Lift Up Your Hearts!

Check out the latest Occasional CEO post:  A Little More Inspiration for more than a little inspiration.  The Occasional CEO reports on his visit with a "full-time, fully energized, meet-with-customers and visit-operations-in-five-states, entrepreneurial CEO who has held his title for over 55 years."

Read the whole post.  <Ahem.>  Read the whole post.  It will be worth your while.  I would quote the whole thing if copyright laws and my conscience didn't forbid it.

He grew up in the Great Depression, in the Great Dustbowl, without indoor plumbing or electricity. Today he has a Blackberry and wanted a tour of my iPad, wondering how much better the iPad2 would be.

He doesn't take the elevator. He doesn't wear glasses. He works out at least five days a week, including 30 minutes stretching and 30 minutes on the elliptical machine.

I could not tell if, over his long career, he made money faster than he gave it away, or vice versa. Suffice to say he is successful and generous in equal measure.

He has 95 years behind him and spends all of his time thinking about what’s in front of him.

If you, like me, have often despaired about the state of business in America—and even more, our general spirit—this story will brighten your day, and maybe your year.  At least ... that is ... if this is an American company. I inferred as much from the fact that its leader was awarded the American military honor, the Legion of Merit, in World War II.  But every country needs men (and women) like this.

Go.  Be inspired.

In Bad Science, author Ben Goldacre delivers the following paean as part of a discussion of drug side effects.

I really enjoy the sensation of orgasm.  It's important to me, and everything I experience in the world tells me that this sensation is important to other people too.  Wars have been fought, essentially, for the sensation of orgasm.  There are eveolutionary psychologists who would try to persuade you that the entirety of human culture and language is driven, in large part, by the pursuit of the sensation of orgasm.

Far be it from me to deny the pleasure to which he refers, but the man has obviously never felt the sensation of holding a sleeping baby on his chest.

In my review, I mentioned that Ben Goldacre's book, Bad Science, suffers from a tendency to sneer.  Although he usually directs his disrespect at those with whom he disagrees, every once in a while he takes aim at his readers.  Take, for example, this footnote in the chapter, "Why Clever People Believe Stupid Things":

I'd be genuinely intrigued to know how long it takes to find someone who can tell you the difference between "mean," "median," and "mode," from where you are sitting right now.

I find that as insulting as some of the dumb questions asked by Sunday School teachers, the kind that have students sitting on their hands not because they don't know then answer, but because it's so basic and obvious they're embarrassed it was even asked of them.

From where I am sitting, I need look no further than my own chair.  We learned mean, median, and mode in elementary school, and if I was never clear on exactly when each was considered the best "average" to use, I could certainly define and calculate them.  I'd be shocked if Jon and Heather couldn't also.  But probably not Jonathan (7), and certainly not Noah (4), Faith (2), or Joy (five days), so I suppose our household average isn't so impressive.  In this case, I am smarter (or at least more knowledgeable) than a first grader.  (Though if asked about guns, or Star Wars, or several other topics, I'd lose.)

How about at your house?

Jennifer Fulweiler, who blogs at Conversion Diary, asked her worldwide audience to comment on the religious climate in their countries.  It's not a scientific poll: for one thing, it has a self-selected Catholic bias.  But it is eye-opening nonetheless.  Here is what she asked:

If you live (or have recently lived) outside the U.S., we want to hear from you! Some questions:

1. Where do you live? (Or, if you’re not currently living there, what part of the world is it that you’re familiar with?)
2. What is church attendance like in your area? Are there many churches? Do they seem to have active memberships?
3. At a typical social event, how appropriate would it be if a person were to explicitly acknowledge in casual conversation that he or she is a believing Christian? For example, if someone at a party made a passing comment like, “We’ve been praying about that” or “I was reading the Bible the other day, and…”, would that seem normal or odd?
4. What belief system do the politicians in your area claim to practice? For example,  here in Texas almost all politicians at least claim to have some kind of belief in God, regardless of what they may think in private — to openly admit to being an atheist would be political suicide in most parts of the state. Is this the case in your area?
5. How many families do you know who have more than two children? If a family with four children moved to your area, would their family size seem unusual? What about a family with six children?
6. What seems to be the dominant belief system of the people in your area?
   
7. Do you notice any trends? Do people seem to be becoming more or less religious?

 (More)

I've broken fillings, chipped teeth, and done other costly damage while eating sandwiches, popcorn, grapes, yoghurt, soup, and other items that I reasonably expected to be bone-, stone-, pit- and kernel-free.  And yet it never once occurred to me that the suffering and expense should be blamed on someone, preferably someone other than me, and with deep pockets.  Accidents happen.  Life is not pain free, and I believe that when something bad happens it doesn't always need to be someone's fault.

Unlike Dennis Kucinich, eight-term Representative from Ohio, who is suing the House cafeteria for $150,000 in damages incurred three years ago when he bit into a sandwhich and had an unpleasant encounter with an olive pit.

What was Kucinich thinking?  Like a spoiled toddler or delinquent teen, does he believe negative publicity is better than none?  Could $150,000 possibly make up for being remembered as the politician who sued a sandwich-maker over an olive pit?  He should have learned a lesson from Stella Liebeck, whose name became synonymous with frivolous lawsuits after she filed suit against McDonald's over hot coffee.

Reading old newspapers is always eye-opening, even when they are from years I myself lived through.  While researching for another project, I came upon an old Ann Landers column, published in 1967.  What a difference 40 years makes.  Would Ann have given the advice in this excerpt even 10 years later?

Dear Ann Landers:   I feel like I am living in the dark ages.  My husband refuses to allow me to wear shorts in the summer or stretch pants in the winter. — Texas Woman

Dear Woman:  I say if a husband is opposed to shorts and stretch pants for ANY reason, a wife should respect his wishes.  There are plenty of attractive skirts you can wear, and I hope you will.

First I fumed, then I laughed.  All the emotions you would expect.  He “refuses to allow” her to choose her own clothing?  As if she were a child under three?  (Or maybe under two—I believe Faith has a lot of say in what she wears.  And opinions, as well.)  These days “controlling what you wear” makes the list of traits of an abusive relationship.  These days an advice columnist would be more likely to excoriate the man and maybe suggest the woman ignore him, or even leave.

And therein lies the bit of sorrow I feel that we have left those days behind.  How often in the 21^st century do we get advice to respect someone else’s wishes over our own?  To think less selfishly?  I’m reminded of Ann Landers’ own (later) advice to women unhappy in a relationship:  Ask yourself:  “Am I better off with him, or without him?”  Always, “What is best for me?” and rarely, “What is best for others?”^*

We have lost as well as gained.

...and I believe it.  But my Personal Economic Indicators indicate a booming economy.

I dislike shopping in the best of times, and December is not the most pleasant of months to shop, even when one doesn't have to deal with heavy coats and boots.  Yet sometimes need will drive me out to the stores, and I had hoped that with all the bad news about unemployment and and bankruptcies and poor retail sales, there might come compensation in the form of a less-crowded shopping experience.

But I went out today, and all indications are of an economic boom in full swing.  Very heavy traffic in the middle of the afternoon—I didn't think it could get worse, but proved myself wrong by still being on the road when rush hour began—and stores full of shoppers.  Buyers, too, if the checkout lines were any indication.

If this is the situation in bad times, how will we handle the good?  Our main road (not highway) is already 6-8 lanes wide.  How much shopping, and driving, do people have to indulge in for the economists to stop saying "consumer confidence is down"?

This passage from David Allen's Ready for Anything blew me away, and deserves its own post.

We recently raised some prices—because I didn’t want business to go away.  Let me explain.  One day, I recognized a subtle internal danger signal:  There was the tiniest bit of an “uh-oh” feeling inside me each time we were asked to do more and more of a certain kind of work for a favorite client.  It was almost imperceptible, but it was there:  I didn’t want the phone to ring.  After many years of watching this dynamic, I knew that if I allowed those feelings to persist, indeed, the phone would stop ringing.  This client would go away.

I confronted the feeling and discovered the root of the problem:  We were underpriced for the amount of time and attention we had to commit to do our standard quality work.  I had to challenge myself with this question:  “What do I need to do to make me positively excited about the phone’s ringing again?”  The answer was simple:  Raise the price.  Then I could feel good about dedicating the time and energy we do to this client—and the more time, the merrier.

When your front line feels overwhelmed, watch out for resistance to new … opportunities!  When a ringing phone creates stress at the spinal level, though the words may be “Can I help you?” the underlying communication is, “Go away!  I can’t handle you!”

I'm certain there is application here far beyond the business model, and that many families, friendships, projects, and resolutions are suffering because we fail to heed that internal danger signal and then do the often difficult work of figuring out how to arrange that we embrace, rather than avoid or resent, a situation. (More)

I'm a day late, but this is for our children, who loved Branagh's Henry V from an early age; for our grandchildren, who I trust will do the same in their time; for my nephew, who can speak the speech from memory; and for all who have ever felt the strength of we few, we happy few, we band of brothers. (H/T Andy B.)

Non nobis domine!

This fits well with New Year's Resolution #10.

Nice music, too.  (H/T Jon.)

I'm awed, amazed, thrilled, and grateful for the successful rescue of the 33 trapped Chilean miners.  I really am.  But there's a disquieting thought that keeps intruding on my celebration.  It seems curmudgeonly, at best, to point out that for most of their ordeal the miners have had contact with the surface, food, water, tobacco, medical advice, a very expensive and intense rescue effort, and the good will of the entire world.  I admire the men no end for managing to work together and survive such a horrendous experience.

But when I read over and over the concerns about the men's mental health, and how they will bear scars for life because of their ordeal, and of all the effort put forth to help them, including training in how to deal with the media (another tribulation!), I can't stop thinking of the men who for longer months endured captivity and torture during the Vietnam War.  Or the 444-day ordeal of the victims of the Iranian Hostage Crisis.  Or [fill in any one of a number of terrifying imprisonments].  Where was the concern for them?  Where the effort to ease their return to society?  Where, even, the money pouring in for interview, book, and movie deals?

Maybe we've become more concerned and compassionate over the years.  Maybe we just like a good, dramatic story.  I wouldn't take anything away from the support given these miners—but wouldn't it be nice to see that solidarity, that love, that attention, and those financial resources poured out for the ones who suffer even now, all over the world, mostly in obscurity?

Can it have been almost four years since Kelly James, Brian Hall and Nikko Cooke died in a blizzard on Mt. Hood?  I'm not usually one to follow closely television's relentless coverage of unfolding tragedy, but knowing Kelly's brother, Frank, made the events personal.

In the Shadow of Mt. Hood is an article written by Frank James in the September issue of Christianity Today.  (It's available online if you follow that link.)  I'm a bit reluctant to provide excerpts this time, as there is nothing he says that's not important.  (Those of you who know that I knew Frank when he was an elder in our PCA (Presbyterian Church in America) church, and know how I feel about most PCA sermons, will understand how significant it is for me to make such a statement.)  But here is a taste, anyway:

Grief is a relentless predator. Those who have lost loved ones tell me that one never completely escapes it. Strangely, a part of me does not want the grief to stop, because the grief itself is a connection to Kelly. Yet another part of me is so weary from carrying the burden of a broken heart.

In the midst of our family tragedy, I made a peculiar discovery. One would think that grief and disappointment with God would lead to bitterness against him. In my nightmare, I not only prayed intensely in private but also publicly declared my faith and confidence in God on CNN—but Kelly froze to death anyway.

There is disappointment, sadness, and confusion, but oddly, there is no retreat from God. Instead, I find myself drawn to God. To be sure, he is more enigmatic than I thought, but I still can't shake loose from him. There seems to be a kind of gravitational pull toward God.

Murder Must Advertise, by Dorothy Sayers (Avon, New York, 1967)

Dorothy Sayers is one of my favorite authors, both fiction and non-fiction, and her Lord Peter Wimsey mystery stories among the best of that genre.  I've read them all so many times that quotations from them worm their way up from the depths of my brain unbidden, enabling me to appear knowledgeable in fields where my ignorance is nearly complete, as happened earlier this year while I was sitting in on a class about medieval manuscripts. (More)

I wasn't going to write about the two recent examples of September 11-related hysteria run amok, because (a) there has already been too much reaction, and (b) believe it or not, the fate of the world does not hinge on what I write on the Internet.  But in another context I was invited to share my opinion, and you know how I love to get double duty out of the effort it takes to write.

First, the "Ground Zero mosque" flap.  Whether a mosque, or Islamic center, or church, or store, or apartment building, or library, or strip club is built in New York City is none of my business.  Nor is it the business of 99% of the others who have weighed in on the issue, including President Obama, foreigners, and talk show hosts.  It is New York City's business, at whatever level zoning regulations are made. If the neighbors object to a proposed project, they have the right, and possibly the duty, to oppose it at zoning board hearings, to write letters to local papers, to make local speeches, to go from door to door with petitions.  My opinion is irrelevant, as is that of the President of the United States.  (More)

Gabriel Kron. Of all the amazing people who have intersected with my life, he is probably the safest to write about, since he died more than 40 years ago.  So I will; he deserves to be better known.

I knew him as my father's friend and mountain climbing partner; my father knew him from their days together at the General Electric Company in Schenectady, New York.  Dad, a Tau Beta Pi engineer (like his father, two of his children, and a grandchild), was no intellectual slouch, but he never pretended to understand anything of Gabe's work. 

It didn't matter.  I myself joined the Kron Klimbing Klub at age seven, and was mighty annoyed when I later learned that some other organization had usurped the acronym, "KKK."

One firm rule of the Klub I remember distinctly:  No eating until you reach the top. (More)