our service survey (see http://leadingandfollowing.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-is-this-all-about.html) as well as SEED and our need to build an organization (see http://leadingandfollowing.blogspot.com/2011/02/our-next-adventure.html).

So beginning tomorrow, the dialogue begins: I'll be posting reflections, thoughts, and questions for our exchange.  I look forward to your input.

Our next adventure

When I handed in my resignation from my paying job last spring, I expected to be working full time on AllOne Community Services (allonecommunity.org), as reflected in yesterday's post (http://leadingandfollowing.blogspot.com/2011/01/what-is-this-all-about.html).  God apparently had other ideas.

Our whole family went to Kenya last year so that Rose (and to a lesser extent me) could teach at the Kenya Free Methodist Bible School.  We stayed a few days in Nairobi at the beginning and the end -- including spending Zephaniah's 8th birthday on a safari at Nairobi National Park -- with Vickie Reynen, the International Child Care Ministries (ICCM) Africa regional coordinator.  Rose and I had numerous conversations with Vickie about adapting to Kenyan culture, trying to learn from what is positive in the US church and what is positive in the Kenyan church.  We spent many enjoyable hours talking and being toured around.

Our middle two weeks in Kenya were spent in Kericho teaching at the modular school.  For most of the days this meant Rose was teaching while I was hanging out with my sons.  And I was afforded a lot of time to process my current experiences and think about other things.  (If you care to read more about that experience, you can check out my notes on Facebook.)

One of the things Rose and I consistently heard during and after our time there was how well we fit in.  We spent most of our time listening; even though we were the teachers, we recognized that any subject expertise we brought to the table was less than the gap we had in cultural awareness.  So our classroom sessions were facilitated discussions, where we would present some basic material and then ask the students to share with us what that looked like in their cultures.  And we also enjoyed being with the students.

Imagine our surprise when a couple months after returning from Kenya, Vickie mentioned that she had suggested us to the missions agency for a possible microenterprise ministry leadership position.  What Vickie didn't know was that Rose and I have been talking for several years about opening a fair trade store and coffeehouse here in our neighborhood.  Once we even filled out an application to lease space, but the building owner leased it to another tenant instead.  So we were intrigued.

The intrigue continued through a couple months' worth of conversations with various folks at Free Methodist headquarters.  It appeared that God was opening the door for us to step into this ministry at just the time Rose would be stepping down from pastoring and I would be leaving my former employment.  We continued, prayerfully with each step, until it became clear that this is what God has for us as a couple.

What does this mean?  Well, first we have a lot of work to do, understanding what SEED (which stands for Serving, Empowering, Encouraging, Developing) currently does, where it is strong and where it could use improvement.  And meeting all the folks at FM headquarters along with the existing SEED project sites, which are scattered across the continents: projects in Peru, Kenya, Uganda, India, China, Cambodia, and the Philippines.  And there are a hundred potential sites in 30 or 40 countries.

We also have a lot of work to do to understand the options.  We are familiar with microcredit/microfinance, with Fair Trade, and with market and SWOT analyses, for instance, but every place, every culture, every person or group of people, is going to be unique.  We know that God has prepared us for this work, not to the extent that we can be confident in our own abilities but so that we have some raw material that he will put together in the best way to meet people's needs.

This new adventure will be a dance of leadership and followership at multiple levels:

1. Clearly, we need to be responsive to God's leading all the way through
2. Rose and I will be learning how to lead and follow, and partner, with each other in working together on a daily basis.  We have very different strengths and very different approaches, so molding those will be a great challenge -- and a lot of fun. We could not have even thought about this 14.5 years ago
3. We'll all be learning about how to lead and to follow as we work with conferences, churches, headquarters, non-US sites, and possible donors

Yep, in case that wasn't clear, we'll be starting fundraising in the near future as the SEED position is not currently funded.  ICCM has agreed to pay our travel and operations expenses while we raise money to cover salary, medical, and daily living costs.

So again, God has taken us from a position of having a very safe, solid income to not knowing how we'll pay the bills.  And because he's leading, all we have to do is follow and trust.  More to come on that.

What is this all about?

I have been pondering -- fretting, really -- how to launch this blog.  So many thoughts crystallize daily, and which is most important to share?

Clearly, however, before I share ponderous thoughts, I must simplify.  So this week's posts will be about a journey, a journey that involves leading and following.  It's a theme of my life, especially over the past two years.  So I'll share how I came to be where I am: with AllOne Community Services (www.allonecommunity.org), SEED (the upcoming www.seedlivelihood.org), and with my PhD work.  Today: AllOne.

Two years ago I had the realization that my combination of work efforts (full-time job, PhD studies, and church leadership training) was somehow lacking cohesion.  And I was frustrated by the fact that all the work I did at the local church level somehow was not creating a model for organizational efficiency, effective processes, and growth, in any sense of those words.

One of my recognitions, then, was that the problem went beyond my own personal synergy and even my individual church involvement.  There was, it seemed, a chronic problem with coordination and collaboration.  Instead of one body of Christ, as the church liked to talk about, we had 20-30 churches each operating in virtually complete isolation.

Now, that may be overstating the case a bit.  Each church in our area has partnerships of some kind: some with schools, some with government or community groups, and even some with other churches.  But these are almost all tactical collaborations: how we do what we do, rather than strategic -- why we do what we do, with its logical how outcomes.

So I started having conversations with local pastors, church leaders, and church members, and discovered a resonance in many places.  So after almost a year of these conversations, the time seemed ripe to act, and AllOne Community Services was born.

Initially, the effort took a couple hours a week.  After the excitement of those first conversations, however, the work took on a life of its own and I felt compelled to spend more time on it.  At my full-time job, then, I approached my boss, a wonderful supportive leader, and reduced my work hours from 40 to 32 hours a week.  This gave me one full day a week to work on AllOne, and the results increased exponentially.

At our first gathering in June 2010 we had only four churches represented, but three others had confirmed attendance only to be waylaid by car troubles, migraines, and medical emergencies.  And the energy was plain: churches wanted to find ways to work together, to not duplicate efforts, and to represent one body of Christ to the community.

Community leaders were also excited.  Upon hearing of our church survey (if you want to coordinate services, you need a current map of service provision), the St Johns Neighborhood Association asked to partner on doing a larger effort including all nonprofits and faith-based organizations in the area.  The directory has been a smash hit and has helped AllOne get a broader picture of the over- and undersupply areas in our community.

We've also been building a web site (www.stjohnschurches.org, due to debut in the next few weeks) that will serve as a showcase for the work we do together as well as a one-stop location for people looking for a household of faith in St Johns.

Now in 2011 we will be working two streams: facilitating monthly pastoral gatherings to build relationships and understanding between churches in St Johns, and convening and facilitating collaborative project work teams from the churches.  We have a large number of possible efforts, and I am optimistic that once we collectively decide on a work, we can partner with each other and with other community resources to make a deeper impact without burning out any one church or its people.

Many people ask: where does the money come from for AllOne?  The current answer is: my personal bank account.  God asked me to do the work, so while we are pursuing other funding sources, thus far all expenses have been covered by my previous full-time income.  Of course, as you will see in future blog posts, this has created interesting situations because I am no longer at that full-time job.

This is a journey of leading: God's leading of me and my family and of the churches in the area, and my leading of this collaborative effort.

And it is a journey of following: the duty and privilege of being able to follow those worthy of being followed, and of recognizing the need to follow and submit, sometimes even when we don't want to.

I hope you'll continue to follow me in this blog form.  I look forward to our interaction.