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Few People Have Seen Me Turn White.

The last time I did, was during a discussion which started something like this…

“… and part of your new assignment for the next 3 years is to be responsible for 40-50 teenage boys, and their leaders on various major events. The first is the week-long Youth Camp. And this year, it’s in the depths of Norfolk.”

Gulp!
Great. Thanks!

I’d visited one of those camps.
It’s like herding cats.
Except the cats are like rampant bulls.
Bulls, who consume a van load of food daily.
Each!

And then have the energy to burn you out until 2 am… when your body is screaming for sleep.
Or a peaceful burial.

This is me, remember?
The bloke who, a few years previously, had never seen the inside of a tent!

And then I have to tell you about the 24,000 Tons of Product that’s at the centre of this story.
But I’ll come back to that later.

So, here I am, in the middle of canoeing… rain-drenched assault courses, Murder Ball (don’t ask!)… raft building… midnight deep-forest commando games… water fights…

And the annual tally of broken ribs & fingers, gashed legs, snake bites, burns.
You know. Usual stuff.

And the 24,000 Tons of Product to sell (which I’ll come to in just a minute)

But then, on the last night of each camp. Well, you should have been there!

A huge campfire, with a circle of tired, scruffy, grubby, dirty-faced kids… and tears streaming down their faces.

Trying to express how they felt about each other; about the experiences they’d shared; the friendships they’d made; about the sort of men they wanted to become, and the lives they wanted to live.

If you’d been there, you’d have been pretty callous, not to be deeply moved.

(Yeah, but what about the 24,000 Tons of Stuff to sell?
OK, I’m coming to that part)

During the 2nd day of that first camp… we discovered more about the incessant humming noise and strange odour coming from the factory building, just 800 yards from the camp site.

We discovered that the factory was a power station.
But no ordinary power station.
Oh no! The raw material was… wait for it…

Chicken Poo!
Yep, you heard me… Chicken Poo!
I’m serious.

And how much chicken poo does it take to produce enough power for one dinky little town and four sleepy villages?

Well I’ll tell you…

Well, when I first wrote my notes in my journal, I said “One Thousand Tons Per Hour! 24,000 Tons Per Day!”

That’s what I wrote.
But, looking back, that must have been wrong. Surely!?
I probably meant “1,000 Tons Per Day”
That would certainly give at least 24,000 Tons Per Month, wouldn’t it?
At least.

All I can say is (whatever the accurate figure)… “Man, that’s some mama of a chicken!”

Now, if you think you’re so good at selling…
Let’s see YOU persuade a bunch of self-important government officials to part with their spondoolies to build a power station in a forest in Norfolk.

A power station driven by 24,000 tons of …
Hah! Top that one, smarty-pants!

Oh… and what about those 50 tough, bright, street-wise kids?

Well, they’re now husbands, fathers and young business executives…  leaders, teachers, technology consultants, entrepreneurs… spread all over the globe.

Many have been to Uni. Batchelors. Masters…
Most have already wielded considerable influence, served in demanding assignments overseas… and changed the course of hundreds of lives.

All this, in a few short years.

So, I’ll share with you what I re-discovered during my Chicken Poo Assignment…

To live a life truly worth looking back on, we need to have a Purpose and Vision greater than our comfortable home boundaries.
Bigger than our desire for more cars… bigger houses… more things for Us, Us, Us.

Whether it’s a choice between:
a)   Constructing our own business version of a monumental chicken-poo power station, dedicated to funding our pesonal wealth, pleasure and leisure, or
b)   Investing in building the next generation of emotionally functional leaders…

… Life (and our professions) offers us boundless possibilities to be either self-consumed, or make a significant difference.

The choice is ours!

(I’m surprised how many of you prefer this more personal style of Blog.

In which case… please share it with your team, your colleagues, your friends!)

 

Being Clear About Things That Matter Most

I saw her just a few days ago.

She’s a cheeky 11 year old now.
Back then, she was threee.
And I remember the day so clearly.

I remember gazing at her, as her bright, golden hair shimmered, bounced and flew around her. Her face excited and earnest and innocent.

“Look, I can do this!” she squealed. And she could.

She could almost skip. And she could jump with both feet; and with all her energy.
She wanted me to join her and show her how. So she handed me the rope.

Yet, brief days before, she had lain lifeless, unbreathing, unmoving.
Under water.
In the pool.
For untold minutes.

“I got lost in the water, Mummy.” she called, as we played.

Yes, you did.
Then your Mummy found you, and – sobbing – lifted you up.
And your Daddy breathed into you the breath of life.

And you lived again.

Now, here you were, out of hospital. Playing with your unusually quiet siblings. Letting me join in. Chuckling and jumping and calling.

Then, I looked at your besotted Daddy. And we both laughed and grinned with the sheer joy of you.

I’ve watched that young father over the passing years. There are so many things he could have done, with his raw intelligence.

Oh, he’s doing pretty well.
But he wouldn’t swap any of those more glamorous things for this greatest treasure.
His family.
His gutsy, beautiful, energetic wife. His four busy, exhausting, secure children.

He knows that he’ll gain the things of comfort and luxury later.
Right now… we – observing him - know that he holds an enviable balance in life.

I see her regularly. 11 years old, and still almost guileless. Breathlessly, vivaciously alive.
Seeing her, causes me to reflect on how precious and tenuous this life is.
So very, very fleeting.

In the midst of my striving and stressing… my disappointments and victories…my getting and gaining… I remind myself…

“Things That Matter Most Must Never Be At The Mercy of Things That Matter Least.”