Perseverance

So You Think You’re Tough?

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I like to think I’m tough. Here’s how I know I’m not.

The other day I was re-reading Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Farmer Boy. I love reading about these hardy pioneers. I mostly love to read about them while sipping tea in my fuzzy slippers.

Now these folks were tough. Back then, it got so cold that when they went out on the horse-drawn sleigh, they would have to pause and hold a mittened hand to the horse’s muzzle. This defrosted the ice buildup and allowed them to breathe.

This gives me pause every time I get that tingly sensation in my nostrils on a really cold day. (Think for a moment about what you consider to be a really cold day. We’ll come back to that in a moment.)

In the middle of winter, they prepare the icehouse for next summer. They go to the lake and cut, with a handsaw, 20”x20”x20” blocks of ice. Then they carry each block with big metal tongs, load the sleigh, unload the sleigh, stack them in the icehouse, and tamp them down with sawdust. Which all sounds like a hard day’s work until I googled, just out of curiosity, how much a 20” cube of ice weighs.

Here’s what I found.

According to this ice weight calculator (Google has everything), a 20”x20”x20” block of ice, or 8000 cubic inches, would weigh just shy of… 265 lbs. Two-hundred-sixty-five pounds*! Slung with a pair of metal tongs and stacked to the roof of the icehouse.

That goes from a hard day’s work to an impossibility. I think I’m doing good when I can sling a 30lb bag of dog food.

I take another sip of tea.

Tough Temperatures

Then I read how when it gets below -40°F (minus forty! How does that compare to your “really cold day?”) the father goes out in the middle of the night to run the calves around the barnyard. This exercise warms them up. Otherwise, they could freeze to death in their sleep.

I would like to point out that this gives a whole new perspective to the idea of running in circles. Running in circles can, in fact, save your life. I’m going to use this to console myself the next time I feel like I’m stuck on life’s dark treadmill.

I would like to additionally point out that we also have a Father who sometimes makes us get up and run around the barnyard. He goads us out of complacency but within the confines of his will and it feels, if I’m being honest, quite mean.

It is probably saving our life.

Sometimes we’d rather just curl up in the straw and take a nap. Sometimes we’re waiting for the gate to be flung open so we can finally charge down the road to the future. Instead, we’re stuck in between. Not able to rest, and not able to get anywhere either. Running in circles.

Could we choose to ignore the prodding and stay right where we are? Of course.

Could we sneak through the fence and charge into greener pastures? Of course.

Is it going to go well with us if we do? Probably not.

Tough Lessons in the Barnyard

God gives us lessons in the barnyard. I don’t know what they all are, and quite honestly, I wish I’d learn them sooner. But, I do know that God says we are to take His yoke upon us and learn from Him. And we better do that in the barnyard before we go charging down the road. Otherwise, we’re likely to end up in a tangled heap in the ditch, as young Almanzo’s calves did when he let them through the gate too soon.

Is there something you are grasping for that always seems just out of reach? Maybe it’s time to pause and listen. Take another walk around the barnyard.

Are you just… so… tired, you aren’t sure you can put one foot in front of the other? Don’t give up. Spring is coming. Take another walk around the barnyard.

There are lessons we can learn from these hardy pioneers. About toughness. About perseverance. About patience.

About gratitude for things like fuzzy slippers.

I think I’ll go microwave some tea.

*Because I didn’t believe this number, I kept googling, and every calculation I ran came back to this number. If anyone has a different calculation, let me know!

This post was first written and shared at inspireafire.com. Enjoy some fuzzy slipper time this Valentine’s Day!

Percussive Boom

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Add this to the list of weird things that have happened to me.

Percussive Boom. Geyser.

I was running my dog outside before a work-from-home meeting (that part is not unusual), when my shoes crunched across something unexpected in the driveway.

Glass. Thick brown shards of it extending from my puppy’s poo pail across the width of my car’s back bumper.

My mind ran the gamut in about 15 seconds – had someone thrown beer bottles against my garage door? Had the outside light shattered? Had there been glass in my driveway yesterday and I drove over it?

I scanned every nearby surface until my gaze froze at the shattered edge of my car’s back window.

Whoa.

No Ordinary Shatter

This was no ordinary shatter, if a car window shattering is ever ordinary. This looked like there had been a percussive boom inside my car. The lip edge of my rear window was curled outward and flanked with broken glass. There was no single point of blast, no rock-through-the-hole center. Instead, there was a maze of spider veins and a series of chipped layers all across the window that were reminiscent of sharp flakes of shale. Add to this picture the fact that my car was backed – backed! – against the garage door. Another car closer to the road was untouched.

I was flummoxed.

There was no sign of anything heavy falling off the roof – where would it have gone?

Could something inside my car have exploded? There was nothing in there but a half-full bottle of frozen water and my dog’s towels.

I called the police because I needed a witness to my perplexity.

The Investigation

The attending officer agreed it didn’t look malicious.

“But what caused it?” I asked.

“Weird things happen,” he said with a shrug.

Shatter lines

I imagine an officer working the beat has witnessed weirder things than a car window shattering for no apparent reason. For me, however, this was right up there. Maybe not quite Unexplained Flying Objects weird, but close.

His best explanation was some kind of air pressure caused the window to shatter. When we shut the car doors, the quiet slam caused half the window to shower into my car.

“See?” he said. As though this were a perfectly predictable response.

I waved him on his way and called my insurance agent.

Answers

“What’s your best guess as to what caused the broken window?” she asked.

“Umm… air pressure,” I hedged, as I tried to explain the miraculous shattering.

“Has it been cold there and have you used your defroster lately?” she asked.

“25°F and yes, yesterday.”

“That happens,” she answered, keyboard clicking in the background.

That happens? I’ve been driving nearly 30 years in sub-freezing temperatures, sometimes in places where plugging in your car to keep the engine block from freezing is a thing. And I have never heard of your window spontaneously shattering while parked in your driveway.

But I wasn’t about to argue with the nice lady filing my claim.

The call ended with a referral to a local glass shop and a promise that the repairs would be covered in full. I may be vacuuming glass dust from my trunk for weeks, but one step at a time. Currently my car’s tail is shrouded in black garbage bags, and no one better run up the driveway barefooted. Which, given the weather, is probably unlikely.

Weird, right? Have you ever heard of a car window shattering at 25°F a day after using the defroster?

If you’re like me, now you have.

Lessons Learned

Here are the lessons I draw from this little tale.

  1. Weird things happen. Sometimes they make good stories.
  2. I tried googling percussive boom to see if it was a legitimate phrase. Google suggested I might actually be trying to search for Percussive Boomwhackers, which is a musical instrument in the plosive aerophone and idiophone family. I don’t know what most of those words mean, but I suspect the sound my car made when the glass shattered is very similar to a Boomwhacker so I kept the phrase.
  3. Things shatter: windows, relationships, us. Sometimes the breaking comes from an external blow. Sometimes it comes from our own internal pressure cooker. Sometimes we have no idea what happened; we just see the pieces. But all this mess – me, you, that dude down the street – the repair for all of it is paid in full. We may still have to have the repair work done. We may need some protection in the meantime because it can be vulnerable to be shattered. But if we are willing to take the necessary steps, the offering is on the table. When we take the first step – it doesn’t even have to be the step, it can just be a step – God reveals the second step. Repair work proceeds step-by-inch-by-step.

In a tiny twist of dramatic irony, I stopped by the mailbox on our evening walk. There, in an oversized white envelope, was my annual car insurance bill.

If ever there was a clarion call to action, this might be it.

I think I’ll pay it.

This post was first posted to inspireafire.com. Wishing you a shatterproof day today 🙂

I Need You to be Okay Without Me

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This post is about my dog. And about so much more than my dog.

It’s also about me, and possibly you, too.

You see, when the pandemic hit, I was one of the lucky ones. Through a series of fortunate arrangements, I have been working remotely for the past two years. My dog loves this deal, and despite the constant teleporting between virtual meetings, I love it too. She lays by my feet all day. We enjoy lunch on the back porch. We go for walks in the evening. We are, as the saying goes, attached at the paw.

Which will be a problem in a few months when I return to the office.

For two years we have rarely been apart. She co-pilots our route to the curbside groceries. She mooches treats from every drive-through establishment in town. She protects me from the brave and friendly delivery people.

And pretty soon she will have to be okay without me.

Except I know – and perhaps you do too – that sometimes there is nothing okay about being apart from those we want to be with.

It’s been three years now since my father passed away. I still catch myself expecting to see him, expecting to hear him, expecting to talk to him. I don’t think that will ever go away. The absence of his presence is nearly as tangible as his actual presence. It’s as though someone took that piece of my life and carved it into a metal ink press. The part that’s missing is the part that makes the picture when it’s stamped.

It’s not gone. It’s just completely inverted. And I don’t like it at all.

If our definition of okay is who we were “before,” then we may never be okay again. Instead, we become okay with not being okay. We become okay with being who we are “after.”

That’s what I’m working on with my dog now. The differently hard. And the differently joyful.

Dog chewing on toy.

We’ve started a robust separation desensitization routine. A dozen times a day I walk out the front door and right back in. Or gather my keys and then set them back down. Every day we practice quiet crate time in the other room.

Little by little the panic is a little less panicked. Little by little she is learning – I hope – that she can be okay without me.

She might even find that although this is new, and it’s not what she asked for, that there will be good things, too. There will be opportunities she wouldn’t have had otherwise – and no, I don’t mean sneaking into the garbage unobserved.

What can any of us say about the road ahead? We can say this: that our eyes have not seen, our ears have not heard, and our hearts have not begun to imagine what God has prepared for those who love him. We have the strength of the Father guiding us through both the lines and the spaces. We can embrace both the joy and the pain. And we can cling to the one presence that we never need to be okay without.

This post was originally written for inspireafire.com.

Heading for Takeout

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There’s a saying in my family: When Janet heads to the kitchen (that’s me), then everyone else heads for takeout.

I’m fully convinced I could headline on the “Worst Cooks in America” if I could just survive in the kitchen long enough to submit an audition tape.

Some of my culinary mishaps are the stuff of urban legend. Like the time I exploded a plate while making French toast for my friends.

I don’t mean I broke a plate. I mean it was a duck-under-the-table-shrapnel-flying explosion. Apparently, I turned the wrong burner on. (I wondered why my French toast was still raw even as I turned the heat higher and higher.)

After that my friends ushered me out of the kitchen, swept my floor and countertops, and called me when breakfast was ready.

I get that response a lot.

There was the time I made pudding from scratch that was so lumpy I called it chocolate chunk pudding and convinced everyone it was intentional. And recently during a family visit, my mom came down the hallway calling, “Wow, whatever those plumbers did really stinks… oh, wait, I think that’s your cooking.”

There is, however, one culinary expertise that I possess: I make a mean bowl of Jell-O.

Ever since the great soup escapade of 2014, I decided to focus my efforts on something a little more in my wheelhouse. My attempts with powdered gelatin and boiled water have been met with wild acclaim. I no longer have to ask my church family what I should bring to the carry-in.

“How about Jell-O?” they will suggest.

“Yes! We love your Jell-O! Please bring that,” another will chime in.

With such enthusiasm as that, how can I let them down?

Jell-O it is. And I am happy to report that to date, no one has been injured in either the making or consuming of my special gelatin salad. I call that a win for everyone.

All of this bring me to my reflection. When faced with obstacles as insurmountable as my cooking inaptitude, it seems we have three paths to overcoming:

#1 Find your special niche.

I’m not about ready to whip up a crème brûlée, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be successful in some small and still important part. (Who doesn’t love a colorful Jell-O?) The same is true for you and whatever obstacle you may be facing. I’m not ready to take on cooking-at-large, and you may not be ready to take on your obstacle-at large, but that doesn’t mean there’s not still a place for us at the table. Find your spot and pull up a chair. I’ll be at the end away from the flames and sharp utensils.

#2 Get training.

As much as I hate to admit it, and I’m only going to whisper it here, I have on occasion actually used a (gulp) recipe. And the other day I inadvertently learned how to tenderize chicken by soaking it – oh excuse me, marinating it – in lemon juice or vinegar. I haven’t actually tried it yet. Mine will likely taste like pickled sawdust, but my point is I learned something. There are people out there who know more than us. (Thank God!) Don’t be afraid to learn from them.

#3 Let it go.

Sometimes rather than climbing over obstacles, we can simply walk around them. I wonder how much time we spend in life fighting battles we don’t really need to fight. Take a moment to assess how important your particular challenge is. If it’s important, see #2 above. And if it’s not, well, I say we just forget it and go celebrate with some takeout.

Who’s with me?

This post was originally written for inspireafire.com. I hope this second helping brought a smile to your day!

It’s Time

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The new year is a good time to think about new beginnings, but it certainly isn’t the only time. Into creation God has built cycles, seasons, and even mandates that prompt us to pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and start all over again.

And again.

From the beginning, God established a 7-day cycle of work and rest. To the ancient Israelites he dictated seasons of rest for the land and jubilees of freedom for their people (See Leviticus 25). Those moments of rest, peace, and freedom are wonderful. Unfortunately, getting to these breakthroughs is not always easy.

Innate in the human existence is a spirit of struggle and triumph. We are drawn to epics detailing the hero’s journey. But the Christian message is not one of an elite few who succeed, but an open door to all who will persevere.

I picture Moses leading the Israelites muttering past the same rock formation for the 32nd time. “Are we almost there yet? How much further? We are sick of this miserable food! Did you bring us out here to die?”

A new beginning is coming.

Do these words echo challenges that you face? They certainly do for me. “How much longer? Which way am I supposed to go? When will this end?”

A new beginning is coming.

The process is as important as the new beginning itself. All their wanderings in the desert allowed the Israelite’s hearts and minds to be transformed by God. They entered into their promised land when both they and their new land were ready. Only God knew the perfect timing.

Paul and James both admonish us to rejoice in our sufferings. “Because we know that suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts.” (Romans 5:3-5)

Perhaps this new year has already seen amazing breakthrough for you. Hold onto those lessons as you walk forward.

If you feel like you are walking past the same rock formation for the 32nd time, do not lose hope. God is working even when you do not see or feel the results. A new season is coming if you do not give up.

It is a new year, a new week, a new moment. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again.

This post was first written and shared for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed. Happy New Year, friends!

For Want of a Spreadsheet

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It was a Friday evening and I was staring between two spreadsheets.

It was like one of those children’s picture challenges where you’re supposed to find what’s different, only in this case the spreadsheets were supposed to match. Trying to find the difference was anything but fun.

“Is this really all I have to show for a week of late nights and back-to-back meetings? Another week gone, all those moments I can never get back, and two mismatched spreadsheets is all I have to show for it!”

I took a break, donned my raincoat, and headed out the door. My dog sniffed happily among the weeds while I listened to the rain pounding out my question, God what am I doing here?

Perhaps you’ve asked that question, too. Maybe for you it wasn’t spreadsheets. Maybe it was dirty diapers. Or a double shift on your feet. Or five commitments you had to turn down because five other ones were clamoring for your attention.  You blinked and the time was gone and now you’re wondering: Am I really doing the right thing? Is this the best use of my time? God, am I supposed to be here?

Every fall when the geese fly over my feet get a little itchy. As though they want to migrate, too. It’s my time of year to pause and ask God if I have my priorities rights if I’m leaning in close enough to hear Him, if I’m in the right place or if, just maybe, he might be calling me to something new.

But migration isn’t the only flavor of fall. For every being winging south there is another staying put, digging in with careful preparations for the long winter ahead.

Sometimes fall is about fleeing. And sometimes it’s about painstakingly detailed preparations.

As I pounded out my questions with the rain and my dog and my God, the answer that came to me was not one I expected. What came to mind was this ancient ditty, which appears in various forms through several centuries. Perhaps you have heard it:

For want of a nail a shoe was lost.

For want of a shoe the horse was lost.

For want of a horse the rider was lost.

For want of a rider the message was lost.

For want of a message the battle was lost.

For want of a battle the war was lost.

All for want of a horseshoe nail.

Details do matter. The insignificant is, in fact, significant. We may not see the war, but the nail that we drive in just might be the linchpin that wins it.

The Bible urges us that whatever we do, we should work at it with our whole heart, as though we are working for the Lord (Colossians 3:23). It also says that whatever our hand finds to do, we are to do it with all our might (Ecclesiastes 9:10). I think that includes spreadsheets, and dirty diapers, and whatever you’re facing right now.

There are indeed times where we need to re-prioritize, where God may be telling us to migrate to a new place. But many times we are called to do our best right where we are.

The spreadsheets I work on today will lead to impacts down the road. In my case, this information is needed to help manage an event where many peoples could receive information that is helpful to them. I may see some of the results of these mundane details. But many results I hope and pray will be so far beyond my limited scope that I will never see them.

I don’t see the whole battle plan, but God does. And He put me right here and you right there for a reason.

God is looking for excellence in His followers. He is looking for us to do the best we can, where we are, with whatever we have.

If I have anything to say about it, we aren’t losing this war just for want of a spreadsheet.

I first wrote this post for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

Crazed. Or Not. Finding Balance in the Midst of Extremes.

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Digital display

There is a good kind of stress.

If you’ve always thought of stress as a four letter word in the plural, then this may come as a surprise. But it’s true. It’s even reasonable, once I stopped to consider it.

An environment with absolutely no stress is an environment void of stimulation or purpose. As human beings we need something to engage us. That something, to the scientists among us, is called “eustress” – a beneficial stress in just the right dosage to give a feeling of fulfillment.

Too little and we get bored. Too much and we get overwhelmed.

Balance is the key.

Unfortunately, life seems to try everything it can to send us in any direction except the one that leads to balance.

Take as an example of extremes these past 12-18 months. Not many people have been spared. You may be one who has had far too much to do: front line workers, parents juggling work and at-home schooling, caretakers trying to navigate a system that has been completely upended. Or you may be one who has not had enough to do: quarantined and alone with no visitors and limited chances to venture out. There has not been much middle ground.

I hope and pray along with everyone else that the slow return to a middle ground keeps progressing. And along the way, I am trying to learn what it means to find my own middle ground when the world around me is completely crazed, or completely not.

Either extreme can feel like a prison, and I’ve been in both. I’ve spent time strangling under the tangle of my to-do list and panicked over things left undone. I’ve also battled waves of crushing lethargy that come in the dark nights of an isolating depression. Once the scales start to tip one way or the other, it’s easy to keep spiraling in the same direction. Freedom comes only when I move back against the tide and seek balance. Recognizing where I am is the first step.

One of my favorite Bible verses is 2 Timothy 1:7: For God did not give us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of self-control. This tells me that when I start to feel trapped, powerless, and afraid, those feelings are not from God. God has given me the self-control and the strength to make any necessary changes. I can do it, even when it doesn’t feel as if I can.

The amplified translation drills down into the meaning of that last word “self-control” even further, to say it includes a calm, well-balanced mind. Do you see that word in there again? Balanced. No matter what is going on around me, the Spirit within me has the capability of maintaining a calm, well-balanced mind. My mind in turn can direct the self-control needed to keep from leaping to extremes. Exercising myself in this way is freedom – freedom to think, be and act how I choose regardless of what swirls around me.

This past year has been a severe example, but much of life will tip us one way or the other. If we aren’t careful, we can feel trapped under the confines of our own days. It’s up to us to discover the freedom God has waiting for us, back in the balance, even in the midst of extremes.

Shoveling Rain

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The storm started as rain.

Cold and pelting. Then sluicing. Then softer.

The quality of the sound changed, the texture of the rain changed, and I knew it was time for action. By the time I bundled into winter gear and opened the door, giant white flakes were soaking into the wetness. Slush coated every surface in heavy crystals. I put the blade of my shovel to the pavement and shoved a path forward. The sound was a satisfying slop.

Anyone who has ever chipped ice from a driveway knows that those gentle drops can be deceiving. They are soft only until frozen.

As the white swirl intensified, I scraped as much wetness as I could. Beside me there was a loud crack, and a tree branch crashed to the ground. I felt the thud through the soles of my boots. I jumped; my dog barked. The snow was heavy and wet and covering the shimmer of rain-turned-ice. It was not the first, nor the last branch to fall.

I am grateful we had the trees around the house capped a few weeks ago in anticipation of storms like this. “See that tree,” our tree crew leader said, pointing. “The lower branches are dying but the tree is still healthy. All the growth is up top to get the sunlight. That’s nature’s way of pruning. ”

Pruning. I mull this over as I scrape slush amidst the sound of falling branches.

There’s the arborist who trims limbs and sculpts tree crowns so they don’t get too heavy and pull the whole tree over in a storm. There’s also the trimming of dead branches to devote more nutrients to the living, growing ends. Like the vinedresser coaxing more fruit from the vine.

At its simplest, pruning is the process of cutting back in one area to allow for more growth in another. And it happens one way or another. Either by the caretaker. Or by the storm.

Anyone else see an elephant here? Apparently pruning can also make some fun shapes!

I don’t know about you, but I’m not always good at the cutting back part. I take on more, and more, and even more, but I don’t like the pruning part. I spend much more time thinking about what I will do rather than what I will not do. But like the rain turning to ice or the tree cracking beneath its burden, the pruning needs to happen. And it might be better to take care of it early.

As Christians, we can invite Jesus to show us what needs to be scraped away. He is our caretaker, and His Spirit within us will prompt what needs to be pruned. Sometimes it’s an attitude not reflective of the fruits of the spirit. Sometimes it’s a relationship or an activity or a ready-or-not life transition. Sometimes it’s a message to simply wait on Him.

Our caretaker will prune excesses and scrape lifelessness so that our living end can grow toward the Son.

Our job is to follow His lead. Attend to His promptings early, while it is still slush. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s far better to shovel rain.

This post was originally written and shared for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

Like a Shower of Leaves

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I had forgotten the sound, but I remember it now.

Standing in a New England woods, watching the autumn leaves drift through the canopy, I flash back. I remember tumbling through giant piles of leaves, the scratch of rakes against the lawn, the smell of old work gloves and leafy tannins. I remember the sunlight, how it glowed gold and orange until it felt I was somehow walking through the inner glow of a jack-o-lantern.

If you asked me about my favorite autumn memories, these are the ones that would stir. But I had forgotten, until just now, this one:

A sound that is softer than raindrops but more alive than snowflakes. Like a hundred incandescent butterflies sifting through the branches and settling like whispers on the wind.

I had forgotten what it was like to spin in a circle with my face turned upward to watch so many leaves tumble out of the trees that they bounce off my hat and brush my outstretched hands. They flow like a curtain. Their tiny applause is like a chortle of gratitude. But soft. So soft I have to close my eyes and simply listen.

I had forgotten what it was like to be caught inside a shower of leaves. Not the handful that I see every year and run laughing to play catch with the sky. But a golden whirl that makes me catch my breath, and hold out my arms to be filled.

In that moment, more than my arms are filled. My own spirit lifts and swirls as though also touched by the light. It’s like the word God gave to Ezekiel when He promised “showers of blessing” to His people. There is something in the shower that fills me with hope and wonder and gratitude. Far too often I run after stray blessings, trying to snatch one from the sky. In the whisper of the leaves, I hear God whisper, “Stop. Hold out your arms to be filled.”

God will send showers in their season. Not just showers of rain or showers of leaves, but showers to bless us, sustain us, protect us, deliver us. He will meet our needs in the darkness, in the emptiness, and in the loneliness. When God’s showers come, nothing will make us afraid. We will know the most beautiful certitude of all: that the Lord our God is with us, and that we are His people. (See Ezekiel 34:25-31.)

It is easy to remember this when the golden showers come. But I am so thankful that God’s promise is just as true when the wind seems to blow across empty skies.

The empty-sky times are when we learn to listen harder, dig deeper, and trust further.

If God can do this with leaves, just imagine what else he can do.

Close your eyes. There is a whisper as soft as a butterfly wing. Do you hear it?

Hold our your arms to be filled.

This post was first written for inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!

Leadership Lessons in a Blade of Grass

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I once gave a speech likening our personal development to grass. I am reminded of this speech today as I try to enjoy a late afternoon nap. You’ll understand the connection in a moment.

I was a senior in college and president of a student organization that was welcoming its next class of inductees. The room was filled with students and friends, faculty and administrators. Even the college president and his wife.

It was a big deal.

I talked about growth, about perseverance over time, about coming back when our dreams have been mowed down. The speech was inspired by the cantankerous lawn mowers that always revved outside my dorm window the moment I tried to sneak in a late afternoon nap. It never failed that right then is when they decided the grass needed trimming.

My fellow students could relate.

“But no matter how often life cuts you down, you must continue to grow,” I exhorted.

The audience laughed at the right moments and listened at the serious points. I was in my element. When it was over, the president stopped by and shook my hand.

“That was one of the best student speeches I’ve heard,” he said.

Now let me put this in its proper context. It was a small college. The type of place where the president might pass you on the sidewalk on the way to class and say hello. Even if he didn’t quite know your name, he’d certainly know your face. He had no doubt paid similar compliments to dozens of student leaders. I hadn’t done anything extra special, and he hadn’t said anything extraordinary. But 20 years later, I still remember the compliment.

The memory returned to me this afternoon when a lawn mower jamboree broke out in my neighborhood the moment I tried to sneak a little nap. (It still never fails.) The longer I laid there counting grass blades and trying to sleep, the stronger the lesson became. That moment, out of all the moments, was significant enough for me to recall it so many years later.

The price of leadership is often high: High stress, high pressure, high stakes. But some of the longest lasting impacts of leadership happen in between all the important stuff.

You take time out of your schedule to attend an inconsequential event. You look someone in the eye. You shake their hand. You tell them, “That was a fine job.”

And 20 years later, that still means something. Those words are still pouring fertilizer on a blade of grass that has been mowed down and mowed down and mowed down – but is still continuing to grow.

How many contracts expire within a few years? How many business dealings degrade within a decade? Do you even recall what was discussed at last Tuesday’s meeting?

There is an opportunity in between all of that to have a real impact.

Every one of us can take time out of our schedule to attend to an inconsequential moment. We can look someone in the eye. We can shake their hand. We can tell them, “That was a fine job.”

We may never know what those words mean. But all around us, lives could be growing. Not because of some big, sweeping contribution we made. No, quite the opposite.

We simply need to implement the leadership lessons contained in a blade of grass.

This post originally was shared at inspireafire.com. I hope you enjoyed it!