Sunday, June 30, 2013

Lessons from Summer Jobs

It’s that time of the year when those high school and college students lucky enough to find work are toiling at a summer job. Hopefully their experience will result in more than just some extra spending money or savings for college. Many of us who remember our first summer job will find it formed habits and opinions that may still be impacting our lives at work today.

Since I spent many of my growing up years living on a farm, my summer jobs included the usual array of chores but there are three particular tasks that remain embedded in my memory as especially challenging. One was picking stone in the fields each spring after the soil had been turned and tilled. It was thankless, monotonous work, often performed in the heat of the day. Another was cutting thistles by hand in the pasture fields where they seemed to sprout as fast as we could remove them.

But the most memorable summer job on the farm involved moving irrigation pipes. It’s hard to describe the scene, but imagine a muddy corn field lined with rows of wet stalks from an overnight or early morning shower provided by the sprinklers. Because the pipes only covered a certain number of rows they were moved across the field each morning so the watering was evenly distributed for maximum effect. Unlike today’s systems that tend to be elevated on frames outfitted with wheels, everything we did involved manual labor.

The pipes were aluminum but, when filled with water, were quite heavy to lift. So each section of 16 foot long pipe was unlatched and emptied of its contents before being lifted overhead and carried through the mud and wet corn rows to the spot where it would reside when the pump was turned on again. As you might imagine by the end of this process I was soaked and muddied from head to toe and exhausted from lugging the pipes across the fields. The only benefit from this job was how cool it all felt on a hot day.

These summer jobs, regardless of how menial they now seem, taught me a number of worthwhile life lessons. I learned perseverance as those stones seemed to reappear every spring planting season, a trait that continues to serve me well when I encounter challenges in my business. I also practiced patience, as these jobs all helped me to tolerate difficult situations knowing the end result would include a level of satisfaction and a paycheck to spend or save. Finally, I experienced the joy that work brings when it is done well and shared with people you enjoy spending time with.

My experiences with summer jobs is probably not unique. Many of our initial encounters in the workplace are spent doing less than desirable tasks. I can only wish that today’s crop of young people are open to learning some life lessons through whatever challenging endeavors they will face. I wonder if they will also view their paycheck as just a bonus?

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Being Frank

Most leaders I know aren’t enamored with being criticized. We are quick to defend ourselves against any verbal assault, valid or otherwise. Instead of viewing negative feedback as an opportunity for improvement, we tend to dismiss whatever truth might be lurking in the words and assume the other person is only out to hurt us.

Is it any wonder that so many teams struggle to hold each other accountable when being frank in their conversations with each other is rarely encouraged? In fact, many of the most powerful leaders in the worlds of politics, business, and religion seem to view criticism as an anathema. “How dare you question my motives, effort, intellect, or decisions?” they seem to imply through their words and actions.

Tibetan Master Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche taught his followers how to use criticism as an chance for self-improvement. He said, “When you are criticized, accept it as an opportunity to acknowledge your hidden faults and increase your humility. Criticism is like a teacher, destroying attachment and pride.”

While I will always prefer a word of praise to negative feedback, I have come to appreciate the courage of clients and friends who point out my faults and offer insights about how to improve the work I am doing. Those who confront me face-to-face about my behavior or who challenge my assumptions about ideas and issues are offering me a gift. Like the challenging process of refining gold, continually being made aware of our faults and then following the advice of mentors and teachers, allows us to grow and improve as leaders.

Leaders who encourage their team to be frank with each other and with them will soon discover a greater level of trust, commitment, and accountability develops among everyone. A cohesive, healthy team knows that negative constructive feedback and criticism is something to be encouraged and practiced regularly. It turns out that being frank has its perks.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Missing My Dad

It has been nearly seven months since my father passed away. Today I’m combining excerpts from a few previous fatherhood posts as a tribute to Dad on this Father’s Day 2013.

My Dad remains a source of love and inspiration. Over 58 years he taught me many valuable and enduring life lessons. Let me name a few that are especially important.

First, Dad taught me how to be vulnerable; or rather he modeled it for me. Early in my life I learned that it’s okay for a man to show emotion in private and in public. Tears shed in an unassuming way are a wonderful gift. I learned that being strong isn’t measured by how stoic and brave one can be but rather by the depth of one’s love and capacity to empathize with others.

Lesson two is being content with what you have. I’m sure that Dad often wished he could have accomplished and accumulated more yet he never seemed discouraged by his circumstances. While our family income was limited, I never felt deprived or in want of anything. Dad didn’t complain about the material things in life. I have long ago exceeded his annual salary, the size of his largest house, and how much money he had in his retirement account. None of that is important if I can simply live with contentment like he did.

Finally, there is the faith factor, Dad’s most important life lesson. Knowing that your father is praying for you, watching him lead our family devotional time, and sitting next to him in church while he sang hymns of the faith has left a deep and lasting impression. My own faith commitment and interest in serving at my church is fueled by those images and experiences. Knowing I am loved and accepted by a Heavenly Father is Dad’s legacy to me and to our family.

I sometimes wonder what legacy I am leaving for my son to learn from and pass on. When Rembrandt painted his famous interpretation of the biblical story depicting the return of a prodigal son he placed the father in the physical center of the painting. It was his attempt to focus attention on the important role of the father in this story of greed, selfishness, and rebellion by a younger son. Many of us who know this story long to be loved and forgiven the way this son was, even after he had squandered the father’s inheritance and lived a wild and raucous lifestyle. Others prefer to jealously resent the attention given to a sibling and angrily denounce our father for not appreciating our loyalty.

But who wants to be the father, or should I say, like this father? Here is a man who grieved the pain his wayward son caused him, who shed tears in his absence, who never lost hope that he might someday return home. Our legacy as fathers is to model compassion, to prepare our hearts to receive our children wherever their journeys may take them, and forgive them from the heart. The forgiveness modeled by this father was unconditional - no apologies were needed, no excuses offered. The father isn’t looking for some indication that his son now realizes his mistake and is admitting to his dad “You were right after all.” Instead the father is generous - generous by giving his departing son what he asks for, generous in offering a welcome home celebration upon his return, and even generous with his resentful eldest son.

It’s humbling to consider offering a similar legacy to my son. There is a certain level of emptiness when our children, regardless of age, disappoint us. It is hard to be at home waiting for them to find their way. Yet fathers (and mothers) must model compassion in our grief, forgiveness in our disappointment, and generosity that is extended without strings attached. When we behave in this way our sons and daughters will have a legacy of love to sustain them and to pass on. Thanks, Dad, for the memories and legacy lessons you shared with me!

Sunday, June 9, 2013

A Life Story

Leaders emerge in every area of life. Some are more imposing, others quite humble. This past week one of my dear friends and mentors passed away at the age of 90 and I have dedicated this week’s post in his memory. This tribute was shared at his memorial service today (June 9, 2013). I hope it will inspire and encourage you.

Each of us is shaped by the DNA we inherited from our parents and by the life experiences we encounter along life’s journey. In Abe Alderfer’s case his strong work ethic seems firmly linked to both these influences. His dad was an early riser and hustled about their dairy farm to get the work done. Abe was usually awake each day around 4:30 AM and, even in his later years, had an insatiable urge to get things done. All this in spite of the fact that his body didn’t always want to cooperate.

I never had the pleasure of seeing Abe in action on the farm or while he worked with the Franconia Township road crew.
But, I do recall his physical toughness during my trips to the lumber yard at Snyder’s in Hatfield or working along side him at a Salford work day. I marveled at how much strength emanated from such a tall, lean frame. Anyone who shook Abe’s hand knows what I am talking about.

Abe and Marian’s home occupies a portion of their former dairy farm. It is graced with some magnificent trees and a spacious lawn that both of them took great pride in keeping mowed and leaf-free. In spite of health limitations these past few years Abe still enjoyed taking his turn riding the mower, trimming, and sweeping those ever-present leaves.

For a number of years Abe and Marian served our church as custodians and Abe would spend hours trimming in the cemetery, regardless of the heat. George Gaugler will likely tell you that no one trims as well as Abe did. They both loved this work and served with dedication and joy.

Even after giving it up, they could be found most Sunday mornings enjoying one of Sandy Wampole’s sweet treats and a cup of coffee with the custodians and sound technicians who gather early. Then it was off to their favorite pew so Abe could enjoy the pre-service music.

I’m not sure how many of us can say with conviction that they “love to go to church” but that was true of Abe. He genuinely looked forward to every service and opportunity to attend Sunday school class. His “amens” could be heard after an especially inspiring message or testimony. One of the things I will miss most as his teacher is the absence of that distinctive Pennsylvania Dutch accent when I solicit volunteers to read the scripture text. Abe always loved to participate in this way and I enjoyed listening. How do you replace that gift?

Abe and I share a love for good coffee, an appreciation for scripture, and a passion for hard work. He has been a constant source of encouragement and modeled love and commitment as a devoted husband for 67 years. Melody and I enjoyed numerous visits in their home and at Grand View Hospital when Abe would have one of his frequent bouts with pneumonia. Our final visit took place this past Sunday evening when his most recent trip there became his last.

For nearly 91 years the rhythms of faith, family, and work combined to govern the life we remember tonight. I am grateful for Abe’s friendship and humbled by the family’s invitation to share in this service. These words from Matthew 25 offer a fitting tribute to Abe: “Well done, thou good and faithful servant... enter into the joy of your master.”

Sunday, June 2, 2013

Surprising Service

This past Friday my wife and I paid a visit to the Social Security Administration office in Allentown on a mission to navigate the final phase of a bureaucratic problem with her social security card. We had discovered a day earlier that none of their account records reflected her married name (even though she had a printed card with the correct number and name in her possession). Neither of us were very optimistic as we entered the building clutching a name change application and original marriage certificate from nearly 39 years ago.

It’s ironic that civil service (the term used to describe public employees) is usually anything but what you receive at the hands of government workers. My initial impression as we surveyed the foyer was “this could be a long wait.” An array of official warning signs were posted on the doors and walls. Apparently it’s a federal offense to do almost anything in a public building that we, the taxpayers, have funded. Hardly a welcoming sight for visitors.

There were the expected rows of plastic chairs and a seated security guard asking everyone if they were carrying a weapon. I hoped no one in line was lying because he did nothing to verify anyone was unarmed. We took our place in the queue, hoping the four visible windows were all occupied by staff and that our turn in line would come quickly. Sure enough, we were soon perched at the yellow line on the floor waiting to be called to the check-in window.

Our first encounter was the level of service we were expecting—a perfunctory greeting, an obligatory inquiry about the reason for our visit, and a printed ticket with our “wait number”. There was no friendly invitation to have a seat but we found the plastic chairs and settled in wondering what might be next.

The surprising service happened a few minutes later when our ticket number was called and we found ourselves standing in front of a window framing the person who held the fate of our request in his hands. As my wife explained her situation, the young man frowned in disbelief but immediately set about asking a few confirmation questions and verifying her account. Then he graciously began handling the necessary paperwork and other steps to correct the situation.

In a few minutes a temporary card was in our hands and he assured us a permanent replacement would be mailed within two weeks. Although I don’t remember a formal apology, he did everything he could to reassure my wife that her funds would not be affected by this change and that the records now reflected what her old card said—she is actually married to me. We left relieved and amazed that this unexpected incursion into our weekend travel plans had only taken about ten minutes of our time.

As is often the case with surprising customer service, the employee’s name is soon forgotten. Yet, here I am nearly 36 hours later recounting the story and still feeling good about our encounter. I hope this young man doesn’t lose his ability to please the customer in a workplace culture that didn’t seem to support his approach. It would be nice to return a few years from now knowing that “civil” service is actually what everyone in the office now delivers.