Author: Dale McGavran

I stood on the tee box of the longest hole I have ever played.  I was with Dan, a guy that I originally met when I was stationed in Turkey.  We were now both assigned to Davis-Monthan Air Force Base in Tucson, Arizona.  Dan had invited me to play this course with him, and since it was a place where the PGA professionals played, I could not pass the opportunity up.  So here we were, at Tucson National Golf Course, about three quarters of the way through our round, and we came to hole 15.  Now, for some reason that day, we decided to play from the farthest tee markers.  For most of the holes, that meant about 20-30 yards further back from the regular men’s tees.  But then, like I said, we came to hole 15.  It is a beast of a hole at 610 yards…70 yards longer than the regular tee.  The scorecard describes the 15^th hole in this way; “No holding back off this tee as you’ll need everything you’ve got to reach this green in three shots.”  You think?  This is probably a good place to let you know that even though I carried an 8 handicap, I was never a long hitter.  My typical drive at this time was about 240 yards.  (A person’s handicap means that they should take that many shots higher than par to finish the round.  For example, my handicap was 8, so on a par 72 course, I should be able to shoot an 80 for my final score).  On this particular hole, I don’t remember how far I hit my drive.  That isn’t really important.  I’m sure it was somewhere in the 230-240 yard range.  If you do the math, I still had about a mile to go to get to the green.  Most golfers don’t hit their driver from the fairway, so out came the 3-wood.  I hit that about 190-200 yards.  Again, do the math and you see that I still had nearly 200 yards to the green.  I probably hit that 3-wood again.  When I walked off that green, I scored a bogey, which was pretty good considering what I thought I would probably take when I first laid eyes on that 610 yard monster.

When you come to a golf hole like that, it will test your perseverance, your stick-to-it-ness.  If you are having a horrible round, you might wonder if you will ever get to the green.  If you are shanking the ball left and right, you might be tempted to just pick up your ball and move to the next hole.  But if you are committed to persevering, you might just get a good score.  And you will undoubtedly learn a valuable lesson. 

If you had a dad like mine, you got this lesson early, and you got it a lot.  As I was growing up, my dad built, rebuilt, or restored a lot of vehicles.  It seemed like he was always tinkering with something.  I don’t know the exact number, but I can remember many of them.  (Though I admit I there a couple of them that I was unaware of, mostly because I wasn’t yet born.)  There was a 1964 Ford Galaxy convertible, a 1964 Lincoln Continental, several Honda motorcycles, and even a 1974 Harley Davidson Electra Glide motorcycle.  There was a camper he built from scratch that he then mounted on his pick-up truck.  There was an old boat that he bought and turned into a pretty decent bass boat.  There was my grandad’s tractor that he repaired and restored.  And then there was what I consider the crowning achievement, a 1931 Ford Model A pick-up truck.  What he brought home would eventually become a masterpiece, but on that day, it was only a beat-up, hail-dented, rust bucket of a cab (no frame, no engine, no truck bed, no nothing except that cab) that had sat in a farmer’s field for years.  When he pulled in the driveway with it on the back of a trailer, my mom questioned what the heck my dad was going to do with it.  But more than a year and a half later, it was a beauty.  

I can say unequivocally that there is no way I would have kept some of these projects alive.  They would have ended up in the trash heap of failure.  If you saw the condition of some of them, you might imagine the same future.  One more thing about that 1931 Ford.  He won numerous car show awards with it.  A LOT of people talked about it.  Then, years later he sold the truck to an individual who continued taking it to car shows.  This guy went around telling people that he built it.  I’m sure there were many people who knew what he was saying wasn’t true, but that did not stop him.  When my dad learned of what the guy was saying, he searched for him at the next show, and in front of a lot of people, called him out.  Ok, no, my dad didn’t do that.  In fact, he never said a word about it to anyone, even though he was the one who poured the sweat equity into the truck.  But that’s who my dad is, and that’s a lesson for another blog.  

Many people today cannot fathom working on something for a great length of time…certainly not something for more than a year.  And 18 months?  Impossible.  But not my dad.  He had perseverance to keep after something.  Thinking back, watching him day after day work on these cars and trucks and motorcycles (oh my), I now realize it takes perseverance to learn perseverance.  That perseverance I learned came in handy, when just about 7 years ago, I set a goal of running 1,000 miles in a year. When I set out on that first day, I simply didn’t realize what I had gotten myself into. Let me explain. If you run everyday, you need to run about 2 3/4 miles each of those days. If you are not feeling it on a particular day, then it means you run 5 1/2 the next. If there is an extended period of sickness or soreness, then it’s…well, you get the picture. At the time, I was assigned to the Pentagon and I traveled a lot. Most travel days were a no-go for running because of the schedule of events. What I am saying is, there were many opportunities for me to throw in the towel and just accept the inevitable. But I found myself slowly making up those missed days. I know I fell behind multiple times, but I would just bear down and get back to the goal of the moment. Then it came down to the last couple of weeks. I was behind quite a bit. But you don’t chase after a goal for 350 days only to quit at the eleventh hour. I remember that it came down to the very last day, and I was 9 1/2 miles behind. I was not home on this day, and I didn’t have my GPS watch. For the life of me, I cannot remember why…I just didn’t. But there was a high school running track. You might realize where I am going with this. A school track is 1/4 mile long, so 4 laps make a mile. Remember I had to run 9 1/2 miles. Yep, that meant 38 laps. If there was any excuse to quit, it was that I had to run 38 times around the same track. But I did it. I persevered. And when I was finished I vowed to never run on a track again.

Now, when you think of the word perseverance, maybe your dad isn’t the first person that comes to mind.  That’s ok.  Here are a few others that are worthy of mention.  Henry Ford is one of the greatest individuals in the history of the automobile.  But did you know he failed multiple times in his efforts trying to start an automotive company?  Milton Hershey is world famous.  I bet you’ve had some of the candy that bears his namesake.  Did you know he dropped out of school after the fourth grade?  Like Ford, he tried several times to build a company, but success eluded him.  He would eventually find that success in creating a company making caramel in Pennsylvania.  He later sold that business and formed the Hershey Chocolate Company.  Ever wonder where the name of the universal lubricant WD-40 came from?  I’ll give you a hint.  There were 39 failures before success was realized.  All of these prove just how important having perseverance is.  Can you imagine if Ford, Hershey, and Norman Larsen (the guy who invented WD-40) gave up and didn’t keep trying?  We would not be able to drive our  F-150 truck while eating a Hershey candy bar on our way home after helping a friend loosen a rusted bolt with a can of, not WD-14, WD-23 or WD-39, but WD-40.  That is what perseverance looks like.  

Here’s one more thing that perseverance looks like…a dad teaching his son that when life’s challenges show up to knock you off your feet, you must stay resilient and push on.  So, when you barely have a passing grade in that class you are ready to give up on…perseverance.  When that 9 to 5 job is getting the best of you…perseverance.  When you have tried 39 times to get something right but have fallen short…perseverance.  And when you are standing on the tee box of a 610 yard monster par 5…perseverance.

As I write this, my dad is in the hospital for the fifth or sixth time this year…to say that it has been a rough year for him would be an epic understatement.  I am just thankful that he has my mom and sister there to help take care of him.  Each “stay” in the hospital is more difficult than the last.  He’s 91 so the recovery time isn’t the same as someone half his age.  In fact, we have a running joke.  When he feels like he just can’t do the things he did decades ago, I jokingly remind him of his age by saying “#91”.  This has been going on for better than five years.  I know this because in the beginning it was #86, and when he turned 88, it was #double ocho (ocho being the Spanish word for 8).  So, this past year I’ve been thinking a lot about my dad and the things he handed down to me.  

I have his old band saw sitting in my wood shop.  I brought that back from one of my visits this year. Another time he showed up and gave me a dozen or so screwdrivers.  For the record, I already had at least a dozen, but who doesn’t need more screwdrivers?  He has given me some of his wood clamps, a router table, table saw blades, craft magazines, and project plans.  I’ve used all of them.  But I am not referring to those things.  The things I am writing about are not physical items.  What I have been thinking about lately is infinitely more important than a Phillips head screwdriver or carbide-tipped saw blade.

Because of that, for the next several weeks I am going to put down on paper (or rather blog page) those things I learned from my dad.  Some things he intentionally taught me…others I learned from watching him, even when he didn’t know it.  I want to do this in a rather unique way.  I want to equate these incredibly important life lessons to playing a round of golf, with each hole being a different life lesson I’ve learned from the greatest man I know.  

Before we step up to that first tee and address the ball (if you are not familiar with the game of golf, addressing the ball means lining up the shot and mentally preparing to hit it), I want you to realize every golfer falls into one of three categories.  The first category includes those that show up to the course an hour or two before their tee time.  Some golfers head to the practice putting green, some make their way to the driving range, and others grab their wedges and go to the chipping area.  Those that are serious about their game do all three.  Those are the smart ones.  The second category includes those that show up with a comfortable amount of time to spare.  They might mess around on the putting green for five or ten minutes, get a snack, and then head to the #1 tee.  Then there are those who you can see from a distance, traveling at light speed to get to the parking lot, where they barely have the car in park before they are jumping out, running around to the trunk, grabbing their clubs, racing to the #1 tee box while simultaneously trying to change into their golf shoes, and finally arriving out of breath, all while their playing partners are standing there shaking their heads in utter disbelief at what they just witnessed.  They tee up the ball, take one practice swing, and then channeling their inner Tiger Woods, proceed to hit the ball.  As much as they want that ball to sail down the middle of the fairway, it doesn’t.  Instead, it balloons off into the woods on the left.  I can neither confirm nor deny that I know this from experience.  However, like I said, the smart ones take the time to prepare themselves, practice some shots they know they will have on the course.

My dad wanted me to have all the “tools” and the knowledge of how and when to use them.  He could have just told me good luck on trying to figure life out.  Too many fathers do just that.  But he didn’t.  Unknowingly at the time, he did what Proverbs 22:6 instructed him to do, “Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it.”  

You want to know how important it is to have good instruction from fathers?  You want to know how critical the instruction is that will impact lives in a positive way for their children, and their children’s children?  Look with me at 1 and 2 Kings in the Old Testament.  Beginning in 1 Kings 12, we start the journey of a long narrative of rulers over Israel.  When a king dies, usually the first-born son assumes the leadership mantel.  And it goes something like this, “Now Nadab (or insert any one of the 30 kings like him) became king over Israel in the second year of Asa king of Judah, and he reigned two years.  And he did evil in the sight of the Lord, and walked in the way of his father.”  Now when it says that he walked in the way of his father, it does not mean that the son had a gimp leg like his dad.  No, it means he continued to commit the same atrocities he learned from a son’s greatest teacher…his father.  And it didn’t stop with one generation.  It kept going.  It was cyclical.  Someone new came along, killed the king, and took his place…and did evil.  On and on it went.  Thirty times to be exact.  It became so bad, that there were times when someone out of left field entered the story, killed off the king and took his place.  Of course, there was always someone over the horizon waiting for their coup moment.  That’s when you know there exists a failed culture.  But just when you’ve about lost all faith, a good king arrives.  He does good things, restores hope, and rules justly.  In the narrative of the kings, this only truly happens four times (there are another five kings who did some things justly, but not to the level of the four righteous kings).  

So, now that you understand how imperative it is that a father’s message to his children is done to prepare them for success in life, we are ready to start our round.  See you in a few days.  Next stop…#1 tee box.  

I first met him while taking a class for my undergraduate degree.  To say I was fascinated with him would be an understatement of epic proportion.  I was, simply speaking, captured by the many facets of his life.  I could not get my fill of information about him, even to the point that I wrote my undergraduate capstone paper on him.  Now I enjoy periodically going back and rereading some of the material I have on his life, and recently bought a new biography focused on his early life.  So, who is he?  Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain.  Let me tell you a story.

Joshua Chamberlain was an extraordinary man.  He graduated from both Bowdoin College and Bangor Theological Seminary, and by the time he was finished with his education, he was fluent in 10 languages.  Bowdoin College hired him as a professor of rhetoric and languages, and he held the top position of department chair until he answered Abraham Lincoln’s call for troops.  He joined the Union Army as a lieutenant colonel, even though the governor of Maine insisted he enter as a colonel.  Chamberlain refused this because he felt he was not ready to lead men into battle.  Better that he learn from the experience of others first.  He was assigned to the 20^th Maine Regiment who saw their first action in December 1862 during the Battle of Fredericksburg.  The Confederates easily defended the heights above Fredericksburg while Chamberlain and the 20^th became pinned down throughout the freezing night.  When it was all over the Union Army retreated down the hill, across the Rappahannock River, and back through the streets of Fredericksburg.

Chamberlain next saw action on July 2, 1863, during the Battle of Gettysburg.  By now, he was a colonel and commanded the 20^th Maine Regiment.  On this day, they were rushed into a tenuous position on the Union line.  The defensive posturing of the Union Army looked like an inverted fishhook with the 5^th Corps located on the left flank.  Chamberlain, whose 20^th Maine was a part of the 5^th Corps, understood the consequences when he was told that because he was the end of the defensive line, he could not let Lee’s army get around him and into the Union ranks.  In other words, he had to hold this position no matter what.  It was at this juncture, that Chamberlain made his first brilliant decision.  Knowing that the approaching Confederates greatly outnumbered his unit, he repositioned the left end of his line at a right angle facing south and east.  This would hopefully deter any enemy forces approaching from the south.  Chamberlain barely had his 386 men (down from nearly 1,000 when the regiment was formed in August of 1862) in position when the 15^th Alabama, under the command of Colonel William Oates began their ascent up the hill, and firing into the Union lines.  So began the fighting for the control of this critical position.  Oates sent his men in wave after wave, only to be repelled again and again by Chamberlain and the 20^th Maine.  At times it looked as though the Confederates would break through the Union defenses, but each time, the men from Maine prevailed, and were able to force the men in gray back down the hill.  The battle proceeded like this for more than an hour.  But now the boys from Maine were very low on ammunition, and Oates’ men were reforming for another attack.  What would Chamberlain do?  What could he do?

In this critical moment, Chamberlain made his second brilliant decision.  He spoke one word…understood by everyone.  “Bayonet”.  With that one word, every man affixed his bayonet to the end of his rifle.  He then ordered the men at the right angle to swing around and form a single straight line with the rest of the regiment, and at that point down the hill they charged, surprising Oates’ men.  They would take several hundred prisoners during that charge, and for his part in leading the 20^th Maine, Chamberlain would be awarded the Medal of Honor for, as the citation reads, “Daring heroism and great tenacity in holding his position…”.  At the core of both of those words, heroism and tenacity, lies courage.

This is where it gets a little (who am I kidding) no…greatly uncomfortable, because it involves me writing about myself.  So, please bear with me while I unpack this part.  I don’t often talk about this specific experience in my life, but I want to describe something that happened during a deployment to Colombia, South America.  I lived in the jungle for a little over two months…yep, you read that correctly…I actually lived in the jungle.  Me and Rambo hanging out, barbequing wild boar that we killed on our hunt.  Ok, that part is made up…Rambo wasn’t with me.  But I did have barbequed wild board.  That is a story for another time though. Anyway, one day, myself and three of the five guys I was deployed with, were watching a Colombian helicopter flying around.  The pilot began hotdogging it and flying close to the ground…too close as we were about to find out.  We watched it enter a horseshoe-shaped clearing and then heard a loud thud, and then a high-pitched piercing sound, which we would shortly realize was the engine still trying to turn the rotors which were now stuck in the ground.  Knowing instantly that the helicopter crashed, I turned to the others and said, “Let’s go”.  I know this sounds like something out of a movie, but this really happened, and I really said those words.  We began to run across what we thought was simply an open field, but turned out to be a thick, mud-filled, boggy marsh.  (We later found out that this marsh was home to leeches and poisonous snakes.)  It took what seemed like an eternity to go those couple hundred yards, as each step had us sinking thigh-deep into the miry ground.  When we finally got to the helicopter it was on fire, the engine was still running, and there were injured bodies all over the place.  Now, one thing I failed to mention was that there were nine people on that flight…too many but the pilot didn’t care.  They were all injured, some worse than others.  One particular Colombian soldier had a pretty severe head injury, another had, we would later find out, several broken ribs and a punctured lung.  With the fire near the side-mounted machine guns (loaded with live ammunition), we had to work fast to get everyone moved to a safe distance before that ammunition started exploding.  We were also worried that the rotors would break off with pieces becoming flying projectiles.  Shortly after we got everyone off the helicopter and moved to a safe distance, the two firefighters we had deployed with us, arrived, and put out the fire.  I am skipping much of the details for the sake of the length of this post, but suffice it to say, it was a high-octane, high-stress moment.

Now, I share this because, like Joshua Chamberlain, I am just a normal guy.  Chamberlain was a professor who in a moment of crisis, answered the call.  I was a young staff sergeant who also answered the call when this other moment presented itself.  But that is where the similarities end.  Chamberlain was a New Englander from Maine, an officer in the army, who responded to the crisis on a hill in Pennsylvania.  I was enlisted, from the Midwest, who responded to the crisis in a jungle in Colombia.  We were worlds apart.  But crises don’t discriminate.  They don’t look at the color of our skin, our educational background, our upbringing, or anything else that differentiates us from the next person.  They just happen, and we must choose how to respond.

Again, I don’t tell that story very often because it kind of feels weird to do so.  By the time I returned home from Colombia, news of the event had already made its way to my leadership.  As a result, I received a very high military decoration for what I did.  Every time I wore my service dress uniform, people would ask about it.  Sometimes I told the story, other times I did not.  When I did, I wanted them to know it wasn’t just me.  It was all of us.  When the crash happened, I didn’t think about the consequences.  I just acted.  If I hadn’t been there to say those words “Let’s go”, I want to believe someone else would have, because I feel there is an intrinsic element of courage in us that is ready at a moment’s notice to jump into danger and help if needed.  I cannot explain why one person responds and another looks away, or why one person lends a helping hand and another pulls out their cell phone to film it.  Perhaps that courage I referred to earlier is buried too deep in some.  Let me say again, there is nothing special about me.  I just happened to be there, so I acted.  I guess when I tell this story, it is because I want others to know that they can be courageous as well.  In the end, the power is in how each responds when called…it’s that simple.

“Have I not commanded you?  Be strong and courageous.” (Joshua 1:9)

Chances are you have this object located somewhere in your home…maybe in your garage.  If you’ve ever had to fix something in a hurry, you might have turned to this wonderful tool.  I recently used it under the hood of my car.  You’re going to laugh it this.  There is a bracket that holds some wires above the engine block.  Well, that bracket had plastic tabs that held it in place, and they broke.  Not knowing what to do before I could get it into the mechanic to get it fixed, and not wanting the wires to sit on a hot engine block, I found myself grabbing the most universal fix-it tool on the planet…duct tape.  Yep, that’s right, I used duct tape on my car.  And you know what?  It worked.  For over a month, it held that bracket in place.  And then the mechanic fixed it.  And all was right with the world again…well, that is a bit of a stretch.  But I didn’t have to worry about melted wires on my car anymore.

They say…(btw, are you like me when people tell you “they say”, you wonder who the “they” are?).  Anyway, they say that duct tape can fix anything, and I am sort of inclined to believe it.  Not really, but they say it, so what else am I supposed to believe?  Don’t get me wrong, duct tape can, and does, fix a lot of things…at least temporary.  Can’t find that exact screw size to hold two pieces together?  Duct tape it.  Can’t get to the store to buy some glue?  Duct tape it.  Can’t secure something with clamps?  Duct tape it.  And yes, need to hold a wire bracket in place so it doesn’t melt?  Duct tape it.  When you need something in an emergency, but don’t have the right stuff, you use what you got. 

This week, we return to 1775.  The war for freedom hasn’t even gotten off the ground yet, and there a whole host of problems.  First and most obvious is, the guys on one side have received some professional training in the art of war.  The other side…not so much.  They are farmers, blacksmiths, mariners, millers, and other shopkeepers and traders.  One side has a ton of artillery.  The other side has nowhere near that many.  One side has thousands and thousands of soldiers, on foot, on horses, on ships.  The other side could only muster a few hundred at times.  When we talk today of asymmetric warfare, the colonialists are a perfect example.  The United States, before it was the United States, needed an army that on paper matched the Brits.  But, when you need something in an emergency, but don’t have the right stuff, you use what you got. 

As the British approached Lexington and Concord, the Minutemen (named that because they had to be ready to go in a minute) lacked nearly every resource one needs to successfully wage a war.  Short on ammunition, they had torn down the organ pipes from a local Anglican church and melted them into musket balls.  To help with the ever-increasing need for shelter, the call went out for those who made ship sails to repurpose their product into tents for the growing army.  Bread, meat, and other supplies were requisitioned and redirected from locations up and down the east coast and sent to where they were needed at the moment…Boston.  Like the weekend DIYer who lacks the tool needed to correctly fix the problem, you go with what you got.

Angst had been brewing for some time.  Tensions were high.  The moment had come; the armies met.  Well, more like an army met a mob.  But that mob was fierce, for they were defending their homes, their livelihood, their rights.  The British, thinking that this would be a one and done kind of war, were in for a special treat.  That first skirmish outside Concord cost the Americans two dead and three injured.  The British had three killed and seven wounded.  Surprisingly, the British Army, though trained to fight, turned tail and ran. Something had caused them to forget their discipline; perhaps the sight of a fellow soldier lying dead at their feet.  Whatever it was, they retreated…fast.  If the British had seen enough this first day, the opposite was true for the Americans.  They reorganized, pushed out, and secretly pursued the Redcoats the whole way back to Boston…a distance of more than 10 miles.  Seven times the Americans surprised the British on that trek.  And seven times more British fell from musket balls fired by hidden Minutemen.  It would not be a good look for those Redcoats,  relentlessly retreating from a force inferior in every way imaginable.  That inferior force that used what they had.

Let me come full circle and get back to that magic universal fix-it-all.  We use it because it is what we have at the ready.  Just like those early Revolutionaries.  They used what they could get their hands on to eventually defeat the British.  But though we use duct tape for seemingly endless tasks, there are a lot of things it cannot fix.  If your car frame is split in two, you can’t tape that back together and hope to survive driving down the street.  If you are sawing a piece of wood and you sever your finger, you can’t just wrap duct tape around it and finish your project.  And if it had existed in 1775, duct tape would not have made any difference in the outcome.  It cannot fix broken car frames and it cannot fix fighting nations, though we might wish it could do both.  There is one other thing that duct tape cannot fix…the soul.  

We have an invisible part of us that is broken and desperately needs a remedy.  Duct tape, even though it can fix a myriad of breakage, cannot fix the soul.  Only one can do that…God.  He is in the professional business of repairing souls.  He does what nothing and no one else can.  He puts lives back together.  And that is absolutely one thing that duct tape cannot do.  The Psalmist reminds us, “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.”  God is right there when you need to be put back together.  And the best thing about that is when you turn to Him, you don’t have to hope that it will hold for a week or two.  God works in the realm of eternity, so what he fixes is permanent.  So go ahead, put that duct tape back in the toolbox, you won’t need it today.

Have you ever had a moment when you said something that you thought was really profound, but no one listened to you?  Like you knew what you were saying was true, but everyone else in the room thought otherwise?  Then an event happens, and it proved you were right.  If that has ever been you, do I have a story to tell.

So, it’s January 20, 1775.  In the House of Lords meeting at Westminster, the members are conversing about how to quell the colonial rebellion that is fomenting an ocean away.  In the midst of the crowd, an elderly man stands to speak.  But this is not just any man.  He is a man with a rich history.  Just a few years earlier, he was one of the most brilliant strategists for England during the Seven Years War, which for all intents and purposes, was a world war before we ever thought to call one that.  From 1754 to 1763, more than 30 countries, states, powers, and principalities fought for six years, eight months, four weeks.  If you are a kind of person that deals in absolutes, is a perfectionist, and who is all about the details, right now you may be asking yourself why is it called the Seven Years War when the fighting only lasted for six years, eight months, four weeks?  Probably because one is easier to say than the other.  And if that mind of yours was really paying attention, then I wasn’t able to slip one by you, because you did the math and realized that 1754 – 1763 is actually nine years.  You would be correct.  So, to recap, it’s called the Seven Years War.  The real fighting lasted six years, eight months, four weeks.  The actual timeframe for the war was nine years.  Makes perfect sense, I know.

Now that we chased that rabbit, let’s get back to the story.  The man standing is William Pitt (who looks nothing like Brad), Earl of Chatham.  During the Seven Years War he was a chief military planner for Britain and its push for territorial dominance.  His sole vision was victory over France, the primary enemy of the English crown, and in many ways, it proved a success.  So, when he stands, the members of the House focus on him.  Pitt is the 18^th century E.F. Hutton for those that remember the late 1970s tv commercial.  He speaks, people listen.  He’s about to say something inspirational that will drive the nail into the coffin of the colonists’ discontent.  His words will surely end any plan of rebellion by that ungrateful bunch.  All eyes and ears are on this brilliant man.  And he says this, 

“All attempts to impose servitude upon such men, to establish despotism over such a mighty continental nation must be in vain.  We shall be forced, ultimately, to retract.  Let us retract while we can, not when we must.”  He continued, “My lords, there is no time to be lost.  Every moment is big with dangers.  The very first drop of blood will make a wound that will not easily be skinned over.” (Rick Atkinson, The British are Coming, 20)

I don’t want you to miss that.  He doesn’t say full charge ahead.  He encourages leaving the colonies.  You can almost feel the disbelief of those in the room.  One guy turns to his right, and asks, “Is this the William Pitt I’ve heard so much about?  The military genius?”  Yes, it’s that guy.  The one who led his nation’s successful strategic plan over France and her allies, who was all in for seven years of fighting, which if you recall was nine years, but really six years, eight months, four weeks.  Yeah, that guy.  He had no desire to go to war with the colonies.  He opposed the heinous acts the crown forced on the Americans thousands of miles away.  In his mind, if England went ahead with its plan, it would not end well.  The wound inflicted will not easily be skinned over.  After his speech, which lasted over an hour, a vote was taken, and Pitt lost.  Seventeen others sided with him, but 68 voted to keep British troops in Boston.  Four months later Pitt’s words rang true.

At the battles of Lexington and Concord, the “shot heard round the world” started in motion a growing rebellion that, had Pitt survived to the end of the war, he no doubt would have reminded his countrymen that he had petitioned against war with the colonies, a kind of “I told you so.”  I can imagine when it became apparent to King George that the colonists were not going to submit quietly, he might have suffered some regret at the decision he ultimately made.  But what could he do?  He could not reverse course and succumb to these “rebel scum” (apologies to the Imperial Commander on the forest moon of Endor for stealing your line).  Alas, if only they had listened to Pitt.  Wisdom was disregarded.  Experience brushed aside.  And here I am typing this out on my computer enjoying the freedom those rebels fought for.  You tried Mr. Pitt.  Thank you for that.

You know, we are too often guilty of what the British Parliament did.  Ignore the one in the room who probably knows better than anyone else.  I can tell you from personal experience of what it is like when you ignore the wiser person in the room.  For more times than I can count, I have ignored the author of wisdom and followed my own advice…and it never turned out good.  I ignored what God wanted to tell me, the direction He was leading me in, the goal He wanted me to obtain; and instead chose my own path.  I was the crowd not listening to Pitt.  Then I was King George wishing I had never followed my own advice, but then believing there was nothing that could be done.  But God said otherwise.  Every. Single. Time.  I’ll close with this, because it doesn’t get any better; “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure.” (Psalm 40) 

I recently discovered a podcast featuring the history of the Rocky Balboa statue in Philadelphia.  Rocky, the Italian Stallion, was the fictitious boxer portrayed by Sylvester Stallone in numerous movies, in which he ran around hitting meat slabs hanging in a freezer and yelling “Yo, Adrian”.  Like me, you are now smiling at remembering that scene of Rocky pulverizing a side of beef.  Now, this particular statue stands adjacent to the steps leading up to the Philadelphia Museum of Art, those same steps that Rocky famously ran up in the first movie, with the theme song “Gonna Fly Now” playing in the background.

In the podcast, I learned that, in spite of being moved several times, the statue gets more visitors than the Liberty Bell, something I could not believe.  So I researched it; and you know what?  It’s true.  The Liberty Bell gets between one and two million visitors each year.  The Rocky statue?  Four million.  And if you are like me, right now you are thinking that is just crazy…and it sort of is.  For a history guy, it is insane to think that a bronze statue of a fictitious individual, and originally meant as a movie prop, is seen by a lot more people than one of the nation’s symbols of freedom and an American treasure, which ironically, is also made of bronze.

The Liberty Bell had its origin in the state house in Philadelphia.  Issac Norris, the Speaker of the Pennsylvania Assembly, commissioned a bell to be cast from a company in London.  When it arrived in Philadelphia and rung for the first time, it cracked.  So, John Pass and John Stow, both local metalworkers, melted down the bell and cast a new one.  This new bell was used for decades, until a small crack appeared in the 1840s.  Finally, in 1846, city officials decided to repair the bell by making the crack bigger…that’s right…they made the crack bigger and drilled over 40 holes into it, with the hope of preventing the split from spreading.  Unfortunately the repair did not work, and another small crack appeared.  Sadly, the bell would never be rung again.

Today, the Liberty Bell sits on display and is seen by…a couple of million visitors, while two and a half miles away, Rocky sees twice that amount.  There must be something about the 11 foot statue, or at least what it represents, that makes it such an attraction for so many people.  Here is what I think.  It’s not that the sculpture is an award winning piece of art.  In fact, there is much controversy over the placement of the statue near the Museum of Art, because many art professionals think of it as a movie prop, and not a piece of actual art.  I think it is that the subject awakens in us an idea, that when life knocks you down, you find the power to get back up.  Rocky said it best in the movie Rocky Balboa (effectively Rocky 6).  In the scene where his son blames his dad for his own shortcomings, Rocky tells him in his blue collar Italian voice, 

“Let me tell you something you already know.  The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows.  It is a very mean and nasty place and it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it.  You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.  But it ain’t how hard you hit; it’s about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward.  How much you can take, and keep moving forward.  That’s how winning is done.”  

That is what is represented in the bronze statue…and what is hopefully present in each of us.  The ability to rebound after taking life’s most brutal beating.  In each of Rocky’s fights, he is on the verge of being defeated.  He is bloody.  His face looks like a mack truck ran over it…a hundred times.  But it is what happens next that has each one of us on the edge of our seat.  The pain is screaming for him to stay down, but something else inside him is screaming to get back up.  The crowd begins to chant his name.  And we know what’s next.  Now, I know that it makes for a good storyline, but we all cheer Rocky on as he fights back from the brink of defeat.  And when the knockout punch is landed, his opponent goes down for good.

The Rocky movies are all about the grit of the battle in the ring.  But there are also those gritty and brutally honesty conversations, like the one between Rocky and his son.  Life is hard, and if you are not careful, it will beat you to your knees.  Actually, that isn’t correct.  No matter how careful you are, life will beat you to your knees.  It will smack you, slap you, punch you, kick you, and anything else it can to bring you down.  But you cannot remain there.  You have to get back up, and get moving forward again.  You have to find a way, like Rocky, to get off the ground, off the ropes, off the verge of defeat, and back on your feet.  And when all seems lost, in the words of TobyMac, “Help is on the way.”

The Liberty Bell was struck time after time for 90 years, each time signaling assemblymen that it was time to…assemble.  Then one day, while being rung, the crack appeared in the bell.  As we have already seen, it kept getting bigger, and in spite of their best efforts, experts could not fix it.  When life smacks us and takes us down, we too become bruised and cracked.  The difference is, there is an expert who can fix us.  We are never too far damaged.  We are never beyond repair.  Open the New Testament, and discover the man who for 38 years lay by the pool waiting to be the first to enter the healing waters.  Discover the man whose friends examined the surroundings and found that the only way to the teacher was through the roof.  Discover the woman who bled for 12 years.  Discover the widow’s son and the ruler’s daughter.  Life was cruel for these individuals.  It kicked them down…hard; but then Jesus, who understood human nature better than anyone else, came on scene and picked them up.  And what metallurgists could not do for a bell, the Son of God did for humanity.

The new year always brings the opportunity for new beginnings.  We can turn the page on the previous year’s shortcomings, and start a new chapter of our life.  We can crinkle up the paper of our mistakes and 86 them into the trash bin.  We can rip the sheet of failures out of our book and promptly put them into the shredder.  We can do these things…but should we?  Life is built around successful results founded through unsuccessful attempts.  In other words, we find that when we take the time to examine our failures, shortcomings, or whatever you may want to call them, we can learn and be better next time.  That is one of the things I love about history…looking back at men and women, well-known and obscure, those that made great impacts and those whose actions were not so dynamic…and understanding that they did not let their failures define who they were.  They made the necessary effort to try again with the vision of success in their mind’s eye.  

Our nation’s story is written in the crinkled pages piled up in the trash can.  There is the Continental Army and its many miscues on the battlefield.  It is a wonder that the American amateurs won the war over British professional soldiers.  They faced defeat time and time again, yet never gave up…successful result through unsuccessful attempts.  If those farmers and merchants laid down their arms and went home we might be speaking with a British accent today.  As Jefferson sat down to write the most important document in United States’ history, he found himself starting over, crossing out words, adding others for more effect.  We know there were several versions that were penned before the 56 men signed their names.  In the end, we have our founding document…successful result through unsuccessful attempts.  Lincoln ran for political offices numerous times.  After an abysmal record of trying for various levels of offices, he was nominated and elected President of the United States – except that before he was even in office, seven states broke from the United States, and another four left within a couple of months of him moving into the White House…not very United.  The Civil War is full of each side’s unsuccessful attempts at getting their desires realized.  The North eventually won, but in the early years of the war they suffered way more losses than wins…successful result through unsuccessful attempts (a lot of unsuccessful attempts – and by a lot, I mean A LOT).

Heavier-than-air, controlled flight had many challengers.  The list is a long chronicle of failure after failure.  Broken wood, bent metal, lives lost…all tell the tragic story of trying to be history’s first.  Then Orville and Wilbur cracked the code.  A couple of bicycle repairmen…the Wrights, had the right stuff.  Thomas Edison failed thousands of times before getting a working lightbulb.  Watching a Food Channel special recently, I was reminded of how Milton Hershey lost nearly everything because he could not get the chocolate recipe he envisioned.  He hired, and subsequently fired, scientist after scientist when they could not produce what he wanted.  And then one day it happened.  One of them created the result he was looking for, and the rest, they say, is history.  And if that isn’t enough, how many times have we watched Elmer Fudd try and nab that wabbit?  Or Wile E. Coyote (“Eatibus Anythingus”) trying to catch and eat the Roadrunner (“Hot-roddicus supersonicus”).  All tell the story of successful results (well, not Elmer or Wile E.) through unsuccessful attempts.

And then there is us.  We have all experienced failure.  I remember all the times in the Air Force when I awaited the results of promotion to the next higher rank.  Would this year be the year?  Or would I be subjected to another year of studying and then waiting for results.  I was blessed to achieve the highest enlisted rank of Chief Master Sergeant, but there were many failures along the way…successful results through unsuccessful attempts.  You too have faced success…and failure.  The thing is, when we have failed, came up short, missed the mark, whatever label you put on it, you have a choice.  You can stare at that trash can full of crumpled papers of past failures, or you can gather yourself, set your compass true, and get after it again, knowing that somewhere along this path called life, you will find that success for which you are striving.  You might have to brush aside those wadded up papers of unsuccessful attempts, but trust me, success is there.

Let me close with this.  The Apostle Peter faced failure after failure himself.  Remember, Peter is the one who spent all night fishing and catching nothing, and when Jesus shows up he doesn’t want to throw the nets out again.  I mean, he’s been at it all night and he is exhausted.  But he does…reluctantly…and catches so many fish that his nets begin to break.  Remember, Peter is the one who steps out of the boat in faith, walks on water, but then realizes that in the natural world humans aren’t supposed to be able to stand on a liquid substance.  Remember, Peter is the one who will never deny Jesus, and then when the words are still fresh in his mind, he does just that…not once, not twice, but three times.  Peter could have sat down and stared at his personal pile of failures in that overflowing trash can, and for a moment he did.  But he knew what we know.  Successful results come through unsuccessful attempts.

Tea…the drink from which deals are made around the world.  In the Asian market it is usually green or white tea that holds prominence.  When I lived in Turkey, in every shop you walked into, the first thing the owner asked was if you wanted hot chai, or tea.  There was the usual regular chai made from black tea leaves, but if you were lucky, you could get apple chai.   It was the best.  You’d put a couple little sugar cubes in it and just enjoy.  Many evenings were spent haggling over prices for a Turkish or Persian carpet, all while sipping chai.  Of course, there is matcha which is really popular today.  It seems you can get matcha in pretty much any drink you want at the local coffee shop.  In England, Earl Grey tea is quite popular.  I’ve had it and I can honestly say, I’m not impressed.  In the United States, iced tea is the most popular form of the drink.  If you live in the South, it is served with a pound of sugar added, and in some restaurants, it is like drinking liquid sugar.  Growing up in the Midwest, we put a glass pitcher out on a hot summer day, and let the sun make the tea for us…hence, sun tea.

It’s not surprising that tea is as universal as it is.  But did you know it is also a powerful drink?  In fact, so powerful that it helped start a rebellion.  In 1698, England gave the East India Tea Company the sole rights to import tea into England.  British Parliament required the colonists in America to buy their tea from England, and thus the East India Tea Company.  But East India did not export their tea to America, so they sold it to companies that did.  This created problems with East India as they were losing money due to shippers bringing in smuggled Dutch tea.  So, to help East India, Parliament passed the Indemnity Act which lowered the tax imposed on the tea.  But nothing is ever simple, and this led to a decrease in revenue for Britain, so they responded by passing another law, the Townshend Revenue Act, which imposed a tax on the colonists.  This did not sit well with a lot of the colonists (cue Twisted Sister’s hit song “We’re Not Gonna Take It”).

Not taking it is exactly what the colonists did.  Furious with the whole “taxation without representation” thing, the colonists devised a plan.  On December 16, 1773, dressed like Indians, they boarded three ships docked on Griffin’s Wharf, and proceeded to smash open chest after chest of tea, and dumping them into the harbor.  By the time they were finished, forty-five tons of tea leaves were turning the harbor into an enormous glass of cold brew tea, valued at 10,000 British pounds (over 1 million dollars in today’s value).  King George could not understand why people would do such thing, and he did not take too kindly to these rebels destroying his profits, so more imposing laws came down hard on the colonists.  The British called them the Coercive Acts, the colonists labeled them the Intolerable Acts; so you can see the mindset of each party.  The acts served to punish Boston by closing the harbor until those responsible paid back the value of the tea.  The other aspects of the new legislation were even more painful for the colonists.  The Massachusetts government would essentially be run by a British elected official, who would, among other things, restrict any town meetings planned by colonists, stripping them of control and power.

One might argue that paying a little more for tea was not worth the punishments that followed.  Bostonians, at least some of them, disagreed.  However, for many, to just go along was no longer an option.  Today, we have a voice in our Republic.  In 1773, they were not so fortunate…again, the whole taxation without representation thing.  Those rebels felt that enough was enough, so into the sea went the imported tea.

Rebellion is a messy thing.  It was for those Bostonians.  It was for those in Philadelphia gathered to sign a document that sealed their fate.  It was for Washington and the rag-tag, under-equipped, underfed, undertrained, under-clothed army he led.  It is for the Christ-follower.  As Christians, we are in rebellion against everything that is of this world.  We walk by faith…not by sight.  We chase after love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self control…not jealousy, strife, anger, division, envy, and immorality.  We are long distance runners straining for a prize that is eternal…not sprinters seeking a medal in the here and now.  We serve in humility, considering others more important than ourselves…not boasting in our self-importance.  

Again, rebellion is a messy thing.  The book of Hebrews reminds us of rebels who went before us; Abraham, Moses, Rahab, Gideon, David, and many others.  Men and women who believed rebellion was the better way.  Abraham rebelled against those who said he was too old.  Moses rebelled against the pharaoh.  Rahab rebelled against her neighbors, refusing to give up the spies.  Gideon rebelled against every military strategist emphasizing numerical superiority.  David rebelled against the belief that the little guy never wins.  

Rebellious things.  Messy things.  They are not easy.  They are not popular.  The King Georges of the world will never understand.  Don’t worry though.  When we choose to be rebellious for God…we’re in good company. Who knows…maybe someday you will sit down with Moses and David, or Peter and John, and enjoy some hot apple chai. What a tea party that will be.

It was a tiresome and repetitive problem the president battled.  It seemed like he just could not find an appropriate commander for the Union Army…one that would, in his words, “fight”.  Lincoln desperately wanted a general who could match Robert E. Lee’s military strategy and aggressiveness.  George McClellan eventually became that general…Lincoln’s best hope for the North in those early years.  But it did not take long for a problem to arise…McClellan was indecisiveness and unable to commit his army to the fight, constantly believing the Confederates vastly outnumbered his own forces.  Finally, and after numerous prodding from Lincoln, the spring and early summer of 1862 saw McClellan and Lee fight up and down the Virginia countryside, with Lee generally being the aggressor, and claiming most of the victories.  Then in September Lee ventured north into Maryland, and the two armies collided at Sharpsburg, a small town 70 miles west of Baltimore.  The battle was especially brutal with nearly 23,000 casualties, making it the bloodiest day in United States history.  At day’s end, it was a draw, with neither side able to claim a clear cut victory.  However, the Union Army claimed a strategic win because Lee retreated from the battlefield.  But McClellan failed to pursue Lee, and it proved his downfall.  Lincoln made it known several times that he wanted McClellan to reengage the Confederates in battle, but the general refused to do so.  Lincoln had no choice…he sacked the general, and replaced him with General Ambrose Burnside.

This was not the first time Burnside’s name came up in discussion as the commander of the Army of the Potomac.  Twice before, Burnside had been offered the position, but refused it on the grounds of his inexperience.  This time was no different.  He again did not want the position, but heard that if he refused, the offer would go to Joseph Hooker, whom Burnside despised.  It was either take the offer, or risk having to serve under the man he did not like.  So, on November 9, 1862, Burnside reluctantly assumed command.

In just five days, Burnside, feeling pressured by the president who needed action, put together a plan to move the army south to capture the Confederate capital of Richmond.  The first stop was Fredericksburg.  On December 13, Burnside led the Army of the Potomac in a battle against Lee’s Confederates in what would become a devastating and humiliating defeat for the North.  Burnside, plagued by poor timing, committed his forces in piecemeal fashion against Lee who occupied the high ground.  Wave after wave of Union men walked uphill into a bloodbath.  Not knowing anything else to do, Burnside kept feeding the onslaught.  Relief came only as night fell, when his corps commanders finally talked him into ceasing operations.  It was another lopsided victory for Lee, with the Union suffering more than 12,000 casualties, against the Confederate’s 5,000.  Burnside made plans for another campaign against Lee, but when the weather refused to cooperate, Lincoln did the inevitable.  Burnside was removed and put back into his old corps commander position, but he never really recovered from the fiasco that was Fredericksburg.  In a twist of irony, Joseph Hooker, Burnside’s nemesis, was given the command.  Hooker, for his own part, would be fired after five months in the job.  It seemed as if the North was doomed to inept leadership.

[At this point, I’m guessing most reading this have never heard of Burnside.  But I bet I know what you thought when I first mentioned his name…sideburns.  The fact is, the term sideburns originated from Burnside’s facial hair.  Google a picture of him and you will understand.  Burnside had some serious sideburns.]  

Now, one can hardly fault Lincoln for giving Burnside the axe…or any of the other generals that simply could not perform under pressure.  To be appointed to that level of responsibility, you have to meet expectations.  To quote Peter Parker’s uncle, with “great power, comes great responsibility.”  Life is pretty much like this for all of us.  If we cannot meet our boss’s expectations, we face the prospect of getting replaced.  We might think it unfair, but our boss would say otherwise. 

I don’t know about you, but I sure am glad God doesn’t operate like that.  If God treated me like Lincoln treated his generals, I would have been kicked to the curb a long time ago.  I would deserve it, so it would certainly be appropriate.  However, God simply doesn’t work like that.  He calls us, equips us, empowers us, and leads us.   But then, like Burnside,  we make bad decisions.  Like Burnside, we don’t listen to the wise counsel of others.  Like Burnside, we keep repeating the same faulty thing over and over again, expecting different results.  And like Burnside, we deserve to be axed.  Instead, God corrects us…humbles us…nurtures us…and once again, tells us, He loves us.  May that be a reminder the next time you find yourself overwhelmed and facing disappointment.  Let the God of restoration pull you up from the miry muck of failure, and set your feet back on the firm foundation that He has established for your life.

Last week we briefly peered into the life of a man whose battlefield presence promised great victories, valorous leadership, and determined commitment matched by none.  And then reality set in and it was discovered that Benedict Arnold was concerned with himself only, which quickly led to him going down a dead-end road of destruction.  That is what someone with a lack of true character looks like.

This week we open the history book and find a very different kind of person.  A doctor, and no stranger to either side in the fight for independence, Joseph Warren was, simply put, the kind of leader you would follow.  It was March 6, 1775, and many had gathered in the Old South Meeting House in downtown Boston to commemorate the anniversary of the Boston Massacre, when British soldiers fired into a crowd of colonists, killing five of them and wounding another six.  Just by showing up at this anniversary event was considered by the British to be a crime punishable by death, but Warren seemed to care little.  He boldly stepped off the carriage, and walked into the building wearing a Roman-style toga, symbolic of defiance against the tyranny of the British government.  In the weeks leading up to his speech, Dr. Warren received numerous death threats, and even now, this day, one British soldier opened his hand revealing musket balls as a sign of intimidation.  Nothing would deter the speaker.

For 35 minutes Warren railed against the British government and the threat to liberty.  He highlighted the “wise measures recommended by the…continental congress,” but should those fail, “the only way to safety is through fields of blood, I know you will not turn your faces from our foes; but will undauntedly press forward, until tyranny is trodden under your feet.”  Then liberty would be established on the American throne.  He closed his powerful speech with the words, “You are to decide the important question, on which rest the happiness and liberty of millions yet unborn.  Act worthy of yourselves.”  Generations of free men yet to come hung in the balance as America decided what to do next.

If there were any doubts about whether Dr. Joseph Warren was an enemy of the crown before, those doubts vanished; and if there were ever a free choice for the direction Warren’s life would take, that too was now gone.  He was locked in on the fight for his country’s freedom.  Now, if Joseph Warren’s life as a patriot only consisted of speeches and verbal orders, it still might be enough.  For there were plenty of those.  John Adams never raised a musket in defense.  Thomas Jefferson never shed blood on a battlefield.  But that was not enough for the good doctor.  Warren had to become a man of action, and not words only, and so on April 19, 1775, he did just that, leaving the comfort of the lectern and walking onto the field of battle at Lexington and Concord.  In those hours, he directed the militia and joined the fighting as the British returned to Boston.  At one point a musket ball nearly ended his life.  It was a sign to come.

Nearly two months later, Warren showed up at the Battle of Bunker Hill and volunteered his service as a private in the militia.  General Israel Putnam thought it absurd that Warren would serve as a private under him, and instead told the doctor that it was he, Putnam, who should serve under Warren.  Warren declined and went of to fight.  The British assault was relentless, coming in three waves.  During the last attack, Warren stayed back to protect the militia during their escape.  Unlike the close encounter several weeks earlier, this time a musket ball found its mark.  Warren died instantly.    What occurred next could only be described as brutal.  The British, despising Warren because of the words he had spoken, now would enact their full revenge.  Although already dead, soldiers stripped off his clothes, bayoneted him until he was unrecognizable, pushed him into a ditch, and threw some dirt on him.  And for one, that was still not enough.  James Drew, a British lieutenant, went back two days later, dug up the body, spit on Warren’s face, jumped on his stomach, and then preceded to behead the dead American.  William Tecumseh Sherman quite appropriately said, “War is hell.”

My daughter recently came home with a shirt from the school play production.  On the back were the names of all the participants.  I wish I could say I was surprised that our last name was misspelled, but I was not.  It is not an uncommon experience.  But what made it frustrating was that we sent emails back and forth with spelling corrections, obviously a pointless venture.  I told her I was frustrated because there are relatively few things you actually own and can control in life, that nobody can take from you.  Your name is one.  

Solomon wrote, “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches.”  Anyone who has his or her eye on a position of leadership, had better ensure they make this a priority.  The eyes that are upon you, will attach your name to your actions.  If those actions are like those of Benedict Arnold’s, your end is already written.  Your ability to have influence has met a dreadful death.  However, if like Joseph Warren, your actions are honorable and valorous, then there will be no shortage of people who will be inspired to follow your leadership.  Unlike the flip of a coin to decide the receiving team in an NFL game, the outcome is not random, a 50/50 chance, or a shot in the dark.  No, the outcome is in your control.  Today, decide that a good name is more important than riches, and act worthy of yourself.