Category: Life’s challenges

To be the best or the very best?

The wording I’d wish to deserve on my gravestone would be: ‘He fulfilled his potential’.

That’s because I’ve always wanted to be the best I can be: as a husband, father, grandfather; as a leader, a preacher, a writer, a student, a golfer. I’ll never be the best in the world, but I want to be the best I can be.

But is that all? Am I being honest? Or is there an unpleasant addition to my ‘be the best I can be’ philosophy? Perhaps the real version is: ‘I want to be the best I can be, and I’d like that to be better than others’. To be better than most fathers, most preachers, most golfers, most writers, and so on. Maybe I’m more competitive than I admit even to myself. Maybe I want to be the best.

If that is what I think – and I’m not sure – it would be naïve. Only in my dreams am I likely to be world leader in anything.

But, not just in dreams, don’t we all compete? Perhaps not to be the best of anyone anywhere, but better than others we know?

  • Haven’t there been times when households competed to be first in the street to own a TV, first with colour TV, first with a video recorder, first with satellite or cable TV?
  • Don’t parents talking at the school gate boast how early their youngster took her first steps, spoke her first words, or how far on she is now with reading?
  • Why are there queues at car dealerships to collect the latest model or show off the newest registration plate? And much longer queues at Apple stores when a new iPhone is launched?
  • Why do people want to wear the latest fashion, or feel embarrassed to appear in out-of-date clothes?

Do any of these things actually matter? For many, they do. People compete for prestige or prominence. And for some the competition to be better than anyone else crosses the line into cheating.

I saw cheating recently on the golf course, when a fellow player nudged his ball forward as he used a coin to mark its place on the green. When he replaced his ball it was closer to the hole. Other golfers have reputations of taking shoe leather shots (secretly kicking their ball out of the rough). Some blatantly miscount the shots they’ve taken, claiming to have hit six when they actually took eight.

That’s amateur stuff. Professionals take their cheating much more seriously.

It happens in sport. Every week a football player will pretend to have been tripped but slow motion replays show no-one touched them. Canadian sprinter Ben Johnson was stripped of his world record and gold medal at the 1988 Olympics after he tested positive for anabolic steroids. He was sent home in disgrace. Lance Armstrong won seven consecutive Tour de France bike racing titles between 1998 and 2005. During those years he furiously denied accusations of doping. But in 2012 the US Anti-Doping Agency concluded he’d used illegal drugs throughout his cycling career. At first Armstrong still denied the charges, but the following year publicly admitted the doping.

Plagiarism is such an issue for universities that almost all of them now use software that compares a student’s essay with millions of academic books and journals, and billions of web pages. One student I dealt with had inserted paragraphs of a prominent scholar’s work into his own essay, then claimed he had done so as a tribute to the noted scholar. Not much of a tribute when you make it seem like it’s your own work. There have been cases when politicians and even preachers have been discovered ‘lifting’ material from other authors and including them in their own book.

Some executives have falsified their qualifications to get a job. During the time I lived in Aberdeen the city’s Chief Executive was forced to resign. He had been using professional qualifications after his name, which implied membership of prominent engineering institutions, but was never entitled to do so. I know other cases where a résumé or CV has claimed qualifications which were never attained.

There are countless examples like these. Why do people do it?

The obvious answer in the professional world is because pushing yourself to the top makes you money. Considerable wealth or power can be at stake. Greed makes ethics inconvenient.

But the high levels of sport, politics or academia aren’t the worlds of the vast majority. So, why do ordinary people do almost anything to get ahead of others? What does it matter to have the latest iPhone? Or the best looking garden? Or the tallest child in the class? Or a better university degree than your colleague? And so on.

I see at least three possible reasons why being first matters so much.

Some have an excess sense of self-importance    The world must notice how great they are. I was invited to a gathering at a wealthy businessman’s home. This wasn’t any ordinary home. It was a mansion, a very large mansion. The over-sized double doors led into a tall, elegant entrance hall, beyond which was a wide central area. An open-plan kitchen, oozing granite work tops and high-end appliances was off to one side. The dining room was vast enough to hold the ornate 20-seater table with its Queen Anne legs and matching chairs. But that room’s elegance was outdone by the music room, again open-plan so everyone could see, with gold-coloured harp and Steinway grand piano prominently displayed. There was nothing homely about that house. You wouldn’t kick off your shoes and lounge around, because both your shoes and you would clutter this perfect place. But that home wasn’t designed to be comfortable; it was designed to impress. No-one that evening was to be in any doubt that someone very important lived there.

Most of us can’t match the wealth (or debt) of that house. But maybe we can rise to a super high-res TV, or a cruise to somewhere exotic, or buy a new and lovely car every three years. We’ll find our own way of making a statement: we’re doing well, we’re important, we’re people you should admire.

Of course, none of these trappings prove that. One of Alison’s relatives lived in south of England farming country, and, when Alison was visiting, she’d meet some of the wealthiest landowners in the country. They felt no need to impress. They drove beat-up old Land Rovers, wore unfashionable but practical boots and clothes, and bought their groceries from the local supermarket like everyone else. They were rich enough, important enough and confident enough not to need to flaunt anything.

Some have an underlying low self-esteem    Joe struggles to believe in himself, so tries to prove his worth by being better than others. If Joe can come first in the exam. If Joe can win the half marathon. If Joe can be on TV. If Joe can host important people for dinner. If Joe can get promotion. If Joe can date the girl all his mates wish they were dating. Then – with any of these ‘accomplishments’ – Joe will feel good about himself. Admiration, recognition, achievement above others; these things will elevate him from basement level self-esteem.

Successful people seem full of self-confidence. They’re the go-getters, people with a sure vision for their lives and the drive to take them to the top. But that’s far from universally true. Search the internet and you’ll find countless articles about successful people riddled with self-doubt. Here are just two examples:

  • The American author, John Steinbeck, wrote in his journal: ‘I’ve been fooling myself and other people.’ While writing his novel The Grapes of Wrath he said: ‘Sometimes, I seem to do a little good piece of work, but when it is done it slides into mediocrity.’ The Grapes of Wrath helped him win the Pulitzer Prize in 1962.
  • Vincent Van Gogh was a brilliant post-impressionist painter but constantly filled with self-doubt. But that doubt spurred him on to more painting. He said, ‘If you hear a voice within you say you cannot paint, then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.’*

Self-doubt can kill creativity or performance, but it can also be fuel for achievement because being better than others is the ultimate proof you’re not the low-achiever you feel you are.

Some have few opportunities in one area of life, so strive to be best of all in other areas    My grandfather, John Taylor, was a significant person in east central Scotland. With a friend alongside, he was the first to swim the two mile wide estuary of a deep river with treacherous currents. He was a lay preacher and held senior office in his church, and worked with others to found a nation-wide Christian fellowship for men. He was made a Bailie in his town, meaning he was a civic officer (like a magistrate) in local government. He didn’t have vast authority, but only someone with integrity and held in high regard could be appointed. So, John Taylor was a noted figure in his community. But what work did he do day to day? He oversaw coal deliveries to local homes – totally honourable work, but far from spectacular.

Not everyone can have glamorous or high earning jobs. Life in offices, factories or fields tends to be much the same on Tuesday as it was on Monday, and will be again on Wednesday, and so on. But it motivates some to higher achievements in the rest of their lives. It makes them want to be the best of the best.

So, there are several reasons why people push themselves to be better than others. I have two responses to them.

One, striving to be the best you can be is entirely legitimate. I became an Advanced Driver and later an Advanced Motorcyclist, in each case passing a police-observed test of driving skills well beyond those needed for the government-run test. What motivated me to train and do those tests? It began with a stupid accident. My car was behind another car waiting to turn right. As traffic cleared the one in front moved off. I followed, accelerating through the junction. But the car just ahead of me braked sharply when a pedestrian stepped into the road. I was accelerating from behind, and I crashed into the rear of the car. My speed was still low – no-one was hurt – and the damage was only what my American friends would call a ‘fender bender’. But the accident was clearly my fault. I should have been paying more attention to what was ahead, and keeping further back from the vehicle in front. I was so annoyed with myself I signed up for training as an advanced driver, passed the test, and I’ve never had an accident since. I really wanted to become the best driver I could be.

Being the best you can be in (almost) anything is a good and legitimate ambition. It’s a positive goal that benefits the individual and those around.

But when that healthy ambition turns into an unhealthy competitive desire to be better than anyone else, the problems range from pride through cheating to illegality. The fault is not the desire to be the best you can be, but the desire to be better than everyone else no matter the price. Others get hurt as you push past them. And, since it’s likely you won’t become a world-beater, you’ll feel a failure.

Two, the better goal in life is contentment with who you are, what you have, and what you can do. That’s neither laziness nor complacency. It is about being okay with the person you’ve become and what’s around you, not resenting that you don’t have more or that others do have more.

The Apostle Paul wrote this:

‘I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.’ (Philippians 4:11-13 – NIV)

Paul wasn’t exaggerating about life being hard as well as good. He was opposed in his missionary work, on one occasion beaten and left for dead. He made hazardous journeys around the Mediterranean not knowing where his next meal would come from or where he could spend the night. Companions were not always loyal. There was nothing easy about his life. But he found contentment. He wasn’t driven by greed, or a desire to look important, or a need to be better than others. He was at peace, grateful for what he had. Is that easy? No, certainly not. But Paul found it was possible in God’s strength.

That’s possible for us too. I feel sorry for those who try to make themselves look important. I’m angry with those who cheat in order to come first.

Why do people strive to impress? I’ve listed reasons, but, whatever their motivation, I don’t think those people are happy. Why do people cheat in order to win? They also have reasons, but I can’t understand how they can take pride in achievements they know they didn’t deserve. They can’t be content.

Be the best you can be. That’s a great goal. And then be content. If you can do that, you’ll be happier than all those who used up their years desperately trying to be better than everyone else.

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*These examples from https://www.entrepreneur.com/slideshow/304340

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Regrets

The American golfer Hale Irwin nearly sank a 20 foot putt in the third round of the 1983 Open Championship, his ball stopping only an inch or two from the hole. Irwin casually swung his putter to tap the ball into the cup. He missed! The ball didn’t miss the hole; Irwin missed the ball. But he’d made a stroke so it counted. In the final analysis that might not have mattered, except Irwin finished the tournament exactly one stroke behind the winner, Tom Watson. If only he’d holed that putt… Irwin played in future years but never won the Championship. He would forever regret his two inch miss.

All of us do things wrong, whether honest mistakes or deliberate actions, and deeply wish we could have that moment over again.

Imagine this scenario. A young man is in love, truly believes he’s met the girl of his dreams and they’ll spend their lives together. But he says something which deeply offends his young lady, so much that she breaks off the relationship. ‘I said something wrong,’ he laments, and longs to go back to yesterday and do everything differently. But he can’t. So now he needs a place to hide away.

You may realise I’ve just described the 1965 Beatles song ‘Yesterday’, voted the best song of the 20th century in a BBC poll. Why so popular? The lyrics aren’t marvellous. But they home in on the human experience of regret. Something happens which should never have happened. We can’t change it and we can’t forget it. And its shadow hangs over us from that day forward.

Before going further, let’s be clear that missing a putt in a golf match – no matter how famous a golf match – is as nothing compared to the human trials and tragedies which leave unbearable regret – things that forever seriously changed our lives or the lives of other people.

What kinds of things create regret like that?

Here are seven examples:

  • Annie delayed getting the lump in her breast checked out. By the time a biopsy was done, she had stage 4 cancer and only a year or two to live.
  • Brody drank too much, then got in his car, failed to stop at a junction, and killed a young, newly married couple.
  • Clara was told her operation was routine, but the surgeon made mistakes and left her unable ever to give birth to a child.
  • Davey knew Danielle liked him, really liked him, but he couldn’t work up the courage to ask her out, and then she fell in love with his best friend and married him. Davey never met another like Danielle.
  • Eva was offered a fabulous promotion, but she had other things going on in her life so said ‘Not now’. No opportunity like that ever came again.
  • Fuller wasn’t a good father to his son – demanding, scolding, pushy. His son left home for university, and then took a job 200 miles from home. Fuller didn’t try to keep in touch, and now they never speak and never visit.
  • Gemma got drunk at an office party. In an alcohol haze what followed was a one-night fling with a colleague. Within days she told her husband. The marriage survived, but became cold and distant.

I’ve imagined every one of these people, but the events are typical of experiences which lead to years of unresolved regret. Something went terribly wrong, and now it can’t be fixed. Perhaps they asked for forgiveness, but it wasn’t given. Perhaps they tried to put the problem right, but only made it worse. ‘If only I hadn’t…’ the person says. Year after year regret eats away at their joy.

There is no guaranteed remedy for the mistakes or wrongs of the past. And some level of regret almost always lingers, even when there’s forgiveness at the human or divine levels.

But some things help, and I hope I’ll outline some of them now.

Never let the regret occur    This seems like perfect but impossible counsel. How often do we see disaster before it happens? Actually, more often than we admit. My friend Ray stopped driving when he was 90. For a few years he’d known his driving wasn’t good, so only drove locally. Then one day he misjudged a bend and bounced up the kerb onto the sidewalk. No-one was there so no-one was hurt. ‘But,’ Ray told me, ‘there could have been a mother and child on that corner, and I would have killed them.’ He sold his car, and never drove again.

It isn’t impossible to avert disaster before it happens. Occasionally we see warning signs, and the wise person acts before there’s something deeply serious to regret.

Regret doesn’t always involve guilt    It was a stormy day, so Sophie was driving her daughter to school. She was doing no more than a modest speed but suddenly a tree fell across the road. With no time to brake, Sophie crashed into the tree. She was fine but her daughter was injured and taken to hospital. She went through two operations, and suffered a lot of pain before eventually recovering. Sophie was tormented with regret. Her girl would never have gone through all that if only she hadn’t taken her on that road at exactly that time… Regret, regret, regret. But Sophie was regretting an event when she did nothing wrong. She wasn’t speeding. She hadn’t taken a notoriously dangerous route. She couldn’t have known a tree would fall. It was an accident. She can regret that it happened – be sad or sorry – but there’s no reason to feel guilty. There was nothing for which she should blame herself.

When we do something foolish or wrong, we regret our guilt. But not everything we regret involves guilt.

But sometimes there is guilt for what happened. How do we deal with regret then?

Face up to your regret    Personally, I don’t always do that. I find it easier to move past regrets rather than face them and identify what I did wrong. Why? Because what happened is a horrible and painful memory, so I don’t want to think about it. But not thinking about it lets it live on, and sometimes grow and become even more painful. If, instead of trying to ignore my regret, I face it honestly and thoughtfully three things can happen:

  • I can forgive myself. First, I need to accept God’s forgiveness, and I can do that. But forgiving myself is a step further. It’s easier to mull over my failings than let them go. In Robert Burns’ poem, Tam O’Shanter, Tam’s wife sits at home waiting for her drunken man to return. Burns writes that she’s ‘Nursing her wrath to keep it warm’. I can be guilty of nursing my failings to keep them warm. But not if I face up to them full-on, confess the wrong I’ve done, and then make a deliberate choice to let it go. If I sidestep my regret, it still has life. If I face it, I can leave it.
  • I may realise my guilt isn’t as bad as I thought. If I’d delivered a poorly prepared sermon, I’d really regret that. The congregation deserved better. But if I think more fully about what happened that week, maybe I’ll understand why that sermon wasn’t my best. Probably the previous days were consumed by human problems and  tragedies – a youth died, a young mum was diagnosed with cancer, a marriage split up, and I’d been in bed for two days with flu. Actually, it was remarkable I’d prepared any sermon for that Sunday. I regret that it was less than ideal, but it happened because that sermon had to be put together at an unusually messy time. Life is messy for all of us, and regret should be diminished by reasonableness.
  • I may see actions I can take to diminish the harm that’s been done. I can’t be the only boss who, in the heat of a pressurised moment, appeared grouchy or spoke harshly to a colleague? And later felt regretful? Life would rush me on to the next thing, but what would stay with me was the regret. It didn’t go away. But, if I stopped and really thought about what I was regretting, I’d realise there were colleagues I should apologise to. An apology isn’t always a cure, but it may diminish a harm done. And the less harm done, the less regret that lives with us.

Be the one who reaches out to heal hurts    Bertha and Bonny are sisters, but they have nothing to do with each other. Listen to Bertha, and Bonny is at fault. Listen to Bonny, and Bertha is at fault. Bertha thinks Bonny said something offensive. Bonny thinks her words were fine but Bertha’s response was offensive. Each is convinced they’re right and the other is wrong. So they’ve had nothing to do with each other for more than 30 years. Yet here’s the odd thing. Each hates the separation and wishes it had never happened. But Bertha thinks Bonny needs to apologise, and, of course, Bonny thinks Bertha needs to apologise. That’s stalemate. Nothing will change, and Bertha and Bonny will go to their graves regretting their separation. That regret doesn’t have to be permanent. But it will be unless one of these sisters swallows her anger and pride and talks to the other. Not to prove she’s right and the other wrong. Just to heal the relationship. That won’t be easy. But Bertha and Bonny may find both of them want reconciliation, and taking slow steps towards each other has at least a chance of healing decades of regret.

It may seem nothing can be done to fix a past wrong. Often that’s not true. But nothing will be fixed until someone takes a step toward healing.

Mistakes made can make you a better person    I watched a TV healthy living programme about heart attacks. It showed a 55-year-old man jogging, and when interviewed he said his heart attack was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Why? ‘Because,’ he said, ‘before then I had an appalling diet, took almost no exercise, became seriously obese, lacked energy, felt dreadful, and then nearly died with a heart attack. But now I eat well, exercise daily, maintain the right weight and have more energy than when I was 20. My life is so much better.’

That man’s story isn’t every person’s story. But it does show that we can turn some negatives to positives in our lives. His near-death didn’t just make him regret, but rethink and change his lifestyle. Regret was replaced with gratitude. When possible, that’s the ideal way out of regret. Recognise what was wrong. Learn from it. Live better.

Live in today    One of the repeated lines in ‘Yesterday’ is ‘Oh, I believe in yesterday’. The singer wishes he could return to yesterday because now he’s just half the man he used to be. But a fixation on yesterday is never good. Brody can’t go back to before he started drinking that fateful night; Fuller can’t get back the childhood years with his son; Gemma can’t return to a time before the office party. Yesterday happened. And horrible as it was, it can’t be changed.

What we can do is live in today. Whatever happened yesterday, today can be a day of good things. The more we find fulfilment now, the more we’re able to move on from the frustration and failure of the past.

It’s not easy. ‘Yesterday’ also has the line ‘There’s a shadow hanging over me’. That’s how regret feels. But shadows don’t last forever. New dreams, new opportunities, new attitudes, new people, new places, new activities, can all make shadows fade. It’s not that we don’t remember yesterday, but ‘yesterday’ doesn’t control us now. Its significance has been replaced by the overwhelmingly better ‘today’.

I have regrets. I wish I’d never put my life in danger running in front of a car when I was five, and getting lost on a mountain because I was ill-equipped, and plenty other things I haven’t (yet) written about. But I hardly ever think about them because I love the life I have now. It’s a good life, a positive life, and I don’t waste it reflecting endlessly on old mistakes. I am where I am, and where I am is a good place. May that be true for you too.

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Rick has died

My friend, Rick Allen, has died. A few days ago he was caught in an avalanche on K2, the world’s second highest peak and hardest to climb, and swept to his death.

Rick was 68 years old. He’d climbed for over 40 years, and was recognised as one of the world’s top mountaineers. K2, located on the border of China and Pakistan, is 8,611 metres (28,251 ft) high, only 238 metres less than Mount Everest but considered far more deadly. One climber dies on K2 for every four who reach the summit. Rick was attempting a new route up the south east face, raising money for Partners UK, a humanitarian charity which provides emergency relief during crisis events.

Now Rick has died, and been buried near the foot of K2. Being laid to rest among the world’s highest mountains is exactly what Rick would want.

He was my friend during my ten years as a minister in Aberdeen. During that time Rick came to faith in Christ, was baptised, became one of our church members, and married his wife Alison (who later worked with me in the church office). After their wedding service, Rick and Alison exited beneath an arch of ice axes held aloft by climbing buddies. (Alison, sadly, died some years later.)

Rick was my best encourager when I ventured into the Scottish mountains. I told him a nervous church member had said I was certain to die if I continued to climb alone. But Rick told me ‘Of course there are dangers, but there’s no reason you can’t climb on your own if you master a compass and map, have the right equipment, and use common sense.’ I accepted his wisdom. It would have been hard to argue since he was a renowned Himalayan mountaineer, and I was an utter novice.

Rick urged me to buy an ice axe, essential for digging into snow to haul yourself up and, even more importantly, he taught me how to lean my weight on the axe to brake a slide downhill. I kept that axe for years, even after we’d moved to the Thames Valley in the south of England where there’s almost no snow and definitely no mountains.

Rick taught me much more than how to use an ice axe. I’ve been reflecting on some of these things since I heard of his death.

A good life is active, not passive    Rick wasn’t for letting life happen to him. Nor that life should be super-protected, like an ocean-going yacht moored permanently in a harbour. What he had – intellectually, socially, physically – was a gift to be used. There were great things to accomplish, and it would be a sin not to grasp every opportunity. You don’t retreat from challenges; you face them head on.

Around that time I was planning a visit to church workers in Pakistan. I’d never been to Asia, and was particularly nervous about Pakistan. But I was helped by advice from another friend. George had spent many years in a developing country, and he told me two particularly valuable things:

  1. Banish any idea that ‘this ought to happen’ (such as assuming a train should run at its scheduled time).
  2. ‘Just go for it’. Take advantage of every experience, enjoy it, and find what’s good in it.

Both those lessons have served me well in Asia and down the years. But it’s the second I want to highlight because ‘go for it’ was precisely Rick’s attitude. Rick didn’t let life happen; he made it happen. He got the best from everything and gave his best to everything.

You can’t be afraid of big challenges    From ancient to modern times, people have attempted the seemingly impossible. They sailed great oceans not knowing when or where they’d land. They explored huge jungles well aware they might die from disease or hostility. They were launched into space trusting to less technology than we have today in one mobile phone. They didn’t have to do these things. And yet they did. There’s something hard-wired into our psyches to reach beyond what’s already known or done, to push further and further out the boundaries of human accomplishments.

There’s a semi-serious answer mountaineers give when asked, ‘Why did you climb that mountain?’ Answer: ‘Because it’s there’. That’s true. But it’s not the whole truth. The fuller answer is: ‘Because it’s there, and climbing it proves that mountain is not greater than what I can achieve.’

For most of us our ‘big challenges’ aren’t Everest or K2. But our challenges are still big for us:

  1. Can I really do this job?
  2. Will this relationship work?
  3. Should I step out in faith?
  4. Can I take on this responsibility?

We should ask whether a big challenge is the right challenge for us. But, Rick would say, no challenge should be refused just because it’s ‘big’. We’re made to take on big challenges.

But you must put in the work    I was driving in Aberdeen late one evening, and noticed a runner jogging up the hill carrying weights in both hands. It was Rick. I couldn’t have run up that hill minus weights and with a wind behind me, but Rick was pushing his body to its limits. When we talked about it later, he added an important point, that on a mountain, roped with others, perhaps in near-blizzard conditions, your life and  their lives depend on everyone being supremely fit. Hence he was putting in the work before his next big climb.

Years ago I listened to an interview with the politician and novelist Jeffrey Archer. He was answering a listener’s question about how to become famous. His answer was that you have to be famous for something. So, he asked, what are you good at? Cooking? If so, train to be the best cook in the country and be famous for that. If you’re good at athletics, train to win major championships and be famous for that. Or you might be a superb singer, or hilarious comedian – put in the work, become the best, and then you’ll be famous. It’s nonsense to think you can just be famous. You have to be famous for something, and that requires years of hard work.

I’ve never forgotten that lesson. Nor Rick’s example. And I’ve tried to live it out. Before I became General Director of BMS World Mission, I’d read books on management and been responsible for a moderately large church. But BMS was a multi-million pound organisation working in 40 countries with hundreds of staff and volunteers. Heading up BMS was way beyond anything I’d done before. So, despite what seemed an impossible workload, I studied for a Masters degree in Business Administration (MBA). I read teaching materials and books on strategy, human resources, organisational structure, finance and more. When? Anytime I could, which included on planes, into the early hours of the morning during conferences, and while sitting on a thin mattress under a mosquito net in Angola. I put in the work, scored well in assignments and exams, and got my degree. Those studies helped greatly as I led BMS through change.

The biggest challenges are worthy of our best, and our best requires hard work.

Come to terms with the risks you are taking    Rick knew the risk of avalanches. He’d been caught in them before but survived, albeit with scars. Avalanches often occur after soft snow, but what comes thundering down a mountainside is everything that snow picks up on its descent such as rock, ice, and soil. It’s heavy and moves very fast. National Geographic explains: ‘A large, fully developed avalanche can weigh as much as a million tons. It can travel faster than 320 kilometers per hour (200 miles per hour).’*

Risk, though, doesn’t exist only in mountains. It’s part of everyday life. We accept risk when we cross the road, drive a car, take a flight, eat a meal. It’s risky to get out of bed. And it’s risky to stay in bed since many die in their sleep. In other words, you can’t live and avoid risk. We know that, and we accept a certain level of risk when we cross a bridge (it might collapse), walk down the street (a car might crash into us), mix with others (someone might attack us), and so on.

Rick wasn’t ignorant of mountaineering’s risks. Among his earlier near death accidents was one where he’d been given up for dead but then found still alive. (More details in news report links at the end of this blog post.)

But at least two things pushed Rick on. One, Rick had faith, knew his Maker, and was ready to stand before him. That didn’t mean he wanted to die; just that he was ready to die whenever the time came. Two, Rick couldn’t have lived a life geared to self-protection. He had a great career in the oil industry, but would never have settled for that as his only purpose. He had higher goals (literally). He was a great climber, one of the best in the world. That demanded hard training but it was also a gift, a passion, almost a calling which drove him to supreme achievements. In 2012, Rick and his friend Sandy Allan were the first to conquer the Mozeno Ridge in Pakistan, for which they received the prestigious Golden Ice Axe award. Was that easy? Was that safe? It was neither. But these men had an inner drive that faced immense risk and pressed on nevertheless.

Very few will ever be elite mountaineers. But, for all of us, any significant challenge we face comes with risk. To refuse the risk is to refuse the challenge. But the rewards for facing the challenge are great.

Rick bought me a book    I read a lot of books. Non-fiction for information and mind-stretching ideas. Fiction for page-turning excitement, especially in novels where there seems no possibility of a good ending.

Never, though, have I found the drama, suspense and excitement of fiction in a non-fiction book. Until, that is, Rick gave me Touching the Void by Joe Simpson. +

From the earliest pages of Touching the Void you know how it must end, but as I read  the book I was unable to believe it could end that way. It’s a survival story from a high altitude climb in the Peruvian Andes that went horribly wrong. The book was published in 1988, and is still in print. I could not recommend the book too highly. (Over a million copies have been sold, and more than 20 translations made. The book has won awards, been turned into a 2003 film, and recently into a stage play.)

I loaned out my copy of Touching the Void and the inevitable happened: it wasn’t returned. So I bought it again. It’s that good, and that important. Never have I been so inspired by an account of human determination to survive. I’ll always be grateful to Rick for buying me that book. I’ve just taken it off my bookshelf. It’s time to read it again, and Rick will keep speaking to me through its pages.

If I could talk to Rick one final time, here’s what I’d say: ‘Rick, you inspired me and helped me. And you’ve done that for thousands more. Thank you. Now you’ve made the ultimate final ascent. May God bless you.’

————————-

The following news stories describe Rick’s accident, and give more information on his life, especially his climbing.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-57964217

https://www.ukclimbing.com/news/2021/07/rick_allen_dies_in_k2_avalanche-72830

There are stories from the north of Scotland newspaper Press and Journal I’d encourage you to read, but any link I create embeds copyright protected photos! The way to find all the paper’s stories about Rick is by entering ‘press and journal Rick Allen’ in Google, and the stories will be listed.

* https://www.nationalgeographic.org/encyclopedia/avalanche/  During World War I Austrian and Italian troops fought in the Alps. In 1916 10,000 troops died in avalanches in a single day. In fact, avalanches killed more soldiers in World War I than poison gas did.

+ The book exists in several editions, the most recent published by Penguin: https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/1035723/touching-the-void/9781784875374.html

It’s available from most bookshops.

Parenthood

I left school and home when I was 16 because I’d been recruited by The Scotsman as a trainee journalist. I had only two weeks to get ready. Then my Mum and Dad drove me to Edinburgh where I had arranged a place to stay. First thing on Monday morning I went to the newspaper office, and so my career journey began.

Not once was I anxious about leaving home and starting work. Not once did I think I might not be ready for all this. Why not? Because my parents had done a good job. They’d loved me, provided for me, protected me, patched me up, forgiven me, encouraged me, believed in me, and much more. I had as solid and secure an upbringing as any child could want. So, excited and confident, off I went to change the world…

I’ve often thought and talked about parenthood down the years. Sometimes that’s been with parents anxious because a child has fallen into bad company, or developed dangerous habits, or lacked any idea about what they’ll do with their life, or is no longer talking to mum and dad. But most conversations about parenting have happened while counselling young adults, or people in mid-life, who are trying to resolve issues that should never have existed in their lives. Their issues related to things their parents did or said.

Before I write more about parenthood, I need to say three things.

First, I recognise not everyone wants or can have children. If you’ve longed for children, but it’s been impossible, my heart goes out to you. And please don’t read any further if this subject makes you unhappy.

Second, some children will become great intellectuals, engineers, doctors, lawyers. But not every child. For all sorts of reasons some don’t have the same advantages as others. I value them just as much. They may not design the next generation of space rockets, but they’re amazing people with exactly the same worth as anyone on this planet.

Third, there are many models of family life today, not just Dad, Mum and children. When I refer to dads and mums I mean those who occupy those kinds of parenting roles. This blog is about parenting, and is not the place for comment on the variety of modern family units. Please forgive me if my language is clumsy.

So I’ll now share principles of parenthood I’ve learned. My list isn’t exhaustive.

I’ll start with one big statement:

The goal of parenthood is to move your children from complete dependence as infants to full independence as adults.

The first part of that statement – dependence – is self-evident. Alison and I left the maternity hospital with our baby son, got back to our tiny flat, and realised this little boy was completely dependent on us for everything. It was an awesome thought.

The last part of my statement – about children reaching full independence as adults – needs a couple of explanations.

One, I don’t mean ‘independence’ in the sense of losing touch or losing affection. We have four children, and we’re all great friends who don’t hesitate to say ‘I love you’ and spend time together.

Two, by ‘adults’ I mean ‘mature adults’, people who can manage their lives and relationships, and make good decisions about what they believe and how they should live.

The most important aspect of my ‘goal of parenthood’ statement is that it describes a transition from helpless infant to competent grown up. I’ve heard people with young children say, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they just stayed the age they are now?’ The answer is ‘No! That would be dreadful. They’re not meant to stay four or eight or ten. They’re meant to grow up.’

But that idea wasn’t shared by one neighbour. With great delight, she told me how her three sons’ marriages had all ended in divorce ‘and now I’ve got all my boys back with me’. Clearly she’d never wanted to let them go, and I came away from the conversation wondering how much – consciously or unconsciously – she’d undermined their marriages.

Parenthood is about moving helpless infants to mature adulthood.

Towards that goal, here are principles of parenthood that I believe matter.

The foundation that supports everything is love. When parents love their children – enthusiastically, joyfully, thoughtfully, unconditionally – children feel supported, protected, valued and free to express their creativity and individuality. Their self-esteem is strong, and thus able to deal with disappointments and failures. They don’t question their worth, because worth was built into them from their earliest years.

When it was cuddle-down-and-go-to-sleep time for our children, I’d sometimes crouch beside them and whisper, ‘I’m proud of you. Not just what you do but the wonderful person you are’. Usually there would be a gentle smile, and they went off to sleep feeling good and feeling important.

Realise that who you are has a great influence on who your children become. Ask a school teacher if they affect children’s lives more than educationally, they’ll agree they impact their behaviour, their goals, their beliefs. ‘But,’ the teacher will add, ‘nothing like as much as their parents do’. That’s true. Those in parenting roles model attitudes, behaviour, beliefs, love, hope, values and much more. A child sees or senses what you think, what you value, what you aim for. You may not intend it, but you can’t stop it.

I was around 55 when I first realised how like my father I was. I was 5 foot 8 inches (173cm) in height; so was he. I wore size 8 shoes; so did he. I had begun to ‘thin on top’ in my forties; so did he. And it wasn’t just physical characteristics. My Dad played golf; so do I. My Dad was proud to be Scottish; so am I. My Dad hated making tax returns; so do I. My Dad was stubborn; so… !

Like father, like son. Dad died 23 years ago, but much of him has lived on through my brother and me.

Children are unique, not clones. But, in many ways they will grow up to be like their parents, and that’s a sobering responsibility for those raising them.

What parents say can never be unsaid. Lydia was in tears while we spoke. She’d never felt accepted by her parents, especially her father, and tried and tried to win his approval. But nothing she did ever met his standards, and sometimes his rage erupted. ‘When I was eight…’ she began, hesitated, but finally got the words out. ‘When I was eight, my father said, “I hate you and wish you’d never been born”’. I was stunned. How could any parent say that? But Lydia’s father had, and the wound never healed.

Since then I’ve found Lydia’s experience wasn’t unique. Others have told me their parents spoke near identical words to them. With some ‘I hate you’ was shouted in a moment of extreme rage. Others were told it over and over, often in a chillingly quiet voice. Those were evil words, weapons of abuse that hurt their children for the rest of their lives.

Vicky’s situation was different but equally bad. Her university friends were worried about Vicky’s mental state as she waited for her end of first year exam results. I met with Vicky, and spoke encouragingly, but it was obvious I wasn’t getting through. Suddenly she started crying and said, ‘My father has told me I can’t ever come home unless I’ve passed everything. He doesn’t want me back if I’ve failed any of my exams.’ Those words from Vicky’s father – whether he meant them literally or not – were destroying her.

The good or bad things parents say have life-long effects on children.

Your dream job isn’t your child’s dream job. Neither of my parents pushed me towards any particular career. The nearest my father came was airing his idea that banking was a safe long-term career. He didn’t press it. I’m glad he didn’t because banking would have been a terrible choice for me: a) I’m really bad with numbers; b) about 20 years later, the banking industry slimmed their operations and shed huge numbers of staff. My parents would never have thought of journalism. Nor would they have imagined I’d go to university. Nor become a minister, nor director of an international mission agency, nor president of an American graduate school. I forged my own path.

But some parents do shape their children’s choices. One medical school issues this warning for potential applicants: ‘Some medical students are expected to follow in their parents’ footsteps, or at least their expectations… Before you spend a lot of money, time, and effort on medical school, do some soul-searching to make sure it is you who wants this.’*

That’s a good warning. I suspect some parents nudge their children towards the career they wished they’d followed. That’s not wise, and not fair if their children find themselves in the wrong career.

Apologise when you’ve said or done the wrong thing. I confess there were times when I lost my temper and shouted at my children. I frightened them, and as soon as I calmed down I apologised. Of course I should never have been so angry – I wish it had never happened. But the apology at least told my child I knew I was wrong. More than once my apology was met with, ‘It’s okay Dad…’ Which is very humbling.

I don’t believe I’ve ever pretended to my children that I was right about facts after realising I was wrong. But some people have a hard time admitting errors, especially to their children. Perhaps they want to maintain an image of infallibility. But the truth is this: children don’t lose respect when someone admits they were wrong; they do lose respect when someone won’t admit they were wrong.

Don’t be naïve about your children. Several things can be bundled under this heading.

First, of course your son/daughter keeps secrets from you. I listened as Jean assured me her 14-year-old Janey told her everything.

So I asked, ‘Jean, when you were 14, did your parents know everything you did and everyone you met?’

‘Certainly not!’ she replied, smiling grimly at what her parents would have thought.

‘Is it not likely, then, that Janey tells you as much as you told your mum?’

Silence. Point made; point taken.

Second, your child isn’t always a paragon of virtue. When the Scout Leader says Archie was smoking behind the building, he has no motive for making that up. The argument ‘Archie would never do that’ won’t impress him.

Third, most children aren’t academically smart in all subjects. It’s inevitable they’ll do less well in some. American teachers told me stories of parents insisting their child shouldn’t have been given a ‘B’ because Tanya is a ‘straight As’ student. But, at that time in that subject, Tanya was a ‘B’ student. To argue otherwise was to do Tanya no favours because she may simply not be clever in that subject, and pretending she’s better than she is denies her the help she needs to improve.

Children must be allowed to be children. They’re not 3-year-old or 5-year-old adults. What we expect from them should be age appropriate. That’s why the old saying ‘children should be seen and not heard’ is cruel. So is assuming they won’t scatter their toys everywhere. Or that they’ll always be back from playing with their friends exactly when told. And so on. They’re children, just children.

Children must be given the chance to grow up. Henry was telling me about his three-year-old daughter, and said he couldn’t imagine letting her go anywhere on her own.

‘You mean, not until she’s older?’ I asked.

‘No, I can’t imagine ever letting her go someplace by herself.’

I didn’t argue with him. But I was surprised and concerned. As I said in my ‘goal of parenthood’ statement, every child must move stage by stage from being helpless to being competent. That can happen only if they’re gradually given more responsibility. Each parent’s job is to judge the pace of that transition, and it’s tricky. Often there’ll be anxiety. But for every risk of moving them forward too fast, there are alternative risks by holding them back.

Remember you matter as more than a parent. Life with children can be all-consuming. Perhaps our job takes us away for hours every day, but everything else is about being mum or dad. Sometimes –after children have left home – parents still address each other as ‘Mum’ and ‘Dad’. But we’re more than that. Hopefully we’re still in love, and enjoy being together. And we have intellectual lives, social lives, sporting lives, community lives. Or, at least we should. We’re not failing our children if we find time for these things; we may be failing ourselves if we don’t.

It’s a wonderful thing to have children. We focus on the challenges of bringing up kids, and people love to tell us scare stories about how hard the next stage will be. But – despite the exhaustion, exasperation, uncertainties, self-doubt – children are a great privilege and joy. My heart goes out to those who’ve found it impossible to have children, and to those for whom the burden has been too great. But let’s not lose sight of the thrill of seeing young lives grow and become good people who will make this world a better place through what they do, who they influence, and, hopefully, by being your best friends always.

*(https://ausoma.org/medical-school-tips/dropout-rate-for-medical-students/)

Yesterday is yesterday

When I started school, among many things I didn’t understand was why my desk had a hole. It was a perfectly round hole, nearly three inches across, in the top right corner.

I didn’t know what that hole was for until, three years later, the teacher came to each of our 42 desks and placed a black cup into the hole. She filled each cup with ink, and laid a pen and paper on our desks. The pen wasn’t a ball-point or fountain pen, just a shaped wooden shaft with a stylus on the end. She told us to dip the stylus in the ink, and then write on the paper. The ink quickly ran out so after each short sentence we had to dip our pens in the ink again. Writing was slow, and very, very messy.

We practised with ink and stylus for a year, and then our suffering ended. Why? Because someone realised this was a complete waste of time because ball-point pens and fountain pens were common by then. There must have been virtually no-one who dipped a stylus-only pen in and out of a reservoir of ink. Those days were gone.

Two other glaring instances of ‘persevering when the day is past’ stand out.

Typewriters    Part of my training for journalism was typing. I practised the drills and learned to touch type. Every finger except the left thumb was used, and soon I had no need to look at the keyboard. It’s a skill I still use today.

But that skill tempted me into my last, longest and least pleasurable experience with a typewriter. I made the brave but foolish decision to type my own doctoral thesis. As well as being 436 pages long, each of which had to be letter perfect, there were two special difficulties: a) much of the argument involved New Testament Greek, so I had to type each page leaving spaces to handwrite Greek into the gaps; b) I decided to create footnotes which, with a typewriter, requires calculating in advance the number of lines needed for that page’s footnotes so you could stop the main text with exactly enough space for the footnotes. My worst ever page to type had only two lines of main text and over 40 lines of a footnote. I lost count how many times I retyped that page. Almost every page was typed at least three times, but some pages many more than that.

Every page was typed on a small, portable electric typewriter. It was important that the margins didn’t change so I glued their settings in place. That typewriter lasted just long enough for me to finish. What a relief!

And then – then! – I bought my first computer (an Apple IIe). If only earlier. If I’d had a word processor before typing the thesis it would have calculated automatically the space needed for each page’s footnotes and every error would have been corrected before printing out. But I had stuck with my faithful old typewriter and made my life very difficult.

Typewriter manufacturers fought the good fight to keep their products selling after computer word processors became affordable. They gave them small memories so the typist had a chance to correct a mis-typing before the keys struck the paper. And they developed ‘golf ball’ typewriters which had no keys, just a super-fast spinning ball which struck the paper with exactly the same force every time ridding the script of light and dark letters. But no innovation could save the typewriter. The more that manufacturers churned out typewriters the more money they lost. The days of the typewriter were over.

Digital photography    As I understand it a Kodak engineer invented a digital camera in 1975. But Kodak made its money selling film, so did nothing with the idea. Other firms developed digital photography, while Kodak still tried to sell film. The giant of a former era of photography filed for bankruptcy in 2012. Film cameras still exist but only for a niche market. Film’s days are gone.

Those two examples could be multiplied. Most of us are slow to recognise when big change is happening around us, and even when we do we’re slow to let go of what’s familiar.

I’ll set down four categories where we’re ‘guilty’ of that. Some concern what’s happening in the world around us but all of them also touch on our internal reactions to change.

1. When we see change but don’t realise its significance

That would be true for Kodak and typewriter manufacturers. Some have said Kodak’s leadership thought they were in the photographic film business whereas they were really in the imaging business. That mistake imprisoned them in doing what they’d always done. Something the same happened with typewriters. Their manufacturers thought all the public wanted was better typewriters, not recognising that the disruptive technology of word processors would make their products permanently obsolete.

We think their mistakes were glaring failures to recognise new needs and opportunities. But at the time it wouldn’t have seemed like that to the CEO of Kodak or a typewriter manufacturer, someone immersed for years in one line of business and thinking all they needed to do was improve the product and raise the marketing budget. And, with no expertise in digital cameras or word processors, it’s not so surprising they shied away from what they didn’t understand or think important.

Many shun what they don’t understand or doubt. It happens with viruses and vaccines. With being told to abandon our petrol or diesel cars. With giving up the office for working from home. With radical changes to diet to counter obesity, diabetes and heart disease. What disturbs us frightens us, and we may react by denying the need to change.

2. When we don’t recognise a goal is unachievable

It happens in sport, in entertainment, in politics, with those chasing career promotion or, sadly, with those pursuing a significant personal relationship.

For every top golfer who is winning millions on a professional tour, there are tens of thousands slogging away in near poverty but still hoping that one day they’ll break through. And thousands of musicians borrowing small fortunes to produce professional standard videos believing that’ll give them a break in the pop world. And politicians aiming to run the country, but never getting further than the lowest level of local council work. Also millions working all hours at great cost to family life and personal health to climb the corporate ladder but never getting there. And the many women and some men I’ve counselled who want companionship and probably marriage, to love and be loved, but year after year it doesn’t happen.

My pain for that last group is as nothing compared to the pain they feel. And I’d never counsel anyone to close down their feelings. But, for those in other categories, there is a case for a reality check and accepting the goal that drove them on will never be achieved.

Arthur reached very high levels in one of the major oil-related companies. The work had been super-demanding, but very financially rewarding. Soon after he passed his 50th birthday, Arthur told me that if you hadn’t reached the top by age 50 in his line of business you’d never get there. He knew now his career goal was out of reach. Soon after he was offered a ‘package’ to leave. Once that’s offered, staying isn’t really an option. He accepted the deal, retired, and filled his life with voluntary work that fulfilled him, and at last he was able to give time to his wife and family.

3. When we don’t see or accept that something is over

Two blogs ago (‘Values and friendship’) I described a day out in my early 20s with then girlfriend Kate. On long drives I realised I was having to think up subjects for us to talk about. That was stressful. I wrote: ‘Warning bells rang, and the relationship with Kate gradually came to an end’. That was true. But that gradual ending actually took six months. Those extra months were not good for either of us. We should have recognised reality and ended the relationship earlier.

Many small and large things in our lives won’t work out. The only shame in that is when we won’t let them go.

Here is a little ancient wisdom from the book of Ecclesiastes in the Bible:

There is a time for everything,
    a time to be born and a time to die,
    a time to plant and a time to uproot,
    a time to tear down and a time to build,
    a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
    a time to search and a time to give up

These are selected verses from a longer list in Ecclesiastes chapter 3. Their message is that we need wisdom to know when to start, and wisdom to know when to stop.

4. When we can’t let go of our past

This is different from the earlier subjects, because it focuses on our internal feelings.

With people I’ve counselled, two things are often said:

  • I can never be different
  • I can never forgive myself

The first of these – the thought they could never change – imprisoned some. Usually they believed they could never escape their background. Perhaps been abused physically and/or sexually as children. Perhaps developed damaging and dangerous habits related to smoking, drinking, drugs. Perhaps grew up in an economically challenged area, with no opportunity or expectation other than drudgery, hard work and an early grave. Or perhaps been raised in such a privileged environment that later on they couldn’t relate to anyone from any other background.

The challenge for these folk was believing – really believing – it was possible to be different. That the old was yesterday and the new is today and those ‘days’ won’t be the same.

Not for a moment did I ever suggest that was easy. And very few changed overnight, so my ‘yesterday’ and ‘today’ statement shouldn’t be taken literally. But a new beginning really is possible. I’ve seen it happen with people from their teens through middle age to old age. The grip of what controls us can be broken.

The second statement – that they can’t forgive themselves – is a curious one. Why curious? Because often the full version is: ‘I know God can forgive me, but I can never forgive myself’. The cheating spouse can’t let go of their guilt for such an enormous betrayal. Or the exam cheat is dogged by knowing they didn’t deserve their degree, their job, their salary. God says they’re forgiven, but they can’t accept it.

I’ve never been a priest (just as well since I have a wife and four children) but have acted in a priestly way for some tortured by their past failings. They’ve told me exactly what they did (confession) and how they don’t live like that now (repentance). I’ve been able to assure them of God’s forgiveness and tell them his will now is that they release their guilt burden and live with no sense of condemnation (restoration/renewal). God has cast their sins into the deepest sea and erected a sign saying ‘No fishing’. Truly ‘the old has gone, the new is here!’ (2 Corinthians 5:17) Not all have found peace, but, with help, many have.

For every person who ever breathed, there have been days which were good and days which were bad. But those days are gone now. I sometimes tell myself that past things have drifted down river and round a bend, and they’ll never flow upstream back to me. Today is a new day. A good day. And there are better things to do than grieve over my old typewriter, film camera, unfulfilled goals, or past sins. Yesterday is yesterday.