When the Visible Turns Invisible

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Have you ever noticed you never realize how messy your house is until someone is coming to visit?

Or, how after you drive by the same thing day after day, you start to ignore it? Except for stop lights. We always pay attention to stop lights.

What about the decorations around you? Unless you’ve done a recent remodel, I doubt you’d be able to tell me what order pictures and paintings are in on your wall.

Time and repetition play a funny trick on us. Over time, the more we see something, the more likely we become blind to it.

This is true in leadership as well. When we lead in similar situations for a continued amount of time, we have to fight becoming blind to key things around us–strained relationships, organizational complexity, insider language, etc.

This may be simple, but for me it’s messes. I get accustomed to a mess until I have a special guest, then I realize there are books and papers all over the place. Then, I find myself racing to make things look presentable.

For you, it’s likely something else. Maybe you’re forgetting about a relationship that’s been strained for too long. Or you are using insider language that makes new people feel left out and unwelcome.

In leadership, maybe you’re focusing too much on recruiting new people and neglecting the care of the ones you have already. Think of someone who has been serving with you for a while who would greatly benefit from some personal attention and go the extra mile with them.

What do you have in your life that has become “old hat” so much that you do not even recognize it anymore? What steps do you need to take to make the appropriate adjustments and give the necessary attention? Take those steps today!

Grief and Joy

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I mentioned this last week, and still don’t think I’m fully ready for this, but here goes.

My father-in-law passed away on January 29. It was, for us, a long process, but in reality, a pretty quick progression. He was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer in the esophagus and stomach, and passed away (according to my records) 365 days later.

At the memorial, he wanted an open mic. The morning of the service my wife asked me if I was going to share. Honestly, I had not considered sharing before that point. I thought about it, but really did not know what to say if I were to share.

The people who did share did an incredible job highlighting who he was as a man, father, brother, uncle, and friend. I could not have added anything to the service to make it better.

But after the open mic, it hit me. And since I blog and have a captive audience (you), I hope you will indulge me this morning.

With the passing of my father-in-law, I lost an advocate. Every birthday card he gave me was addressed to “No. 4 Son”, and he meant it. I was not a son-in-law. He saw me as part of the family.

As my wife and I were approaching our first anniversary of marriage, she was talking to him one day and made a statement to the effect of “You know, when Wes and I fight, I usually win most of the time” (time warped interpretation, but that was the gist of it). Andy replied as only a father can, “You know sweetie, sometimes it’s just easier for the husband to let the wife think she’s right.”

We celebrate our 15th anniversary this summer and there were many other times in our marriage where he stepped in for me, and I am forever grateful.

My thought is not necessarily about what I lost, although I may be losing quite a few more arguments from here on out. My thoughts today are about the kind of man who treated an outsider like family. Who trusted someone he did not raise to love and care deeply for his only daughter.

For me, as I reflect (because that’s what I do), I cannot help but ask myself 2 questions: 1) Am I willing to live up to that trust? I love my wife beyond what I ever thought possible, and am committed to continuing our journey together through the ups and downs. And 2) Am I willing to show that same level of trust when the day comes?

I usually like to end my posts each day with a nice little bow, but you know, today, I don’t have one. The grief we feel in mourning the loss of someone we love is deep. The joy we have in remembering his legacy is great. I think there’s room for both.

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