No excuses...just keep trying. How my grandmother taught me about perseverance.

My maternal grandmother was an amazing woman. She was born in Northeast Philadelphia in 1901. Her parents had immigrated here, and she was their eldest child. For whatever reason –whether their Old World traditions or just the necessity of another set of hands to help in the kitchen- she never attended school beyond the third grade.

This bothered her terribly and she saw herself as not much more than illiterate for a large portion of her life. She married and had two children. She never learned to drive, never ventured anywhere that my grandfather couldn’t take her…when he was sober enough to drive.

She possessed one of the most beautiful singing voices I have ever heard. It was angelic. It was sweet, clear and perfect in pitch. She had an encyclopedic knowledge of music and could sing songs of virtually any style or genre.

Her life was limited. She didn’t accomplish a lot as you and I might view it. To me she was a saint. She kept me alive when I was a little boy and my unmarried mother was working and still trying to have something of the social life that nineteen year old young women have.

Her lack of reading skills and vocabulary bothered her greatly and finally one day she decided to do something about it. Long before I was born…sometime after WWII, she bought herself a Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary. It was almost 3 inches thick. It had a hard cover and print as tiny as the font in a phone book. She kept it on a table next to the chair in the little window-box that bumped out from the dining room. It was her favorite place to sit and read. She had a table radio, tuned to the local Christian radio station sitting on a doily on that same table.

Sometime in the late 40’s she decided that the only way she could address the lack of a vocabulary was to read the dictionary. So she did. The whole thing. Cover to cover.

She wrote down any word she didn’t know and memorized the word and the definition.

As with anyone with natural intelligence, once she finished the dictionary, she thirsted for more. In 1953, at a time when encyclopedia salesmen still sold their products door-to-door, (In a time when we actually used an encyclopedia) she saw another opportunity. She couldn’t get to the library because she couldn’t drive. But this man showed up at the door one day, selling what, to her, was a ticket to a world of knowledge she might never have entered. She bought the entire set.

It came in several boxes, along with a very modern-looking glass bookcase. My grandmother dove into volume one, page one of the Funk and Wagnall’s New World Encyclopedia. It took her over two years, during which she raised two children, took care of her ailing elderly mother who had moved in with her, took in laundry and ironing to make up for the money that an alcoholic husband was losing at the bar, and did her best to keep the lights lit and belly’s full. She read every volume. Every word of every article about topics that she had never heard of before.

I can’t imagine what that must have felt like. Her world had seemed so small until that point. Not much existed beyond the distance she could walk from her house on the outskirts of Philadelphia, or the odd occasion when my grandfather would drive her. Suddenly that world expanded into the infinite.  The encyclopedia expanded her mind and her imagination. Her vocabulary exploded to the point that, by the time I was born in 1963 I would venture a guess that she had a Master’s level education. She was a fountain of knowledge. She remembered everything she read. Her mind drank it in like a sponge and stored it like a bank vault. I don’t remember the woman who only had a third grade education and the vocabulary to match. I only knew the woman who would dazzle me with her lexicon when we played Scrabble for hours at the dining room table. She’d come up with a “Twenty Point word” and I would challenge her “Mom-mom…that’s not a word!” and she would break out that trusty Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and show me the word and make me read it to her and remember the definition. She was a champion at Scrabble and at crossword puzzles as well. It was her only outlet for the vast knowledge she’d gained.

I marvel at this still. She read an entire encyclopedia.

That’s 32 volumes, each over 500 pages. Because it’s all she could do.

Well it’s not really all she could have done. She could have decided it was just her lot in life. She could have decided that there just wasn’t any opportunity for a woman in her time. That it took money and certain social standing to get an education. That this life was all she had and so why try to improve it? She could have descended into bitterness and hopelessness, and the shame and embarrassment of illiteracy. She could have reacted to the situation of her life. Instead she responded.

She saw what was available. What she could do. And then she did it.

I have no doubt it saved her life. And years later, it saved mine.

In 2009, after the first year of homelessness, (almost four more would follow) I decided that the only hope I had to improve my situation was to finish my degree. So I enrolled at my alma mater, in their distance learning program and I set about fixing my life.

I studied at the library. I studied at the local Panera restaurant because they had free wifi. I studied at the Fed-Ex office because they were open 24 hours. I studied by flashlight in the torn-up front seat of that 1995 Volvo 850, where I also slept. My studies were the only good thing I had going on in my life at the time. The only measurable success I had at a dark, difficult time. Each semester I could look at my final grades and see progress toward a goal that was literally giving me a reason to go on.

In May of 2012, I completed my bachelor’s degree and walked with my class. I was still homeless, but for the first time in four years I had succeeded at something.

Four years further on and I am working at that same alma mater, where my daughter is now a freshman. I have just a little more invested in my job here than most, because of what this place provided for me when my life was so bad.

I did what I could do to improve myself. I could have resorted to section 8 housing, foodstamps, and a lifetime of entitlements. Instead I played on the one string that was still holding a tune.

I gained more than an education…much more. I gained resilience, strength, vision. I gained the ability to tell my daughter that when the going gets tough, you put your head down, tighten your grip and try harder. I cried. I shivered in the cold. I thought, at times, that it wasn’t worth it or that it wouldn’t make any difference. But I never gave in to the urge to quit.

I can look back on that difficult walk with pride and self-respect. I did it when the world said I could not.

We see evidence everywhere that this generation demands people to cater to them. To give them “safe spaces” and tolerance and diversity mandates and quotas. What they need is grit. What they need is to tighten those laces, wipe the sweat from their brow, and spit in the eye of whatever is resisting their success and say “I don’t care who you are or what you say or how you try to stop me…I will not quit!”

Instead they want us to pass laws to make the world treat them with kid gloves. They have no stories like mine or my grandmother’s to draw from when the world comes to kick their butt –and it will. They have no archetype of success in the midst of failure from which to build their plan for rebuilding.

This world is hard and tough. It’s tougher if you aren’t tough on yourself. Victory that comes easy is not really a victory. When things get you down and the world has dealt you a crappy hand, play it anyway!

Buy yourself a set of encyclopedias, turn your car into a study hall, and kick those obstacles in the teeth!

Perseverance will take you anywhere…quitting leaves you right where you are.

                                          High Hopes!

                                              Craig

                                                   

Training the CULTURE in your workplace. Why personal development matters as much as professional development.

                                                                          

Corporations spend billions each year training their people to do the job they were hired to do. This is obviously necessary, but are they missing the biggest point? With such a heavy focus on job training and process training, are we missing culture training? We all know how "one bad apple" can spoil the whole basket, and the same is true in a company. Has professional development taken too high a place at the expense of personal development?

We place so much emphasis on the "almighty process" that we practically give permission for some employees to perform with a bad attitude. In that case, (in my mind) no matter how good at the task the employee is, he is doing his job poorly. It was true in my ten years in mortgage banking. The processors and underwriters, who were tough, sharp, sticklers for regulations, and methodical but who had the great "I want to help you make this work" attitude were always the most productive and closed the highest volume. The L.O. who behaved like a prima donna because he had a good month last month, but turned in incomplete files, was rude to his customers, and bad with his follow-up never seemed to get referral business, and often jumped from one company to the next. He was mercurial in his production. But the guy who did his job thoroughly, and who made good friends from his customers, regardless of their credit score or the size of the home they were buying...that guy went far in the business.

In IT it is similar. It is a tech driven world we live in and more and more the IT providers out there -whether in house or outsourced- know how vital they, and the service they provide, are to the end user. They may never say it, but they communicate "Oh yeah...imagine your life if I don't fix this for you, or develop this webpage, or upload this patch..." every time they are contacted. Everyone from a CSR to an engineer can relay the same message if they aren't trained on culture.  

What is the culture of customer service in your company? Most employees from upper management down to the maintenance staff can recite the corporate mission statement. Most of them know the "roles and goals." But can they define the proper culture of the business? Can you? Have you spent countless hours training and emphasizing and reinforcing the "steps to the process" and the mission statement  but never defined how you want the culture of your company to look? Have you clearly outlined the 1 year, 5 year 10 year goals etc, and ignored the basics of "I want my people known for treating a customer like this..."  Have you considered culture training? Should you?

One example in closing. I have Sprint wireless service. I have had them for 5 years. when I moved to Lynchburg, I switched to Verizon briefly (leaving my Sprint account open because it was only one month from end of contract) because Sprint did not have LTE service here at the time. The Verizon experience was the most horrible example of customer service I have ever seen. They were terrible. They were deceptive and shady and when I called to ask for help they were arrogant and rude. You know what I did? I went back to Sprint! Would you like to know why? Because Sprint's culture of customer service was OUTSTANDING! I have never...not once since starting with them in May 2011, had a bad experience with them, either on the phone or in a store. They are kind, they are patient, they are polite, they LISTEN, they don't tell me I'm not having a problem when I called because I AM! I went back to them -even though I knew I was getting slower service- because I want to be treated decently. Not special treatment, not royal treatment...just decent treatment.  They got LTE service here about two months ago so in the end I won. But even without it, I was happier where I was being respected and treated kindly. 

Verizon's system was better. Their beloved, "almighty process" was faster and bigger. But they were gigantic jerks and I'd rather have slow data speeds with a kind, helpful support staff. That's life. We do business with those we like. I had a boss once who said "You make friends out of your customers, not customers from your friends." and he was right. Management MUST emphasize culture as much or more than they do mission. The number one goal must be delivering GREAT customer service, regardless of the outcome of the process. Some things can't be fixed. Some software just won't work with your network. Some borrowers just weren't going to qualify for that loan. But the biggest question that needs to be answered is "Would you do business with them again and would you want your family doing business with them?" and if it's not answered positively...your process sucks and you are Verizon. 

Losing our humanity in a tech-driven world.

I came across this and it hit home.

There were a lot of times in my journey as a homeless man that I questioned the value of my life. I never got to the point that I thought I'd take my own life, but I certainly lost hope more than once.

What I missed the most...other than my daughter...was just the contact with other people. The interaction with other human beings that reminded me that I was a human being.

This article, and this story, reminds me of those days. Technology has given us the ability to send mail immediately, respond to that mail in seconds, research facts, download coupons, and remind ourselves when our kids' birthday is. 

But none of that can replace a hand on a shoulder, or a handwritten note that arrives at just the right time. Emails and Tweets and pins and likes on Facebook can't replace a conversation and a cup of coffee. (Regular coffee...not some $6 Frappalattecino) Staring at a monitor is not the same as looking someone in the eye. 

This reminds us that humans still need humanity. We need connection and interaction. Read this, and then do something with the way it makes you feel.

Student Buys Homeless man a cup of coffee...click link to read

High Hopes!

Craig

                                                                       

How Homelessness taught me Gratefulness...(a lesson for everyone)

                                             

                 "Give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus." 

Maybe the most important attitude for anyone to have, to teach our kids, to be known for…is gratitude. But it’s such a hard attitude to develop. It’s so hard to be truly grateful in our Western culture where we have so darned much. How can we be truly grateful for our food when we seldom ever suffer real hunger? How can we be grateful for health when the finest healthcare in the world is available to us and most of us would say we have been essentially healthy most of our lives? How many of us have ever been truly grateful for having a home and a bed and a safe haven from the pressures of the world?

Sadly, perhaps the only way to ever truly appreciate these things is to lose them all, or never have them in the first place.

I went through an extended period where I would not say “Grace” before meals because I had come to realize that I was only going through the motions and was not really thankful for my “Daily Bread.”

Homelessness changed all that.

What is a home? Is it four walls and a roof? Is it a designer address in a pricey neighborhood where just your zip code will get you into clubs and restaurants that wouldn’t admit you otherwise? Is it a cabin in the woods?

For me, home was my five acres in the country. I have owned two homes in my lifetime, both while I was living in TN. My first house was special because it was my first house. It was nice, but certainly not my “dream home.”

My second home was everything I’d ever wanted. A 2500 square foot ranch house on five pastoral acres. I had a detached garage where I could build furniture and work on my cars. I could plant a garden. Our two beautiful Springer Spaniels could frolic in the yard. On winter nights I would stand under the stars at midnight and peer into the Milky Way and pray and feel as if God were looking down. In the summers, the grass was alive with lightning bugs and my daughter and I would capture them in glass jars to serve as a nightlight in her bedroom.

No matter how bad my day, how much pressure I felt at my office, how good or bad things were at the moment, when I turned that key and shut the door behind me, the world was kept at bay, outside of those four safe walls. The sound of the latch reverberated with security and sanctuary. I had my chair and my glass for tea. My coffee mug in the morning, the sheets on my bed smelled of fresh air and sunshine.

There was pride in owning my own place. I was an adult now. A homeowner. I was a dad and I was providing my daughter with a wonderful place to explore and discover and contemplate.

And then it was gone…

Even as I typed that last line a lump formed in my throat. I miss my home. I miss those two beautiful Springer Spaniels and that garden and those long, cold walks with God beneath the canopy of a million stars.

I lost that house on January 27, 2008. It seems like a lifetime ago and perhaps it was.

The years that followed were the most heartbreaking, frustrating, painful years I’ve known. The first two years I was homeless, I slept in a 1995 Volvo 850. I am 6’ 4” and that is a small car. I hid it in tall overgrowth so nobody would see me. When you have a home, you are welcome. When you’re homeless, you are a trespasser. When you have a home, you have comfort, safety, security, warmth or cool, food, clean clothes, a bathroom. You have your favorite chair and your favorite coffee mug and you can sit on your porch on cool spring evenings and watch the stars come out.

A homeless person has none of that.

It was 5 ½ years before I’d have a home again. I have a two bedroom townhome that I rent here in Lynchburg. It is small, cramped, devoid of all but the most essential furniture for my daughter and myself. I rent, I do not own it. But it is home. I am welcome. I can shower, cook, wash clothes, and watch TV. I have a bed again. We have a small kitchen table where each morning I drink coffee (from my coffee maker…the only appliance I retained from home ownership after almost 6 years in various storage facilities.) We have a dog. My daughter is a freshman in college and I have a good career here at Liberty University. I stay busy with my side business, building decks and doing trim and finish work. I am writing more books and speaking to groups big and small about the things I endured for my daughter’s sake.

But there was one morning…

We hadn’t been here long, just a few days. I still didn’t have a bed yet. We’d come here with only enough money for two months’ rent and some groceries and necessities. My daughter had a brand new bed someone had given us before we left Nashville, but I had nothing but the foam bedroll I had been sleeping on in my truck. (The Volvo died in 2011 and I purchased a 1996 GMC Yukon, which was far more comfortable for sleeping in) I had almost nothing for furniture…an old couch someone had given us, that rickety kitchen table. But I sat there very early on that first Saturday morning, my daughter was asleep upstairs and I was looking around my kitchen, considering where I had been for the last 6 years. How many mornings I woke up to single digit temperatures and frost inside my car windows. How many times I was at the mercy of public restrooms, or the county rec center being open in order to just take a shower. I thought of how I had to buy coffee at Dunkin Donuts and now I was drinking my own coffee in my own mug in my own kitchen again. I was getting ready to make strawberry pancakes for my daughter for the first time in those six years. My daughter was with me again. We had almost nothing, but when looked at in perspective…I had everything.

That Saturday morning, I broke down and wept. I am fighting tears right now as I write. The gratitude was so deep in my heart that morning that it moved me. I prayed my way around that kitchen. “God thank you for my table and chairs. Thank you for this cup of coffee and my coffee maker that somehow survived six years and multiple storage sheds. Thank you that Morgan is sleeping upstairs. Thank you that I have an upstairs…”

I have never been as grateful as I was that first Saturday when I finally had something again after six years of literally having nothing.

The truth is that almost no one who reads this will ever experience that sort of overwhelming, encompassing loss. I’m glad you won’t. Losing your home is the worst feeling imaginable. Only losing a loved one could be worse. Our home is our hub. Our Headquarters. The fixed end of our compass. Without a home -as simple as it might be- we are adrift on the sea. I had come home to the safe harbor of this small house in Lynchburg and I was more grateful than I’d ever been.

So how can someone replicate that I their own life without experiencing the loss firsthand?

I’m not sure.

I remember reading a marriage book one time and it said that the counselor started marital counseling for his clients by having them write an obituary for the other. Sometimes, just penning the words you would say if they were really gone is enough to spur appreciation. Maybe you could try that. Imagine writing a eulogy for your spouse.

Write a letter to your child…the letter you’ll give them as they drive off to college someday. The next time your beloved dog comes over and lays her head on your lap and lets out a plaintive sigh, begging for just a scratch behind the ears, imagine not being able to do that anymore.

The other – and I think better- way to build your gratitude, and take your eyes off of all that you’d don’t have is to take out a sheet of paper and list everything you really love about the things you do have. What are the best things about your job? Your family? Your boss? Your friends? List everything. Do they pay you well? If not, does the check bounce or do you at least never have to worry about the bank calling you with bad news? Does your boss value your input? Do you have great co-workers who make your tasks easier? Are the difficult coworkers at least pleasant? If not…do they at least bathe and wear clean clothes? It sounds funny but you need to build the habit of finding something good and then being truly grateful for it.

Your kids aren’t perfect but are they good kids? Are they healthy? Do they do reasonably well in school? Your wife isn’t the best driver but she’s a great wife, she’s your best friend, she gave you wonderful children, she cheers your successes and rallies you when you have a tough day. Your husband works hard, protects his family, sacrifices himself for the good of the kids, he’s faithful, he may not be the best talker but he lets you know he loves you.

You don’t have the biggest house but you are sleeping indoors tonight? If it’s cold you can turn on the heat. If you’re dirty you can shower. You can clean your clothes when you need too without a pocketful of quarters.

You won’t be hiding your car in dense overgrowth behind a church so nobody finds you and you can get a few hours of restless sleep.

There is so much to be grateful for but we miss it if we don’t practice gratefulness.

The great Zig Zigler always said: “If you aren’t thankful for what you have, soon you’ll find you have nothing to be thankful for.”

Be thankful for everything!

                                            High Hopes!

                                                 Craig

                                                

                                           

The trees don't have a choice!

The Truth is that regardless of where we come from or what we deal with, personal growth is up to us. Our ATTITUDE is up to us. People from ignoble backgrounds become great...like Dr. Ben Carson. Or people who have everything, yet live with nothing but the desire for something more, like Alexander the Great. What you have now does not have to determine what you can obtain. 
The Bonsai and the Sequoia were both seeds. Something they had no control over determined how high they would grow. We have a choice. We can grow as high as we want. 
It comes down to ATTITUDE!

                                         High Hopes!

                                               Craig