DAISY

The daily challenge in my line of work is to constantly bring a sense of professionalism, of integrity in both deed and word to the process of building a for-profit company.  If you know me, it is a daunting task to merely keep myself grounded, much less my little corner of a large and diverse company culture. But my disciplines prompt me to attempt the challenge even with meager resources.  This past week turned out to be a role reversal. I spent the week with a charming and dedicated couple who taught me a great deal about being thankful.

Their story began in Amarillo, Texas in 1999 where their son and daughter-in-law had just delivered the greatest gift, a first grandchild, a granddaughter. They stayed and beamed with pride as only we grandparents can do, cuddled their new love, then with regret made their way home to Sonoma California. A few short days later their son called with news that he was ill and hospitalized. So they rushed back to Amarillo where an 8 week illness grew progressively worse. They care-flighted their son to Seattle for a bone marrow transplant that never happened. He died those few weeks later at the age of 33 with an infant  daughter and wife and now grieving parents.

For most of us the story would end there. We would spend the intervening years adjusting to our new reality ;adjusting to a world that had lost a lot of the brightness and joy that we had anticipated. After a time we would have attempted to stow the burden of regret into the closet we never open and never clean out and never use again. For my part it might have made me quieter and more cynical about the world and those in it.

But while still in the deepest throes of their grief, the parents and the daughter-in-law sat down and determined that there had to be a better way. What resulted in those anguished moments was a foundation designed to simply say, ‘Thank you’ to the women and men in the nurse’s uniforms who made the final weeks of their son’s and the family’s lives bearable. Their goal was to communicate this thankfulness to as many as possible. In their minds if they could create a moment for 100 nurses to realize they help everyday they put the uniform on, then they would consider it a success. In this moment the DAISY Foundation was born.

They tell the story much better than I. Their composure in the telling of the story only highlights the profound gratitude that they communicate to these nurses. It is a simple story and simple mission, say ‘Thank you’ to as many as they can, in person if possible. It was humbling to me to sit and listen and be treated like royalty when I had nothing to do with their story or their mission. But it also caused me to reflect on my life and the instances where my response could have been more gracious and had greater impact.

You see, the real mission is to keep their son’s legacy alive. By telling the story of his death, they create a moment of joy and thus bringing to life his memory. My response might be to say, ‘How much joy could this little moment bring? After all the price was our son, the price was too high.’ Then I remember that over 40,000 nurses have been honored in the years since. These gatherings in the hospitals are a big event; the nurses have stories told of their dedication, their compassion, their strength. Tears are flowing in humbleness over being honored in this way. There have also been 300,000 nominees who shared this moment of joy. Since its inception over 1500 hospitals have signed up to participate. Can you calculate the growing ocean of joy? Was the loss of the son worth it? I don’t know, but the memory of the son is worthwhile.

This week taught me the spiritual truth that the greatest moments, the worthwhile moments emerge from the greatest tragedies. The teaching was to take my deepest moments of loss and determine to create smaller moments of joy. This is not simply a grieving couple finding a way to cope. This is an inspiring story of turning tragedy into joy and joy into further dedication. And it is a story that reminded me that we each have opportunities to turn tragedy into joy. As the current spiritual hymn says, this is how we overcome.

 

Godspeed to my newest heroes, Mark and Bonnie Barnes. All I can think to say is what you have taught me, ‘Thank you.’

Don

True North

When I was just a kid on the farm in west Texas, we did not get a lot of candy or treats from the store. So when we got a chance I always chose Cracker Jacks. The popcorn covered in that caramel with the peanuts made for a great treat with my NeHi Grape. Then there was always the "surprise". What a great gimmick. A 2 cent incentive for average sweets (I have gotten much more sophisticated in my old age with Peanut M&Ms) would swing me over all the time. Specifically I remember the little compass that came in one of the boxes. I was fascinated. Not sure why, I lived on a farm where I knew every bump and hole and briar patch like the back of my hand. There was never any doubt about where North, or South, or East, or West, or any combination of directions were in relation to my current position. But it was cool to sync up what I knew with what the little compass was telling me. Over time the little compass would stick or wiggle as if trying to make up its mind, then with a little gentle tapping and later a significant amount of banging with my fist, it would settle on true north. I'm sure the mud and perspiration and dust from a little boy's adventures was taking it toll. But it would with prompting try to get to true north.

It seems to me that the same can be said for my own moral compass. Over the years from the dirt and grime of living, the perspiration of battles fought, grievances held and inflicted, personal desires over desires for others, the little compass has struggled to find true north. So occasionally I have to tap, then shake, then bang on the compass to get it show me true north. The older I get the more I know when true north is not indicating, but the temptation to ignore it has become easier to justify. My disciplines and the advice of my bride and the gentle correction of my little community of faith are all the instruments of rattling my little compass back to true north.

Now I jump to the global stage (big leap, but follow me here) My first reaction to the current Syrian event is that we should just leave them alone, let the dust settle, then deal with the survivor. Then it seemed that rational discourse might be the best avenue, but there is little to indicate that either side brings much rational thought to the entire deal anyway. Of course now we have to consider and debate the idea of military action. And finally the humanitarian groups would kick in and try to supply basic supplies into a situation that was likely to overwhelm their puny resources.

I guess the thing that stumps me the most is our (North American, judeo-christian, capitalistic) arrogance that we have any of these solutions. It seems to me that someone has removed all the magnetics that formally powered our compass. We have a dear friend, whom I love like my own sister, who claims when we travel with them that whatever direction she is facing is "north". We love her to death, but we don't let her navigate. It seems now that our national compass merely indicates north, while the reality is that it could be any direction. To believe that violence will resolve the situation is to believe that the needle is pointed north while facing Mexico from Dallas. To lob missiles over the fence and believe that this is a rational solution is national arrogance gone wildly off course. I have little faith that anyone in charge has a clue where true north lies. Think about it, they only have a 1 in 360 chance of being right.

So like my little compass on the farm, or my moral compass in my own life, it takes thoughtful, rational reflection to get me and us back on course. As a functional skeptic I hold little hope that our current climate will employ that type of discipline. But I hold great hope that I can find true north for myself and those in my immediate world.

But what can we leave our progeny? I have 6 little ones that I proudly refer to as my "six pack" What do I leave them? The only answer I can come up with is that I leave them with the moral compass still pointing to true north. The circumstances in their lives will be far different than mine, or my folks, or their folks. This world keeps spinning, we cannot allow our fears to override our dedication to what we know is true. If all I leave them is a compass that never sticks, or wriggles, or points falsely, then I have left them with the best gift of all. True North.

Godspeed to those who desire to know true north and struggle with the implicaitons of misreading or misapplying the direction. We must point our lives to true north, then those around us, then those that follow.
Don