Author: Dale McGavran

It was Christmas 1776 and General Washington boldly stood in the bow of the boat as it made its way across the Delaware River.  Surrounding him are several men rowing and steering the craft around chunks of ice.  There is even one soldier half-way out of the boat pushing against one of the large “icebergs”.  And then there is future President James Monroe grasping the American flag, battling the wind and cold.  It is indeed a dramatic scene…one that would make a great centerpiece for an IMAX movie, with amazing THX surround sound.  Yes, it would be remarkable… if it were true.  This scene instead, was captured in a painting by Emanuel Leutze.  Oh, for sure Washington crossed the Delaware on Christmas, leading his army to victory the next day against British and Hessian forces camped in and around Trenton, New Jersey.  None of that is disputable.  Were there ice chunks?  Absolutely.  It is well documented that it was.  And it was extremely windy, making the water very rough to row across.  But Washington surely was not standing in the striking pose as he is pictured.  The weather conditions would not have allowed it.  No, these certainly were not still waters.

A year later and once again the weather is not playing nice for Washington and the army.  It is the winter at Valley Forge, and the general has his hands full.  He spends an exorbitant amount of time communicating with Congress (yes, the same Congress that would slow walk five years of pay for soldiers) about the lack of supplies, and empowering other generals to help better prepare the army for the springtime campaigns.  By the time Spring arrived, however, nearly 2,000 men had died from disease on those snow-covered, fields.  No, these certainly were not peaceful, green pastures.

Back in Psalm 23, David tells us that the Lord makes those who follow him to lie down in green pastures.  So, are we take this to mean that God is forcibly pushing individuals to take a break and lay down?  Absolutely not, but rather he leads those into moments of much needed respite.  In fact, the next words David writes is how the Lord “leads me” beside still waters.  Why does David use these particular imageries to convey the message of peace and tranquility?  Perhaps because we are drawn to such scenes.  

I know when I personally need to think peaceful thoughts, I close my eyes, and in my mind, I see Julie Andrews running around with seven kids with weird names, dressed in clothes made from window curtains, singing “doe, a deer, a female deer”….I really don’t, but that makes an interesting thought.  But seriously, who doesn’t love clothes made from household draperies?  And those hills, which, by the way, are alive (at least that is what Maria sings), are probably not even a pasture, but whatever.  I’m the one telling the story, so it’s a pasture.

Alright, the whole point of Psalm 23:2 is to remind us that we are not superhuman, no matter how much we try to convince ourselves.  We are designed to need rest, a break, a breather, a moment of calm.  If you want to be a leader, you better schedule some down time for those who call you boss, supervisor, or whatever title you hold.  And while you are at it, you better schedule down time for yourself…for two reasons.  First, you need it.  David realized that.  It’s why he wrote about relaxing in the pastures.  Second, you need to lead by example.  That’s what a genuine leader does…he or she leads from the front and by example.  

Washington also realized those two key leadership points.  It’s why he stayed with his men as they traversed the brutally cold, icy waters of the Delaware River, and the harsh, snowy fields of Valley Forge.  Leading by example, and from the front, whether it is alongside still or stormy waters, or in green or snowy pastures, is the only way to go.

The Lord is my shepherd. Five words.  That’s it.  No more.  There is so much in those five simple words, but we can only scratch the surface in the time we have here.

 THE LORD.  To Adam he was Elohim…the Lord God.  To Abraham he was El Shaddai…God Almighty.  To Moses he was I AM.  To David in Psalm 23, he was Yahweh…the Lord.  Throughout history, God has been described by himself and others in a variety of ways.  He is the provider, the healer, the defender, the protector, the refuge, the rock, and many others.  The point is that the Lord responds in the manner and timing that is perfect.  We may not believe it in that moment, but we can be assured that it is indeed perfect.  

The Lord IS.  Not was, will be, might be, could be, should be, or any other phrase that the “conjuction junction, what’s your function” guy might come up with.  No, the Lord IS my shepherd.  That is an important distinction.  We can become so encumbered by our past, and wishful for our future, that we fail to experience the here and now of our lives.  The Lord wants to remind us that He IS, right here, right now.  When we need help in our struggles, the Lord IS.  When we celebrate successes, the Lord IS.  When we doubt, the Lord IS.  And when we step out in faith, the Lord IS.  There is never a point when the Lord is not. 

The Lord is MY…  It is critical to understand that David is the one writing these words.  This is the same David who was the boy shepherd that felled the obnoxious, arrogant giant.  This is the same David who became a giant obnoxious and arrogant individual himself.  This is the same David who could not take his eyes off the rooftop sunbather and as a result of his actions, had her husband killed in war.  But it is also the same David who the Bible describes as running after God’s heart.  In his ups and downs, David needed the Lord to be a personal, involved, and leading influence in his life.  Just as David was the shepherd to his family’s sheep flock, God was his shepherd…and is our shepherd, guiding, directing, and as we will see in the next few weeks, leading us to the best places. 

SHEPHERD.  Now, this might come as a surprise…it sure was to me.  But sheep are pretty smart creatures.  All of those statements you have heard about how sheep are stupid?  Well, they were wrong.  The experts say (I have said this before, but I always chuckle when I read “experts say”…who are these experts, because they are often wrong) that sheep can recognize 50 individuals’ voices and faces.  I can meet two people, have a 20-minute conversation, walk away, and in five minutes beat my head against the wall because I can’t remember one of their names.  Not a problem with sheep though.  Also, they take care of each other, especially tending to the sick.  When we get sick, we go to the store and look at a hundred varieties of medicine, never really knowing what to buy (unless of course, you are a mother).  Do we get a decongestant?  What about an expectorant?  Do we even know what an expectorant is?  I cannot even begin to count how many times I have bought the wrong medicine.  But not sheep.  When they become sick, they know what plants and specific grasses will make them feel better.  No sheep are not stupid.  But here is the thing, they are dependent.  And that is where the shepherd comes in.  We know the responsibility of the one who watches over the sheep.  The shepherd protects the flock 24/7.  There is not a time when sheep are aimlessly wandering around without supervision.  The shepherds are always there.  No, sheep are not stupid.  They just need help…and doesn’t that sound like someone you might know? 

If you have ever read any of my blogs, you know what’s coming next.  A little history tie-in.  For this season of blogs, I am going to be including anecdotes and tales from one of my favorite individuals in history…our first President, George Washington.  Though our nation’s history is replete with examples of individuals who were “shepherds” during the most demanding times, Washington’s life provides us with an extraordinary canvass of stories. 

He was a shepherd to a rebellious people for a righteous cause, a shepherd to a fledgling nation, and a shepherd to a disgruntled bunch of former soldiers, who remained unpaid for their service to the country.  It was March 15, 1783, and Washington stood in front of a group of officers he had commanded in battle, who had gathered in the Temple of Virtue in Newburgh, New York.  While the soldiers debated their next move, Washington entered in unnoticed.  The angered group were making preparations for marching on Congress and demanding pay for their service.  Though Washington agreed with the men that they deserved the pay they were promised and entitled to, he cautioned those gathered that to approach Congress in this manner, and to leave their families and farms in such a vulnerable time would be ill-advised, and that they could tarnish their battlefield reputations. 

After giving his speech, Washington then pulled out a letter written by Virginia Congressman Joseph Jones.  The content of the letter is irrelevant, but it is worth noting that Jones agreed with the soldiers’ arguments.  The important element of this interaction is what Washington did next.  Attempting to read the letter, he found the writing too small, so he pulled out a new pair of eyeglasses.  Washington then spoke, “Gentlemen, you must pardon me.  I have grown gray in your service and now find myself growing blind.”  For whatever reason, this action moved the soldiers to tears.  After all, he was a beloved leader and had endured the same hardships as those gathered in the room.  The soldiers then voted to cease any plans of discontent, and as an endnote, Congress did pay the soldiers for their five years of service. 

Washington was a shepherd, just not to sheep.  And as well will see in the next episode, he led men through pastures, and alongside and through waters.

He was a hero.  Of that, there can be no doubt.  His life and legacy lives on through everyone that attends the Air Force Academy.  Every Cadet learns the remarkable story of Lance Sijan…and what a remarkable story it is.  On 9 November, 1967, Sijan was the back seater in an F-4C Phantom II, call sign AWOL 1, piloted by Lieutenant Colonel John Armstrong.  Sijan hoped to graduate to the front seat in the coming weeks, but on this night, he would fly back seat with his squadron commander.  Following their preflight checklist, AWOL 1 and AWOL 2 taxied down the runway at Da Nang Air Base and quickly gained speed, lifting off into the night sky.  Lance settled in behind his commander, preparing his mind for the mission ahead.

As they flew the approach into their target, the Ban Loboy Ford, a river crossing the Ho Chi Minh Trail, an explosion rocked the F-4C.  There would only be a few seconds to save themselves by ejecting from the burning aircraft now plummeting toward the earth.  Lance acted quickly, but would it be fast enough?  Other aircraft in the area reported seeing no chutes following the explosion.  Had anyone survived?  Major Fitzgerald, the pilot of AWOL 2 turned on his IFF transducer, an electronic beacon for other friendly aircraft in the region to track.  The hope was that either Armstrong or Sijan would activate their beeper or try to use their radio to make contact, but there was only silence and darkness below.  In less than 30 minutes following their takeoff from Da Nang, AWOL 1 had gone down and was now missing.

It turned out that Lance was the only survivor from the explosion.  Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong did not make it out, and even though Lance survived the initial explosion, he was in bad shape.  The parachute had helped him, but he landed hard on a densely forested karst.  It was dark, and Lance was in bad shape.

As the sun came up over the dense forest, another mission to bomb the rail yards north of Hanoi was in motion when suddenly the back seater on one of the Phantoms picked up a signal from a survival radio beeper.  They had been briefed that a Phantom had gone down the night before, so naturally they thought this could be one of the crew from that plane.  The formation, call signs Drill 1 and Drill 2, radioed the Airborne Command Center who pinpointed the location of the beeper.  They asked Lance to identify himself, which he did.  They listened intently to his voice, knowing that the North Vietnamese had some who spoke good enough English to pass for an American.  After identifying himself further with his serial number, the Command Center was convinced it was indeed Lance Sijan.  

Plans were then set in motion to rescue Lieutenant Sijan and get him back to safety.  Air support, including two HH-3 Jolly Green Giant helicopters, were on the way to Lance’s position.  It took some time, but the low flying, low speed, A-1E Sandys found the downed aviator’s location. But as they did, they started taking groundfire.  At first it was smaller caliber guns, but that quickly changed as 23mm rounds started tracking the lead Sandy.  Multiple enemy rounds found their target.  Sandy was hit and would not stay airborne for long, so Major Griffith limped his aircraft out of the danger zone as far as he could before ejecting over a clearing.  Now there were two men in need of rescue.  One of the HH-60 Jolly Green Giants had followed Griffith as he bailed out and watched the location where he landed.  In a few minutes, the helicopter had picked up the downed Sandy pilot.  Now they could turn their attention back to getting Lance.

No matter what they tried, Lance’s rescuers just could not get to him on this first try.  Vietnamese soldiers on the ground kept firing into the air, endangering the aircraft.  Nor would they get to him the next day.  Unfortunately, the rescue would never happen.  It is rather incredible to contemplate what unfolded next.  Lance dragged his badly injured body around the jungle for weeks.  His injuries included a compound fracture of his left leg, badly fractured skull, a damaged right hand, and countless deep cuts from sharp rocks and thorns.  So far, he had been successful at evading the Vietnamese who were busy hunting him down, but after 46 days of slow movements, Lance’s luck ran out.  The Vietnamese found him.  Lance was first taken to a camp where he was given rice, water, and medicine for several days.  As he slowly regained some strength, Lance plotted how he would get out of there.  On one night, a different guard had showed up and was ordered to watch the prisoner through the night.  Lance thought that this might be his best chance.  He called the Vietnamese soldier over, asking for water.  When the soldier was near him, Lance knocked him unconscious.

Lance, in excruciating pain, now dragged his body up a trail in the monsoonal rains.  He had not gotten far when guards discovered he was missing.  Lance had gotten less than 50 yards when he was discovered and recaptured.  Lance’s fractured leg was put in crudely made cast, and then he was then taken to another location where he would eventually be imprisoned with two other Americans, Bob Craner, the pilot of a downed F-100, and his back seater, Guy Gruters.  Under interrogation, Craner and Gruters made up elaborate stories, telling their captors various lies.  But Lance would not say a thing no matter how bad the Vietnamese beat him.  Craner and Gruters begged Lance to just make up a story…anything, to get the brutal beatings to stop.  They both believed Lance could not survive much longer if the beatings continued.  By now, Lance was so emaciated that he was barely recognizable.  Still, day after day, beating after beating, Lance would not give in to his interrogator’s demands for information.  His only thought was of escape and he let Gruters and Craner know that he would do his part in any plan that led to freedom.  At night, Lance would muster just enough strength to start digging a hole in the dirt.  The guards would find the hole in the morning, and beat him.  His will to fight never left him.

The three prisoners were moved to the infamous Hoa Lo Prison in January 1968. Lance just lay in a state of delirium.  But escape was still embedded in his mind.  At night, Lance would expel every bit of energy to rolling off the pallet that had been his bed.  But that is as far as he could get before being discovered, and then the guards would beat him.  This occurred numerous times.  Craner and Gruters were then put in the same cell as Lance and they took turns sitting by his side ensuring that he did not roll off the pallet for fear of another beating.  One afternoon, Craner suggested him and Gruters start a fitness regime in their cell, so that they could build muscle to help them during long sessions of torture.  Lance insisted on joining in.  The two could not believe it, but Lance, propped up against the wall, began flexing his nearly non-existent arm muscles.  They could tell that Lance was in excruciating pain, but they could not stop his determination.

However, nothing Craner and Gruters did could stop the inevitable.  Lance was in his last days.  After weeks of begging the guards to get a doctor to look after Lance, one finally showed up.  After the examination, the guards loaded him on a truck and took him away, presumably to a hospital.  It would be the last time Craner and Gruters would see Lance.  It was January 22, 1968. Several days later a guard told them that Lance had died.  Through it all, Lance never once gave up the fight for freedom.  Bob Craner committed Lance’s story to memory, and began the journey to have him recognized for his courage and heroism.

That journey culminated on March 4, 1976, in a ceremony in the East Room of the White House, where President Gerald Ford presented Sylvester and Jane Sijan, Lance’s parents, with the posthumously awarded Medal of Honor.  The President then told Lance’s parents that their son was a man of “uncommon courage who gave the country a cherished memory and a clear vision a better world.”  Lance Sijan was a hero.  Of that, there can be no doubt.

I have played countless rounds of golf in tournaments and intramural sports while I was in the Air Force.  While I won quite a few matches in squadron competition, I never won a tournament either as a single player or with a team.  I’ve come close, but it was never in the cards for me.  If I would have stayed with the game anticipating an eventual victory, I would have been disappointed.  But I kept playing, not for the tournament wins, but for the love of the game.  And in that love for the game, I relearned a lesson from my childhood.

When I was 13 years old, I did something not very many people have done.  If you remember from a few weeks ago, I shared that I grew up playing baseball.  I was a good ball player.  I was selected to all-star teams every year I played (here is me trying not to boast).  When I was 13, I was again selected for a city all-star team, and we traveled around the metro area where I live.  On this particular day I was the starting pitcher.  The first few innings flew by as I was in a groove.  By the fifth inning I was still going strong.  It seemed with every inning I just gained momentum.  When the last out of the game was made, I had done something I never imagined doing…I had pitched a no-hitter.  I had walked three batters, so it would not go down in the books as a perfect game, but I was ecstatic anyway.

Now, if only every game I ever pitched went like that.  But it didn’t.  I’ve also been rocked by the opposing team’s bats, leaving the coach no choice but to take me out.  On those days, I didn’t feel so ecstatic.  The no-hitters are exciting and really cool to experience for sure.  But the times when the other team thrashes you is when character is built.  It is easy to celebrate the win and be thrust into the spotlight, but losing…not so much.

They call it losing with grace, but anyone who has lost a game in any sport will tell you that grace is one of the last things you feel…unless of course you are a saint…and a saint was, and is, the farthest thing from what I am.  But my dad was there – for the wins, and the losses.  Recently I heard a radio advertisement for high school sports and scholastics.  In it, a son had just finished a game and his dad was railing against him on all the things he did wrong.  Thankfully, my dad was not like that.  When I did have a bad game, my dad didn’t detail to me all of the things I did wrong.  In fact, he talked about the positive outcomes, choosing to put those less-than-optimal highlights in the trash can of memories.

Losing is just part of life.  No one wins every game.  Tiger Woods has won way less tournaments than he has entered.  The best hitters in baseball only get a hit about once every three at bats.  Babe Ruth had 2,873 hits.  Quite remarkable.  Babe Ruth also struck out 1,330 times.  Also quite remarkable…just not in the same way.  Nolan Ryan, who holds the stellar record for no-hitters (7), most strikeouts (5,714), and a whole host of other stats.  But he also had a career record of 324 wins and 292 losses…not that stellar.  Ryan also never received a Cy Young award, given to best pitchers in each league.  One of the greatest pitchers understood that losses come with wins…and in his case, a lot of losses.

What you do with those losses is what matters.  Of course the wins matter, and it’s those that will get you the ESPN highlights.  But it’s the losses that will define who you are, and as I said earlier, what will build your character.

I guess my dad understood that.  His way of helping me build resilience in those early years helped me immensely later in life.  During numerous military deployments I had that resilience tested on many occasions.  On my last one to Iraq, I had the honor of speaking to countless men and women from all branches of the military on how to build personal resilience through life’s experiences.  Many of those had lost all hope and felt there was nowhere to turn, in essence, they were thinking of taking their life.  Nothing shakes you to the core faster than someone sitting across from you and sharing those thoughts.  As I said, I was honored to have those conversations…and thankful that God used me as a vessel to be able to inject meaning and purpose back into their lives.  And it was that instilled resilience through life experiences that allowed me to stand in front of 850 basic trainees and talk about how important resilience would be for them in the coming weeks of training, and how important resilience would be for each of them throughout their lives.

One last thought to wrap this up…on the day of that no-hitter, the coach presented me the game ball with everyone’s signatures.  I still have that ball.  Occasionally, it gets pulled out of the drawer where it’s stored, and I get to remember that day again.  And in remembering that day of victory, I remember not all days are victories…and in remembering that, I remember how critical resilience is in our lives…and in remembering the importance of resilience, I remember it all started with a guy I called dad who showed me how to win AND lose graciously.  

You have heard the expression…a bad day at golf is better than a good day at work.  And it is absolutely true.  Not that work is necessarily bad, it’s just golf is so enjoyable.  That enjoyment is felt no stronger than when you hit a great shot.  I remember playing a round at Del Lago Golf Course in Vail, Arizona.  The #7 hole is a 172-yard par 3.  I hit a 5-wood off the tee box, and it was a beauty.  It flew straight at the hole, bounced a few times, and stopped two inches from the hole.  It remains the closest I have ever come to getting a hole-in-one.  I tapped it in, went to the next hole, a par four, and scored an eight.  In a matter of a few minutes, I experienced the complete opposite ends of the scoring spectrum…a birdie and a quadruple bogey.  Nothing changes though.  A bad day of golf is better than a good day at work.

Why is that?  Well, I guess it all boils down to gratitude, or thankfulness.  It really is hard to complain about being outside on a beautiful day, surrounded my nature, and playing a great game.  But even when you are not outside; even when you are stuck behind your desk at work; even though you might work in a cubicle along with hundreds of others; even when you have to work overtime…gratitude can still be yours.  That’s because gratitude is not an emotion to be experienced, it is a lifestyle to be lived.  

My parents have a little wooden carving hanging on their kitchen wall that says “attitude of gratitude”.  That resonates so much, but only if you let it.  I remember hearing a preacher once say that we should be thankful that we get to pay taxes.  Right now, you think I have totally lost my mind, or the preacher who said it lost his mind.  But think deeper about it.  If you are paying taxes, you have a job, or some kind of retirement income, and at the very least, you are still alive.  If you pay property taxes, you have a roof over your head and a car to drive.  

This again is one of those things I learned from watching my dad.  To be thankful for what life is offering.

Gratitude seems like such an easy concept to grasp, but alas, it eludes many of us.  There is always something more to gain, someplace different to go, someone else to beat out for that promotion.  We get so busy that we fail to recognize what we already have, the places we have already visited, and the co-workers we really don’t know.  In the midst of our individual chaos, let me suggest something George Washington wrote in honor of the Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1789:

“Whereas it is the duty of all Nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor….”

Continuing,

“That we may then all unite in rendering unto him our sincere and humble thanks–for his kind care and protection of the People of this Country previous to their becoming a Nation–for the signal and manifold mercies, and the favorable interpositions of his Providence which we experienced in the course and conclusion of the late war–for the great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed–for the peaceable and rational manner, in which we have been enabled to establish constitutions of government for our safety and happiness, and particularly the national One now lately instituted–for the civil and religious liberty with which we are blessed; and the means we have of acquiring and diffusing useful knowledge; and in general for all the great and various favors which he hath been pleased to confer upon us.”

Dare I say Washington was on to something when he wrote of having a “great degree of tranquility, union, and plenty, which we have since enjoyed…”.   He had only been the president for six months but looking back at what this young nation had traversed through just a few years earlier, Washington recognized the importance of having gratitude in the moment.  When Washington sat down to write this proclamation, perhaps he had just read what the Apostle Paul had written to the church at Thessalonica, “Give thanks in all circumstances.”  If true, this would have resonated with him more than we can imagine.  From defeat to defeat, to that brutal winter at Valley Forge, to seeing close friends lose their lives on the battlefield, to being betrayed by a confidant and fellow general, Washington now says to be grateful.  That is a lesson I know I need…and probably one we all need to live better every day.

I love studying military history.  I have a master’s degree in it, so I guess it’s good that I do.  For many years now I have devoted a lot of time to studying the Civil War, but lately have returned to the 1700s and our nation’s initial fight for freedom.  How we came through the American Revolution the victors is a fascinating story and, honestly, quite mind-boggling on many levels.  Many of my past blogs have covered this timeframe and the people.  There is George Washington, the commander of the Continental Army.  There is also Alexander Hamilton, Nathaniel Greene, Patrick Henry, Paul Revere, Ethan Allen, and many more.  These men all served a fledgling nation at great cost to, not only their own lives, but the lives of their friends and families.

Consider the years since the formation of our country, and the elements are the same.  Most names are not as recognizable as George Washington, but the sacrifices are no less significant.  Elizabeth Jacobson, Daniel Carlson, Brittany Gordon, and hundreds of thousands of others…deployed to all regions of the world…Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia, Guadalcanal, Midway, Iraq, Afghanistan, Omaha Beach, Bastogne, Bosnia, and countless more.  Most of their names are known only by friends and family, yet each one of them represents something beyond measure and, quite frankly, beyond comprehension…they are part of a brotherhood/sisterhood that is like no other.

I remember playing my first round of golf after seeing the movie Bat 21, and thinking, there is no way a normal human being could do what Lieutenant Colonel Iceal Hambleton did in the aftermath of getting shot down behind North Vietnamese lines.  Evading the North Vietnamese for several days, a plan was eventually hatched whereby others he was in radio contact with would guide him to safety, in a rather unique way.  They would direct his movements as if he was walking his favorite golf courses.  For instance, the observer would tell Hambleton to walk the first hole at Tucson National.  Hambleton knew the details because he played there many times.  It was a 408-yard par 4 that ran southeast.  So, they wanted Hambleton to walk 408 yards southeast.  Then the observer would tell him the next hole to “play”.  The plan worked.  Rescuers eventually reached Hambleton and got him aboard an evacuation helicopter and back to U.S. forces.  Who knew that playing golf could save your life?

For the last 248 years, individuals have served in the military for various reasons.  And no matter that reason, they should be celebrated.  Today, less than one percent of the population of the United States serves in the military.  I talk to a lot of Veterans every week.  When I hear someone who served say, “I only served one term”, or “one enlistment”, I am quick to remind them that there is no “only” when it comes to service.  In other words, there is honor in any amount of service to our nation.  They served, and we should be thankful for that.  My dad taught me that.  He served in the Navy four years.  And because of that, he is a patriot of a special breed.  For as long as I can remember, my dad (who is 90 years old), has raised the American flag up the flagpole every morning, and has taken it down every evening.  This action is simply an outward expression of what is on the inside.  He loves, as is often joked about how George W. Bush said it, ‘Merica.  And because of that love, I see him as a patriot.

Let me close with a story of another patriot of long ago.  Nathan Hale was recruited by General Washington to become part of his spy ring.  Washington needed individuals to gather intelligence on British operations in New York City, and Hale volunteered.  In fact, he was the only one who volunteered.  So, into the city he went, under the guise of a teacher looking for work.  But it was not long before the British found out who he was and why he was there.  They captured him, and it did not look too good for the young patriot.  Death by hanging was the punishment for spying…and that is exactly what the British did to him.  In the minutes leading up to the hanging, Nathan was given a chance to speak.  We have all heard of the supposed words he uttered, “I only regret, that I have but one life to lose for my country.”  There is some disagreement about the exact words he used, but every written source of the day, has him saying words to the same effect, so there is really no doubt that he did indeed say that phrase, or something similar.  My personal favorite comes from a 1777 issue of the Essex Journal, in which Hale is reported as saying at the gallows, that the British were shedding the blood of an innocent person, and that if he had ten thousand lives, he would gladly lay them all down in defense of his country.

Patriots who have served our country come in all shapes and sizes.  They are a private citizen, turned general, turned president.  They are a Soldier, Sailor, Airman, Marine, who served in Iraq or Afghanistan.  They are a guy who “walked” a golf course to evade the enemy and find his way back to freedom.  They are a young spy who was caught and hanged for his crimes, and who would willingly give his life 10,000 times.  They are someone who served four years, and someone who served thirty years.  They are those who did not serve, but now serve Veterans in their greatest hour of need.  Yes indeed, patriots come in all shapes and sizes.

O beautiful for heroes proved; In liberating strife                                               Who more than self their country loved; And Mercy more than life! 

(3rd verse to “America the Beautiful”)

The foundation of the game of golf is found in a single word.  It doesn’t matter if you are a 30 handicap, or the world’s #1.  It is so centric to the very ideals of the game on the professional level, that when a player thinks that he or she may have done something wrong, they call a penalty on themselves.  Now there are exceptions when a player tries to get away with something illegal, but it is a very rare occurrence.  There is not another sport that I know of where this happens.  Tom Brady never called a penalty on himself.  LeBron James has never admitted to a foul.  It would be unheard of if this occurred.  ESPN would run the story around the clock.  Yet, that is what happens in golf when a player breaks one of the rules.  It’s all because of one word.  Integrity.

There were many times when my integrity was tested during a round of golf.  After all, I am just a weekend hacker, so what is the harm in fudging a little?  Maybe move that ball out of the bunker.  Maybe tap the ball a couple of inches into the fairway and out of the thick rough.  You often see casual golfers use the “foot” wedge…that is, they kick the ball into a better position.  My philosophy was always that I got myself into the position I was in, so the challenge was to get out of it in the best possible way.  Having your golf ball end up in bad positions is part of the game, and you cannot move it in competition, so why move it when you are just playing casually?

So where did I learn integrity?  If you’ve been following my blogs recently you are going to know the answer.  I could just wait here and have you go back and read those latest entries, but I will go ahead and tell you (but seriously go back and read the past stories).  My dad taught me integrity.  Now, he didn’t sit me down and tell me, “Son, you are going to be tested in life, and integrity is going to help you in every one of those instances.”  It did not happen like that.  Instead, he showed me.  He showed through what he did and what he said.  Integrity is not easy, and more times than not, it is the hardest thing, the most difficult choice.  But when faced with those kinds of options, don’t you want to choose the one that is going to give the best outcome?  Of course you do.

Before we go any further, I guess it would help to understand where I am coming from so that we are on the same page.  Integrity simply means being honest and holding strong moral principles.  I have always liked this picture of integrity…doing the right thing even when no one is watching.  It is easy to do the right thing when all eyes are on you.  But the second those eyes turn away, the pressure is really on.  Back in the golf world, it looks like this.  Your golf ball is in some really thick rough, and your competition is standing right there next to you.  Obviously, you are not going to move your ball.  But what if that person you are playing against is nowhere in sight, are you going to move your ball?  Integrity says no, even when it would be easy to do so.  In life it is no different.  When faced with a decision that will test your character, will your response be different if someone is standing right next to you?  Integrity reminds us that doing the right thing is not dependent on whether someone else’s eyes are upon you.

Integrity is one of those things where I cannot point to a specific instance when my dad revealed how important integrity was or how “integral” it would come to be in my life.  But I can say this, when the Air Force (my employer for 30+ years) created its current iteration of core values in 1995, I was already well versed in integrity.  “Integrity First”, “Service Before Self”, and “Excellence In All We Do” are the three core values the Air Force is built on.  Integrity is first because everything else hinges on it.  Work ethic, morals, values-based decision making, how you will treat others, all start with integrity.  If you think of it in terms of a house, integrity is the foundation, the very thing that the rest of the house is built on.  Poor foundation, and the house will fall.  Strong foundation, and the house will last generations.

When I think of integrity in the light of history, many examples come to mind…both good and bad.  George Washington stepped down after two terms as president not because people wanted him to, or because his terms were riddled with scandal.  Instead, he left because he felt that his time in office would become a precedent, that is, others would emulate him, and he did not want the presidency to become a lifelong appointment, ultimately fearing that a president would hold too much power for too long, much like a king. That precedence stood until Franklin D. Roosevelt ignored Washington’s warnings and ran for a third and fourth term.  In 1951, the 22^nd Amendment became law, limiting an individual to two terms as president.  Washington’s example bleeds integrity.

Then you have another guy who served under Washington, and who Washington himself, called the fighting general.  Benedict Arnold.  Sides have debated for years as to whether he deserves all the bad press he receives.  However, what is not up for debate is the fact that he was an outstanding general for the patriot cause, winning major battles for Washington’s army.  But when he was injured and then passed over for promotion, he felt disrespected and turned to the other side, hoping to hand over West Point and the Hudson Valley region to British control.  What is the cause for when an outstanding general like Arnold, though rightfully angry about how he was treated by some in Congress, tries to influence the fall of his own country.  Something was not right at the very core of his character.  Dare I say he lacked integrity?  If we return to that basic idea that integrity is doing what is right even when no one is looking, then we have a clear case of a lack of integrity in Arnold, for when no one from the American army is looking, he is trying to betray them.  So, two early American figures, both challenged with doing what was right, but only one comes out the other side successfully.

Let me close this up by going back to my dad.  He is an amazing dude.  He is not perfect.  He makes mistakes.  But I’ve never witnessed a lack of integrity in his character.  When the right thing needs to be done, my dad does it.  And in doing so, he has helped shape the responses to challenges in my own life.  So, the next time you are tempted to move that ball to a better position, or go down the path that challenges your character, take it from my dad, and do the right thing.  You won’t be disappointed.

Throughout my years of playing golf, I have played in a lot of tournaments.  There have been all kinds.  There is the two-man alternate shot, where each player takes turns hitting the ball until you finish the hole, and then you continue in this manner for the rest of the round.  There is the four-man scramble, where every player tees off, then the team chooses the best shot each time.  There is the more challenging tournament where every player hits his own ball every shot, and once the hole is over, the best score of the players on each hole is recorded on the scorecard.  I even remember playing in a tournament where each player could pick up their ball and throw it to extend that shot.  We were playing the Raptor Course on Langley Air Force Base, and it was on the 306-yard, par 4, 15^th hole.  I had my usual drive of about 250 yards, so I had a little over 50 yards to the green.  I thought for sure I could sling a golf ball close enough to where it would roll onto the green.  I learned in that moment that throwing a golf ball is not that easy.  You can probably guess my throw didn’t go anywhere near the distance I expected.  

Now, ideally in any tournament, you have a team that consists of all great players.  But for most of those I played in, we just wanted to have fun.  But we did try to gather players with different strengths.  For example, we wanted someone who could hit the ball a mile off the tee.  We also wanted someone who could putt really well.  That way each player felt he or she contributed to the effort.  The way to the best score was to utilize everyone’s strengths.  Much like my dad taught me.  Use the strengths you have, do your part, and do your best.

You’ve probably seen this saying, or one like it, before: “Growing up every boy thinks his dad knows and is great at everything.  When that boy becomes a teenager, he thinks his dad knows nothing and can’t do anything right.  When that boy becomes an older adult, he remembers his dad did know everything, and was great at everything.”  I can identify with the child, though as a teenager, I never fell into the trap of thinking my dad was a clueless parent, and as an older adult, I understand that my dad never really knew everything, but that doesn’t erase the fact that he knew stuff about a lot of things.  I’ve written about this before, but my dad was exceedingly mechanically inclined.  That was one of his significant strengths, and something that he could do better than any other person I knew.  He took that strength and did his best with it.  He just had an uncanny ability to fix anything he got his hands on.  And when he lacked things to work on, he helped others and I never remember him asking for anything in return.  He could visualize something and then bring that vision to reality.  In short, my dad found what he was good at.

Samuel Adams is the face of a major beer brand today.  (That came out of left field, didn’t it?  I promise it will make sense in a moment.)  Did you know that it is widely believed that he had nothing to do with brewing beer, and instead worked in his family’s malthouse?  Now, it is true that malt is necessary for brewing beer, but according to historians, Sam did not make beer.  Not only did Sam not make beer, he also didn’t make money.  He had a miserable business mind.  He was so bad that he bankrupted the malt business owed by his father.  But that wasn’t even his first business failure.  When a younger Sam received a significant amount of money from his father for another business venture, that failed as well.  Sam just was not good with the money and the business aspect of, well…running a business.  But what Sam lacked in business, he more than made up in his ability to communicate with clarity and to organize the patriot cause that stirred Americans to rebel against the British crown.  He is called a founding father for a good reason.  He served on both the First and Second Continental Congress, and according to many, was the heartbeat of the revolution.  He wrote under several aliases as he sought to inspire his fellow Massachusettsans in the fight for their rights.  He very likely was the impetus behind the patriots boarding three ships in the Boston harbor and dumping tea into the water in what we know today as the Boston Tea Party.  With the value of the tea at 9,700 British Pounds (approaching $2 million in today’s money), it is no wonder the king responded by applying greater pressure on the colonists.  But Sam and others would not be persuaded to relent.

I bring Adams’ story up because he was someone who, despite failure in what should have been a no brainer for him…making malt for beer, found that his strengths resided in a completely different venue.  That is how it is sometimes.  I am much like Sam in this way.  He should have been a shoe in for running the family business…except he wasn’t.  I should be an excellent fixer of all things mechanical…except I am not.  And that is perfectly fine.  That is what my dad taught me…to find my strengths and use them in the best way possible.

Throwing a golf ball will never be my strength, nor will fixing machines.  But I learned a few years ago, after taking the Strength Finders Assessment, that my strengths are kind of nerdy (if I may use that word).  After the assessment, my top six themes were Analytical (data driven, want to understand patterns and how they affect outcomes), Achiever (need to experience attainment or accomplishment), Deliberative (like to plan ahead so you can anticipate what might go wrong; you are a private person who selects friends cautiously), Context (you look back in history to understand the present), Developer (you see the potential in others and want to help them find success), and Intellection (solving problems and developing ideas, and other mental activities that are important).  When I look at that list, I realize that those are indeed some of my strengths.  They served me well over the years as a leader in the Air Force, and ultimately in my time working in the Pentagon.  And I owe it all to my dad, who showed me the value of finding my strengths, putting them to good use, and always striving to do my best.

I had hit my tee shot right down the fairway of the first hole at Incirlik Air Base’s golf course, “Hodja Lakes”.  I was 124 yards from the green, so I grabbed my pitching wedge, took a couple of practice swings, lined up the shot, and hit the ball.  It flew on a perfect trajectory going right at the flagstick, and to my utter shock, bounced once on the green, and disappeared into the hole.  A score of 2 on a par 4…an eagle.  I was playing alone, so there were no celebratory high fives with anyone (bummer), and then the thought occurred to me – would anyone believe me?  But as I walked up to the green, one of the course maintenance workers came riding up in his cart and congratulated me on the shot.  Someone had seen it after all (yay me)!

That shot came as a result of a lot of practice shots on the range, lots of rounds of golf, and following basic fundamentals of golf.  And there might have been a little bit of luck thrown in.  Now, I am going to write something that is profound…so profound it will blow your mind.  Probably not, but here goes.  Your hands are important in the game of golf.  Yeah, I know what you are thinking.  Thanks Captain Obvious, I would have never thought that had you not told me.  Before too many forehead smacks, let me explain.  In golf, the grip of the club is important.  I won’t go into too many details, but there is such a thing as a strong grip, weak grip, and a neutral grip, and it has nothing to do with how tightly you are holding the club (more on that later).  Instead, it all centers around how you place your hands on the club.  Strong grips can lead to more distance, but weak grips generally give more accuracy.  The determiner is found by holding the club as if you were going to hit the ball, then look to see how many knuckles you can see on your hands.  Now, back to how hard you grip the club.  That too is important.  You don’t want to be choking the life out of your driver when you are about to crush one down the middle of the fairway.  The converse is true as well…you don’t want to hold it so loosely that it flies out of your hands on your downswing and into the lake next to you.  The sweet spot is in the middle.  Ok, enough about the game of golf and one’s hands.  Onto the lesson I learned from my dad.

What you do with your hands in life is infinitely more important than learning to hold a golf club correctly.  My dad was always creating things with his hands.  I don’t know if he ever read Ecclesiastes 10:18, “through idleness of hands the house leaks”, but I do know that no house we ever lived in was going to leak, because he had the farthest thing from idle hands.  Maybe your dad was like that too so you can appreciate what I am saying.  One of the fascinating thing about hands is that they will tell you a lot under close examination.  A surgeon’s hands require delicate work, so they are in pristine condition.  A mechanic’s hands are often greasy, dirty, with chipped nails.  A farmer’s hands are calloused and sunbaked.  A construction worker’s hands are usually scratched, bruised, and blistered.  And an artist’s hands might be covered with clay, paint, or chalk, depending on their chosen medium.  In other words, hands tell a story of who someone is.  My dad’s hands were a combination of all these…well, maybe not the surgeon’s hands, but definitely the rest.  That’s because he was a combination of all those kinds of people.  If you remember from a couple of weeks ago, I wrote about all the cars and motorcycles he worked on, so his hands were greasy a lot.  (Just now, I remember my dad had this kind of hand cleaner in a silver can that was the consistency of watered down Crisco shortening.  It had an interesting smell, but it sure could clean your hands of all grease and oil).  My dad grew up on a farm, so he well understood farmer hands, and he was masterful when it came to creating things out of wood, so he often had stain, paint, or sealant on his hands.  And when it came to construction type of work, my dad never shied away from big projects.  He put new siding on the house; re-shingled the roof; remodeled the kitchen; framed, tiled, and built a second bathroom in the basement; and even built a deck on the back of the house.  And when winter came, he would be out there with the snowblower and shovel, going down the street clearing driveways and sidewalks of numerous neighbors.  So, you see he never let idle hands be a thing.

My dad worked as a machinist on an assembly line for 37 years.  His hands were always either fixing things on those lines or changing parts out to accommodate different products.  The company he worked for made cans for many food production companies, and chances are you ate or drank something out of a container or can that was made on his line.  And a few years before he landed that job, my dad served in the Navy where he was an aircraft mechanic.  Again, busy hands fixing things.  My dad is 90 now, and he moves slower, but he still finds ways to keep those hands active.  He and my mom find time to help feed the homeless at local shelters, along with many other service projects they do with their church.  In recent years, they’ve been bell ringers for the Salvation Army.  I’m pretty sure that those hands will stay busy for as long as he walks on this earth.  

I like to think that one of the lessons I learned from him was to avoid idle hands, keeping busy doing productive things…not just doing things for the sake of doing things but accomplishing meaningful work with the hands I’ve been given.  Like my dad, I hope to be finding things for my hands to build and fix, and projects that serve and help others, for decades to come.  And who knows how many more magical golf shots I have left in these two hands.

Last time we stood on the tee of a 610-yard monster in Arizona.  This time I look back to when I stood on the tee box of a 177-yard par 3…much shorter, but a monster as well.  This hole, called Braes, is #17 on the Castle Course at St. Andrews.  St. Andrews, if you don’t know, is the Holy Grail of golf, and is composed of seven different courses.  The Old Course is where the Open Championship, one of golf’s majors, has been played numerous times.  It has been in existence since the 15^th century.  Along with this gem, is the New Course, which has ONLY been around for 128 years.  I’ve played these courses, or at least portions of them, along with the Jubilee, and the Castle Course, which is the newest addition to St. Andrews, opening in 2008.

The 17^th hole on the Castle Course is, like I said, a par 3.  But it is not like most par 3’s, where you don’t need to worry if you are short of the green.  On this par 3, you have to make sure you carry the entire distance from the tee box to the green.  Why?  Because if you are short, your ball will end up either in the unplayable gorge between the tee and green, or in the North Sea.  When you are standing on that tee box, you must calculate the strong wind blowing in from the right and adjust your shot trajectory accordingly.  Being a left-handed golfer who hits a mild fade, it meant that I aimed right and hoped that the wind carried the ball back to the green.  I did just that.  I hit the shot…and it was a beauty…right over the North Sea and rocky coastline, and the wind obliged.  My ball worked back to the left, aided by the wind, and landed on the green.  I’m not going to lie, I walked up to the green feeling pretty good.  I left my birdie putt a few inches short, and settled for a par.  Now, there were a lot of things to get distracted by…the tee shot over the crashing waves of the North Sea, the howling wind, reliving shots, both fantastic and fantastically bad, from the previous 16 holes, and certainly not least…the realization that you about to finish a round of golf at freaking St. Andrews.  They all sought refuge in my thoughts.  But to pull off the shot, I had to stay in the moment.  There was no room for my thoughts to be anywhere else.  I had to be present because that is what mattered. 

Growing up I played baseball.  A lot of baseball, and I was pretty good.  College good, but not good enough to turn pro.  I played first base, from my first practice when I was 7, until I quit baseball my senior year in high school.  (I quit because of a personality conflict with the coach.).  I also pitched, and I wasn’t bad at the either.  I even pitched a no-hitter, and if not for a couple of walks, it would have been a perfect game.  I was also a decent hitter.  The summer going into my junior year, I held the highest batting average in the summer city league, a nice .485.  But playing first base was what I loved.  It seems rather obvious to say this, but to be good at the game of baseball, or anything for that matter, doesn’t come without a tribe of individuals who make you better.  I had a lot of great coaches throughout the years of playing.  They all had a hand in how well I played.  I had several good teammates as well.  They made me better too.  Then there was my dad.  He was there every day, in the backyard, honing my catching and fielding skills.  He would throw balls as far into the air as he could.  He would throw ground balls onto our uneven backyard for me to field.  That would serve me well later when a bad hop occurred.  He would give me a target to practice my pitching.  During every one of these practice sessions, the most important thing was that he was there.  He was present and that is what mattered.

I don’t remember my dad ever missing a game…and there were countless games.  In addition to the teams I played on, I made all-star teams for tournament play at the end of the regular season.  Sure, he might have gotten there late because of work, but he arrived to see me play in every one of those games.  To this day, my wife (obviously my girlfriend at the time) tells the story of my dad getting to the game after the start, climbing into the bleachers, and asking her how I was doing.  If I was pitching, how many strikeouts did I have, how many runs had I give up, etc.  If I was playing first base, how many balls did I field, and how was my hitting.  She learned after that first time to write down all of those vital statistics.  You see, even though he might have missed an inning or two, he showed up.  He was present.  And that is what mattered.

Now I want to tread lightly here, because I know not everyone has or had a dad like mine.  Heck, some boys didn’t have a father figure in the home at all.  I believe with all my heart, that every boy needs this.  That is not to say that a mother isn’t critically important, because she is.  But a father-son relationship is like no other.  Too many kids end up in a place that is devastatingly bad.  And too many of those lack a father in the home.  This is not just empty words.  It is factual.  Statistics prove it.  I’ve seen it…from mentoring teenage boys in juvenile detention to mentoring students through Teammates, a program started by former Nebraska Football coach Tom Osbourne.  He saw the same effect of fatherless households and took action.  Boys need men in their lives.  If not a father, then a mentor…if not a mentor, then a coach…if not a coach, then a teacher…if not a teacher, then a big brother.  Someone has to step up and be present.  Because it matters.

Back to my dad.  He taught me a lot, just by being around.  By him being present, I learned how to fish, how to drive, fix things around the house, woodworking, change the oil in my car (though who does that anymore?), and the value of hard work.  These barely scratch the surface of what I absorbed through his life instructions, but you get the idea.  He was present, and I am a better person because of it.  Let me return to that par 3 at St. Andrews.  Remember how I mentioned all the possible distractions fighting for my attention, trying to pull my mind from the objective?  Yeah, that happens in real life too.  All of those times my dad was trying to teach me something valuable, there were other things at war for my attention.  And I can say honestly, and regrettably, that sometimes those other things won.  I missed out.  And as I think back, I realize that I was the one not present in those situations.  Fortunately, I have a dad who was patient and gave me many more opportunities.  For that, I am eternally grateful.  Let me close with a couple of quotes from people you may or may not be familiar with.  They realized, as my dad well understood, the importance of a father being present in a son’s life.

“It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” –Frederick Douglass

“My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, ‘You’re tearing up the grass.’ ‘We’re not raising grass,’ Dad would reply. ‘We’re raising boys.’” –Harmon Killebrew