“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls.”  – Jeremiah 6:16 

While hiking up a heavily wooded mountainside in northern Yellowstone Park many summers ago, Tee and I were about to double back on the same trail when we noticed a steep, narrow path veering off in another direction.  Feeling adventurous we decided to see where it would lead.  As we climbed higher and the woods became denser apprehension set in, again tempting us to turn back.  Exhausted we were starting to question the wisdom of our decision when suddenly there was a clearing up ahead.  Within a few steps we emerged onto the most glorious mountain meadow one could ever imagine, with breath-taking views in all directions – as picturesque as Julie Andrew’s opening scene in The Sound of Music.  

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference,” wrote Robert Frost in that familiar poem.  But not all “less traveled” paths lead to such beautiful sights.  In fact, many do not.  Some get us lost; others are dead ends, while many turn out to be long disappointing detours.  One thing is for certain, though; if we keep driving the same busy freeways and never venture to exit onto unfamiliar roads from time to time our lives will remain mundane and routine.  Only when we try things new and different will we ever discover things new and different.

Try getting up at 3 a.m. – on purpose! – just to experience what the world is like in that wee hour.  Drive a different route to work.  Turn on a street that you’ve always wondered where it goes.  Try a new recipe for dinner.  For your next vacation plan a trip someplace you’ve never been.  Do something you’ve never done but always wanted to try.  You may be surprised what you discover – about yourself and the world around you. 

“Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is and walk in it . . .”  And don’t be surprised if it is the road less traveled by.  It happened to us on that summer day in Yellowstone . . . and it made all the difference.

“. . . only one thing is needed.  Mary has chosen what is better.”  – Luke 10:42 

What I love about being a grandparent is that I get all the benefits of having children in my presence, yet with few of the responsibilities.  They come to our house where we can play and enjoy their company; then, except for the occasional sleepover, their parents whisk them home without our having to tell them to brush their teeth and go to bed.  We get to take them to Target and cater to their whims, then send the toys home to clutter up their parents’ houses rather than our own.  It is their parents’ job, not ours, to supervise homework, piano practice, shuttle them to gymnastics or soccer practice or dance rehearsals.  Our job is simply to show up at the resulting awards ceremonies, graduations, recitals, and sporting events.  It is the parents who are charged with most of the doing.  As grandparents our responsibility mostly is to simply show up.  Yet, what an awesome responsibility that can be.

In the Gospel of Luke the story is told about Jesus showing up at the home of his friends Mary and Martha, who I envision had invited some of the neighbors from around their small village of Bethany to a reception at their home in honor of their famous houseguest.  I can imagine Mary sitting in the living room with the other guests enjoying Jesus’ company.  Meanwhile, poor Martha is left toiling away in the kitchen trying to get the hors d’oeuvre trays together, until she finally complains to Jesus that her sister is not helping out.  “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed.  Mary has chosen what is better.” 

Like Martha, we are such doers.  It’s embedded our culture, it’s how we were raised, what we’ve been taught all our lives.  Our identities depend on what we do, what we build and create, sell, fix, how we serve others, otherwise what value do we have?  To simply be present seems . . . well it seems like we’re not doing anything.  Nothing, though, could be further from the truth.  In my profession of executive coaching, being “present” with the client is considered one of the most critical core competencies, yet one of the most difficult to learn and practice because we are so programmed to “do”, to fix and solve problems, when in fact we serve our clients best by simply being present.  Jesus seemed to think so, too.  “Come on Martha, forget the hors d’oeuvres for now.  Come sit with us for a while.”  Hopefully, our grandchildren appreciate our presence as well.

“Do not rejoice . . . that the rod that struck you is broken.”  — Isaiah 14:29 

“Go ahead, make my day!”  Who doesn’t remember that oft quoted movie line from the 1983 film Sudden Impact.  The scene takes place at the very beginning of the movie when Detective Harry Callahan (Clint Eastwood) goes into a diner for a morning cup of coffee where he discovers a robbery in progress. He takes down all but one of the robbers in a shootout. However, the surviving robber grabs one of the waitresses, holds his gun to her head, and threatens to shoot. Instead of backing off, Harry points his .44 caliber revolver into the man’s face and dares him to shoot, saying with clenched teeth in his characteristic Dirty Harry style, “Go ahead, make my day,'” meaning that if the robber attempts to harm the waitress, Harry would be happy to dispatch the robber.

There is something deliciously satisfying about seeing bad guys, law offenders, bullies, or rude and obnoxious people get their just deserts.  Oh, and let’s not leave out when corrupt politicians, or the one’s we disagree with, get defeated in their re-election bids.  Almost daily someone speeds past me in a school zone, of all places, while the rest of us law-abiding motorists creep along within the twenty-mile-an-hour limit.  I’m sure I’m not the only one who gloats when I see the offender pulled off on a side street by the motorcycle cop hiding behind a tree.

Once I had a boss who was universally disliked by his direct reports, among whom I was one.  Besides needing a paycheck, the only reason any of us hung around was that we might out last him.  Sure enough, the day finally arrived when his mismanagement and shenanigans caught up with him and he was suddenly unemployed.  I remember how, on hearing the news, those of us who worked for him wanted to dance in the streets.

But alas!  Smugness and gloating in the face of another’s calamity seems to diminish when we remember our own shortcomings and imperfections.  I may gloat when a fellow motorist gets ticketed for speeding through a school zone, but how often am I guilty of driving eighty when the speed limit is seventy?  My former boss may have been a scoundrel, yet how many blunders did I make in my own career worthy of dismissal?  And just because I disagree with a politician, does that mean I am always right?   Perhaps neither should we be so quick to rejoice “that the rod that struck you is broken.” 

“From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded.”  – Luke 12:48 

One of the many legendary stories about Fiorello LaGuardia, the beloved, colorful Depression era mayor of New York City, occurred on a cold January night in 1935 when he turned up at a night court that happened to serve the poorest ward of the city.  Dismissing the judge for the evening the mayor took over the bench himself.  Within a few minutes, a tattered old woman was brought before him, charged with stealing a loaf of bread.  She told LaGuardia that her daughter’s husband had deserted her, her daughter was sick, and her two grandchildren were starving.  But the shopkeeper, from whom the bread was stolen, refused to drop the charges.  LaGuardia sighed.  He then turned to the woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you.  The law makes no exceptions – ten dollars or ten days in jail.  Simultaneously he reached into his own pocket producing the ten dollars to cover the fine.  “Here is the ten-dollar fine which I now remit.  And furthermore, I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom fifty cents for living in a town where a person has to steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat.”  The following day the newspapers reported that $47.50 had been collected and handed over to the bewildered old lady.

My first job in the financial business, the one that launched my career, was with a large regional bank in Fort Worth, Texas.  A great legend about that fine institution, and one that defined its culture for years, was that during the Great Depression when banks were failing and unemployment was rampant, the bank’s leadership promised to do its best to remain solvent and not lay anyone off if the employees would agree to an across-the-board pay reduction.  The employees unanimously agreed, and the bank kept its promise, saving many from financial ruin and starvation.

Every blessing carries with it a corresponding responsibility.  Mayor LaGuardia, a blessed man himself, took great responsibility toward the well being of the citizens of his city, teaching others through his example to do the same.  Likewise, the bank’s endeavors to uphold its employees and the community it served became so imbedded in its culture that later generations, like me, felt its impact.  Beneath his signature on all his written communications my friend Charlie, a retired minister, always includes these words, “Go bless somebody today;” for we all have something to give that will bless the life of another, don’t we? “From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded.”  

“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”  – Matthew 5:5 

As a young man Nicolas Herman had little choice except to join the army, that is if he had any hope of regular meals or collecting even a modest stipend.  Born in 1614 in eastern France to poor parents and limited education opportunities, Herman’s options were few, thus he remained in the army for several years where he fought in the Thirty Years’ War and later served as a valet until an injury rendered him unfit for military duty.

Following his release Herman entered the Discalced Carmelite Priory in Paris as a lay brother, not having the education necessary to become a cleric.  There he spent the rest of his life within the walls of that priory assigned to working in the kitchen, a lowly position, tending to mundane chores of cooking and cleaning at the constant bidding of his superiors.  Such was the life of Nicolas Herman, quietly serving God and mankind expecting no acclaim whatsoever.

Indeed, whoever even heard of Nicolas Herman?  No one I suspect . . . unless you are perhaps familiar with the man better known as Brother Lawrence, the religious name Nicolas Herman took upon entering the priory, where despite his lowly status he touched so many lives with his wisdom and spiritual guidance that after his death his letters and conversations were compiled in a book called The Practice of the Presence of God, which for centuries has remained one of the most widely read books among Christians.  Yet Brother Lawrence spent his life modestly, serving God and mankind in simple ways, expecting no acclaim whatsoever.

We all hope to leave some sort of legacy, don’t we?  But are we willing to do so without some hope of acclaim for our deeds?  As Oswald Chambers once wrote, “Are you ready to be not so much as a drop in the bucket, to be hopelessly insignificant that you are never thought of again in connection with the life you served?”  Some have encouraged those of us who have experienced good fortune to shift our life focus from success to significance.  Perhaps an even more noble step might be instead to shift from success to insignificance.  Notably, Jesus mentioned neither the successful nor the significant among those who would inherit the earth, only the meek.  Blessed be you, Brother Lawrence, for setting the example.