Waiting

VisionWhen vision becomes a cliché (President Bush-the-first once famously referred to it in an off-the-cuff remark as “the vision thing”), it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When yesterday’s vision no longer aligns with today’s brutal facts or tomorrow’s possibilities, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When vision becomes first and foremost an act of congratulating ourselves for what we or our predecessors have accomplished, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When “vision” becomes the mandates of mountaintop or ivory-tower elitists who have no clue what life in the cubicle, the pew, the kitchen or the stew is like, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When vision becomes the stuff of detached, bored, or mechanical position holders, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When vision is no longer met with resistance from the mediocre majority or the limits of human ability or imagination, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When “vision” is presumed to emerge from the latest committee meeting, conference, book or fad, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When vision no longer bridges the gap between what is and what should be, it’s time for a new vision – or a new leader.

When “vision” is here today and gone tomorrow, it time for a new (true) vision – or a new leader capable of seeing beyond his/her own attention deficit.

When “vision” no longer needs the God who holds the future in order to create the future, it’s time for a new (true) vision – or a new leader.

Exceptional leaders are first led themselves.  By their vision – and by the source of their vision.

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Ice Jump“Bruce likes to terrify himself.”  So began a story years ago in Success magazine.

One day Bruce led some friends 9,000 feet up Mount Hood, and decided to show them how much fun it would be to slide down part of the way.  While zipping down an ice field at 30 miles an hour, Bruce suddenly realized he had forgotten to remove his crampons – the spikes that attach to hiking boots.  His feet were useless as brakes.

Uh oh.

Bruce had the presence of mind to realize that jabbing the spikes at the ice whizzing past him wouldn’t work either – that would risk breaking his ankles and hurtling off the side of the mountain.  So as the edge of the cliff came rapidly into view, Bruce flopped over on his stomach and jabbed repeatedly, frantically, with his ice axe.  He finally came to a halt about 50 feet from the edge of the cliff. He later said that the thing that kept running through his mind as he got closer and closer to the edge was, “Boy, this is a stupid way to die.”

Uh huh.

Oh, and just a thought – if it’s a stupid way to die, then maybe it’s a stupid way to live.  But hey, that’s just me.

I don’t know if Bruce ever went ice surfing again.  And for all I know, he may be the ultimate LifeVestor.  But on this day, he was a gambler. 

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“You wanna see what the room looks like?” Geoffrey asked.  “The room” was the hotel room where my son was staying.  Geoffrey was his best man and is his best friend.

I was a bit out of the loop.  I thought I was going to be looking at a brochure of the Houston Marriott or something.  What Geoffrey brought instead was a camera.

Off and on during this wedding day I had wondered what the heck Joel was up to.  Why was he running behind?  Why wasn’t he at the church when I thought he was supposed to be?  Why were people calling, looking for him?  What was so important?

I had showed up at the church about 4:45 – 15 minutes late myself.  He was nowhere to be found.  Getting the car washed, Geoffrey said. 

Car washed!  Photographer was waiting, people were wondering, and he?  He was washing.

Now, some five hours later, that clean car has just left the building with the newlyweds on board.  And Geoffrey is scrolling through the pictures on his camera.  These weren’t publicity pics.  They were the results of a groom’s labor to prepare a place – a special place – for his bride.  I’ll spare you the details, but there were candles, rose petals, a picnic basket, and much more, I’m sure.

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WinnieWinnie the Pooh died last week.

Not the “chubby little cub all stuffed with fluff” – lest I start a bad rumor.

This Winnie was a member of our household for the last sixteen years. The shih tzu has offspring scattered from Georgia to West Texas. She lived in seven different houses and outlived two hamsters, three cats, and two other dogs. What times she wasn’t a yapping fool, she was a good dog. And we’d been anticipating that she didn’t have long to live… for the last three years or so.

In our family two beliefs have always converged. Belief #1: Pets are good things. They teach us a lot about unconditional love, trust, and care. Plus, they’re (usually) a lot of fun.

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MaymieThis is Maymie’s ultimate love story. She holds her husband, Shannon, dear, but Maymie says their story doesn’t compare to the story of her children.The first time she got pregnant, Maymie and Shannon weren’t married. But they excitedly started planning and moving in the direction of marriage and starting a family. They set the date and made the doctor’s appointments. At the first appointment, the obstetrician wanted to do an ultrasound to see how far along she was and make sure everything looked good.

They excitedly watched the monitor.

There was no heartbeat.

The next day they went back, mothers in tow, for another picture, just to be sure. They got the same dreaded answer.

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The Waiting Seasons

by Andy Wood on January 26, 2008

in LV Cycle, Waiting

HourglassHad lunch with two good friends this week. Both have lives that, if they were airplanes, could best be described as being in a holding pattern.

They’re waiting.

Knowing there’s more to come.

But it ain’t happening yet, and neither of my friends was particularly thrilled by it.

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