Unleashing The Power Of Rubber Bands (6 page)

“Hey Bensons! John is preaching this weekend at our church, and we’d love to have you come with us.”

Hmmm . . . we think we have to clip our toenails that day, but thanks for asking. And then that strained smile, with the subtext of “please don’t ask again.”

Undeterred: “Hey, Bensons, I am preaching this weekend. What do you say you come and then we all go out for lunch afterward?”

Wow, thanks for asking, really. We’ll be grading papers, I’m sure.

The kids singing in a choir, Christmas Eve, nothing. So after a while, we just stopped asking. And actually, I think it was the right thing to do. It was getting a bit embarrassing.

Imagine my surprise when one bright spring day while I was standing out in the yard, Neil came bouncing over to inquire what time the Sunday services were, and informed me that he and Pat would love to come to church.

Huh?

He told me about a teacher’s assistant who worked at their school. She was a single mom with three young children whose husband had recently and quite suddenly died. She had no car and struggled to make ends meet on a teacher’s assistant’s salary. Both Neil and Pat liked this woman a great deal.

Then they discovered that someone had given her—as in, no charge—a car. A used one, but solid, reliable transportation nonetheless. And that someone represented a ministry from our church that had been started by a guy whose life had been changed by Christ.

Here’s the short but wonderful version of his story: This guy had started coming to Willow Creek when his life had hit the skids. His marriage and his job were in shambles. He was struggling with addictions that were seriously interfering with his life. And in that condition, he came to church.

After a period of some months, he understood the salvation of Jesus in that deep way that someone who is desperate understands. His life was truly and radically changed. His marriage survived and flourished, and with some help he wrestled free of his addictions. He regained his standing as a dad his kids could love, and he was incrediblychanged and so incredibly grateful.

So one day he explained to our senior pastor that hehad a strong desire to give back, and although he couldn’t preach a sermon or sing, he had an idea. Spawned by gratitude and supported by his abilities as a mechanic, his idea was to start a “cars ministry” in which he and others would fix up and donate used cars, mostly to single moms.

And all the time that John and I had been inviting the Bensons to church, thinking they just needed to hear a great sermon or listen to beautiful soul-stirring music, their intersection with our church was with a mechanic. A mechanic, gifted by God, changed by God, and filled by God to overflowing.

The Bensons attended our church for the next two years, retired to Florida, and today are contributing members of a flourishing church in the land of sunshine.

One of the most powerful ways to motivate yourself as a leader is to remember back to a time when someone did it for you. Think back to a boss you had who took the time to notice the work you did, and let you know. That was probably a pretty powerful time.

I can still remember the first time this happened for me. I was twenty-two years old and working as a registered nurse. I was one of many new nurses in the orientation pro gram at a large Catholic hospital that had a great reputation in our area. I felt a bit lost in the bigness and newness of it all. Although I had gone to college for five years to study nursing, now that I was working in a hospital for the first time, it seemed as though most of what I had learned was “theory.” I quite literally found myself praying every day on my way to work:
Please don’t let me kill anyone today.

At the time, I was dating a guy who was attending an outof-state school, and he was planning to come home on break just about the time I was scheduled to rotate from the day shift to my permanent shift: 3:00–11:30 p.m. I really wanted to stay on the day shift for two weeks longer. It would mean the difference between seeing my boyfriend and not seeing much of him at all. Although I was pretty motivated to ask, I was also terrified. I was new. No one knew me very well, and the director of nurses was a former nun. I don’t know why that made her seem more formidable to me, but it did. That, and the fact that I had never even met her.

But I really wanted to see my boyfriend, so I rehearsed what I was going to say for days. I practiced presenting my case, not sure exactly how to ask for something after having only worked there for three months.

I picked the day and time I knew I would see the director walking in the halls. I asked the butterflies in my stomach to please take a break, and then, with all the courage I could muster, walked right up to her, put out my hand, and said, “You don’t know who I am, but my name is Nancy Berg and . . .”

I kept talking, having memorized my request, which included good, solid reasons why this could work. But she interrupted me.

“I know who you are.”

That’s what she said to me. “I know who you are.”

She then went on to say that she knew I was working on the medical-surgical floor, and that she had heard good things about my work. Eventually—perhaps out of pity (maybe the fact that she was an ex-nun was working in my favor)—she granted me the additional two weeks on the day shift, and I got to see my boyfriend.

There is power in
paying attention.

I ended up marrying someone else, but I will never forget those five words:

I know who you are
.

There is power in paying attention. And a power is released in someone who knows he or she is being paid attention to.

Someone did it for you once. Now it’s your turn.

Rubber Bands II

SO, BACK TO THE
rubber band thing. Leadership is not an either/or, but rather a both/and. And as leaders, we constantly need to determine whether something is a problem to be solved or a tension to be managed. (One of my partners, David Ross, says this at nearly every off-site conference we conduct.)

Much of the frustration that leaders face comes from trying to solve what needs to be managed and trying to manage what needs to be solved. Being able to distinguish which areas need clarity and which areas will be ongoingtensions is a necessary skill. See, there it is already: the managing of the tension between clarity and tensions.

What needs what? If something can be solved, it is up to us to engage our teams in the problem-solving research and discussions that lead to solutions. But when we try to solve something that is really an ongoing tension, our frustrationlevels will inevitably rise, because tensions cannot and should not be resolved.

Working in the medical field a number of years ago, I had an employee who consistently did mediocre work andmissed deadlines. I was a new young leader, and although I didn’t realize it at the time, my need to have everyone like me still drove everything that I did. And even more than needing everyone to like me was probably an unspoken desire for everyone to think I was the best leader they had
ever
worked for.

As leaders, we constantly
need to determine whether
something is a problem
to be solved or a tension
to be managed.

(And even as I pounded that last sentence onto the page, I am aware of managing the tension of “did they work
for
me or
with
me?”)

Anyway, I managed the tension of this guy’s poor work for a long time—too long. But I had never done this before, and because he was quite a bit older than I was and had been with the organization years longer than I had, I didn’t know what else to do. I talked with him, coached him on improvements, gave him deadlines, and checked in with him regularly. Occasionally I even covered for him while I was trying to get his work up to speed.

Then one day
my
boss sat down with me and talked to me about this employee’s performance issues. I began with a long explanation of how I was managing this tension, to which he replied, “There is no tension. There is a problem here, and I have been waiting for you to solve it.”

We talked at length about how long this had been going on with no signs of change, and how, mostly because of fear, I had put this issue into the managing or “developmental” category, when in reality it was neither of those things. It was an employee who was consistently underper-forming in the basic areas of his job.

He was the first person I ever had to fire. Perhaps that is why the lesson is so memorable to me, even today.

Leaders know that tensions have to be managed all the time. Opposing forces can be found everywhere—in organizations, in churches, in people—and although both sides might have much to offer, either one can be destructive if one takes over without the other. Good leaders understand the need for equilibrium. Not balance, but equilibrium that is ever shifting.

Solving problems is much easier and more static. But managing tensions requires that you hold things open when what you would much prefer is closure; it is living in the foggy gray areas when what you want is clear black and white. And it is knowing what is needed when (because many times, closure and clarity are exactly what are needed!).

My son is a surfer. I, on the other hand, surf. There is a big difference, he tells me. I can get up on a long board if the waves are between one and three feet and the water temperature is hovering around eighty degrees. That last requirement is personal but nonnegotiable for me.

Johnny is a surfer. Given a wide berth of conditions, that boy can get up on his short board whether the waves are barreling or closing out, soupy or flat, gnarly or sweet. He can ride, cut back, top turn, and snap. He is beautiful to watch, fluid in his sport. He is passionate and persistent, two necessary traits in every surfer.

Surfing is this amazing intersection of controlled, known conditions and unpredictable, fickle forces. Days before Johnny chooses a time to go to one of his favorite surf spots, he is online assessing the weather conditions, checking out what is deteriorating and what is forming. He knows what the predicted wind patterns and directions will be and where the storms are. He watches storms that are generating destruction thousands of miles away because he knows they will also create glorious and per fectly shaped waves at our coast. He is aware of all the known factors: the direction the beach faces and the slope of the ocean floor at that location. He puts together what he knows with what is coming, and then he leaves roomto factor in what he will find when he steps out of his car.

Managing tensions is living
in the foggy gray areas
when what you want is
clear black and white.

I have stood by him and watched as his eyes scan the surface of the water. He often stands in silence, the look onhis face serious and considering. He is managing tensions. Really, the only immediate decision to be made is will he go in or won’t he? Before and after that, it’s still all about managing tensions. He will have to hold everything he knows right next to all that he doesn’t know and live in that in-between place, where each wave is different and the wind can shift in a moment.

Many of the organizations I have worked in and that I work with now deal with the constant tension of infrastructure and innovation. You’ve got to have both. But they are not necessarily great roommates; they rarely get along and often compete.

Infrastructure versus innovation is not a problem to be solved, but rather a tension to be managed. And the struggle is not going to go away with a carefully timed decision. The interplay of the two, the necessity and the friction, are here to stay.

Our firm is currently working with a company that produces a lot of creative products in the form of TV commercials, radio spots, and print ads. Because what they produce demands innovative ideas, this company employs a boatload of creative people. But since it is a business, it also needs systems, procedures, administration, and detail-oriented people.

Meetings are a challenge. The systems people get frustrated when deadlines are missed, requests aren’t filled out, and budgets aren’t met. The creative people accuse the systems people of squelching their artistic inspiration with all these rules. And they remind the systems people that this is a
creative
business and that without the creative people, there would be no business.

Is this a problem to be solved or a tension to bemanaged?

In the same vein, think about the particular challengethat churches often face when it comes to passion and humility. Seemingly an endangered species, humble people rightly reflect the spirit of Christ in so many ways. Humility was portrayed clearly in the Gospels, and was such a defining characteristic that the New Testament writers were still recounting its virtues in Philippians and beyond. Humility puts us in right relationship to both God and to others; it sets the tone for our biblical community and allows us to serve and releases us from the need to compare and measure. In many ways, humility frees us up to be the best followers, the best leaders, and the most content children of God.

However (and that is a key word in the world of ten-sions), I have encountered people in churches who use this very wonderful word as a shield to hide behind as they work to avoid change, steer clear of truth, and relentlessly maintain the status quo, even when it renders them and the message of the gospel completely irrelevant to those who need it most. Humility can become a “get out of jail free” card that protects against accountability and honesty. I have seen it used as a shameless defense for protecting a personalviewpoint and as a weapon for destroying any sign of pride in a job well done.

Humility frees us up to
be the best followers, the
best leaders, and the most
content children of God.

So what is one to do with humility? Embrace it because it reflects Christ? That
can’t
bethe wrong answer. But what about all its misuses? Is humility the only thing we need; is it the end of the story? I don’t think so. In order to truly understand humility, we must consider it in relation to other issues and values.

So let’s add passion to the mix. Perhaps at first glance, these two qualities appear to be somewhat opposite, competing even. Certainly there is some truth to that. In much of the work I have done in and with postmodern (or whatever the current language is) churches, I see a lot of passion. The people in these churches exude an energy that is palpable, a zeal that drives toward missional, and an enthusiasm for change and faith that restores hope. Passion breathes life into dusty organizations and keeps people motivated and engaged and creative.

I am not interested in living a life without passion. Put two people next to each other, one with passion and one without, and I’ll choose passion every time. Okay, almost every time. People are attracted to it; they want to follow it. We need passion. The term may be overused and hackneyed and predictable seemingly to the point of irrelevance, but true passion is still vital to great leadership.

So how do we put these two together—passion and humility—in order to bring the best of both to the worlds we lead? Knowing all the good that humility can bring, while seeing with crystal clarity that it can also slip into a kind of low self-image and martyrdom that is not godly, how do we team it up with all the energy of passion, understanding that passion has the tendency to drift undetected into pride and arrogance? We must make humility and passion a both/and, not an either/or.

If you are looking for a direct answer and/or an equationfor this, you have
so
bought the wrong book. Actuallyif you ever buy any book that promises to parse and spreadsheet this out for you, drop it and run. There is no clear-cut answer to this tension beyond this:
We must.

We must figure out, perhaps in different ways every day, how to stand between differing forces and, as best we can, cull out the best and winnow out the worst.

We must have difficult conversations with others and take long, hard inward looks at our own motivations.

We must teach and talk about the two words (and all the “two words” that create tension) to define them and use them with wisdom.

We must release ourselves from the pressure to make decisions when the reality is that we are managing tensions.

When the occasion calls for it, we must celebrate that we (ourselves and our teams) have, as best we can, hit it about right.

Managing tensions isn’t about compromise or consensus. It isn’t about balance, which is too simply about finding the 50 percent middle ground and standing there. There is no tension in middle ground. Managing tensions is about finding the right place, given the particular set of circumstances and words, that gets the tension as right as we can, given that we are not perfect people. There are no perfect answers here, much like there are no perfect decisions. But that can never move us away from the tensions, only toward.

Toward the next wave and the next wave and the next. Each one different from the one before, each one wonderful in its own way.