Learning Organizations: Women Of Faith

My most successful clients are a part of what I call "learning organizations." These are growing, dynamic churches, businesses or ministries that are seldom satisfied with the status quo. They are always learning and searching for ways to make a good experience a great one, to reach even more people, and to improve on what most people would label as a "wow" product.

This past weekend I had the privilege of joining another learning organization. The Women of Faith tour reaches out to hundreds of thousands of women every year in 30 cities around the country. They have world-class speakers, singers, entertainers and production that's second to none. I believe every woman would benefit from being in a WFO event no matter where they are in their faith walk.




This weekend, for example, over 12 thousand women came to Atlanta's Philips Arena for this two-day event. On record, there were 861 women who publicly decided to give their lives over to God and found redemption in Christ's sacrifice for them. Thousands did business with God in a very intimate way and thousands more were encouraged in their daily faith walk. Everyone walked away from that place changed, including me.

Putting one of these events on takes a herculean effort on the part of hundreds of staff and volunteers. After 12 years of growing, tweaking and improving their craft, the gifted leaders at WOF have each of these events down to a well-oiled machine. Mary Graham leads the entire organization with a lot of heart and is one of the most gifted relational leaders I've ever met. She's constantly taking care of her team, down to the purse filled with snacks for her guests--which I was the recipient of the delicious cashew nuts and gummy bears. Her right hand and general, Amy Chandy, is a multi-tasker extraordinaire. I've never seen anyone able to be pulled in so many different directions as this woman and I watch her maintain such composure and positive attitude through it all. I'm convinced that a man could never do Amy's job. Really.

But what makes this organization even more amazing to me is not just the lessons they have learned and systems they have created in the past 12 years of dealing with millions of people. What gets me excited about working with Mary and her team is their humility in realizing that they, too, must continue to learn. "What can we do better? What do you think we should do differently? How can we do that?" were the first questions to me as I briefly met with Mary and Amy before leaving the arena. I love that about them. Even after all these years, they are still hungry for the organization to grow and not to rest in yesterday's successes.

This weekend's experience reconfirmed my commitment to being a life-long learner. If Mary and Amy can continue to ask "what" and "how," so should all of us.

Proud of Nashvegas

This week I had the opportunity to host a client's first trip to Nashville. He grew up in Dallas, now lives in Colorado Springs and has traveled extensively through Europe. He is also is a foodie and has eaten in some of the best restaurants in the world. I wondered how Nashville would fare in his ranking of cities.


Michael loved the green, rolling hills, the cool evenings and mornings. We had a phenomenal meal at Watermark in the trendy Gulch district, which rivals some of the best known restaurants in the country. Driving around downtown, I introduced my friend to our Capitol building, the Union Station Hotel, Second Avenue (he even commented on the Batman Building) and then we made our way to beautiful Williamson county, which I consider part of the greater Nashville experience.

We never got to Edwin and Percy Warner Parks, the Natchez Trace or Old Hickory lake, historic downtown Franklin, but he was very impressed, nonetheless.

Regardless of our recent gas fiasco, I'm always glad to come back home. I knew back in 1983 as a sophomore in college that Nashville was my home. I have yet to regret that decision.

Dangers of a Critical Heart

It's easy for me to be a critic. I grew up in a family that prided itself in finding what's wrong with the world and each other. It was sort of a sport around the dinner table to see who would outwit the rest and deliver the best put down. We all laughed, but someone always got hurt.

Now I'm a professional critic whose livelihood is partially funded by ability to discern what's wrong or what's not working and help churches and business move to the next level. This is a dangerous profession, and I'm very aware of the insidious negativity that can creep in and suck the life out of every experience.

I have to work hard on being positive because cynicism and negativity are the first ones at the gate.

I don't want to end up like a lot of the angry people out there whose lives are dedicated to criticizing, denouncing, exposing, and judging people, who most often, they don't even know. Sadly, the internet has given them a perfect dark place to hide and hate.

During Sunday's message, my pastor, Pete Wilson, read from one of my favorite authors, Henri Nouwen. He taught at Harvard and Yale and gave up his career to work among those who were severely physically and mentally challenged. This is what he writes about an angry man:

He sat in front of me. He was in his early sixties. The deep lines in his face, his unkempt hair, but mostly his burned-out eyes showed he was a very unhappy man. We talked about the weather, "It's hot" he said, "Much too hot, I can hardly breathe, the humidity kills me." I tried to cheer him up a little by saying, 'We can use a little sun, and the humidity, well think of it as a free sauna.' But he did not hear me. No smile came to his face. He began to talk about a colleague who left him many years ago. About a friend who had not called or written to him for two months, and about his neighbors who kept him awake during the afternoon when he wanted to take a nap. My presence was little more than an occasion for him to pour out his many complaints.

He pointed out to me the corruption in our government, the war in Bosnia, the hunger in Somalia, the violence in South Africa. "The world is falling apart all over the place", he said, "the television, the radio, the newspapers, they all show it. And they don't even show the full truth." I felt a sensation of darkness creeping around me. Where is this darkness coming from, I wondered. I am face to face with an angry man.

So, I said nothing. I remained silent out of a deep feeling of powerlessness in front of so much rage. The anger accumulated in his soul during more than sixty years of living had made him a victim. Yes, he had accepted the role of victim. He wanted to be a victim. As a victim, he was someone. As a victim, he could talk endlessly about all the injustices done to him. As a victim, he could complain about everyone and everything. As a victim, he had a place in this world and an audience to commiserate with him.
When I returned home and found myself all alone, I noticed that my body was shaking. I laid down in my bed and stared at the ceiling. And then I saw the angry man again. I saw him, not sitting in front of me, but walking slowly, bent over, pulling an enormous load behind him. He groaned and moaned as he moved forward. At times he seemed to lose his balance. Then he stopped a while, looked back at his load and started to pull again. His burden embodies all those at whom he is angry. He is condemned to pulling them behind him.

As I continued to stare at the ceiling, I saw them all. Men, women, children emerging out of his long past. Chained to each other and to him. And while I kept looking in horror at the old man and his burden, the voice returned to me and said, "You are the man. You are the one you just met." I didn't want to hear those words, but the voice went on. "Don't you see that you can't let go of your burden. Don't you see, you are the burden carrier. Don't you see that without your burden, you don't know who you are." I protested, 'But I don't want such a burden! I don't care for such a load.' But gradually, my heart caused me to see that taking away my burden from me would be like taking the boat from the fisherman or the keys from the janitor or the car from the chauffeur or the bricks from the builder. Who would I be without my anger? Who would I be without anyone to judge or condemn? Who would I be without my complaints, without my feelings of rejection? Yes, without enemies? I am the victim. The one who cannot survive without my burden. I have become my burden.”

I pray I'll live free from the burden of anger and bitterness. I pray that more Christians will find a way to release their burdens to enjoy life as it was meant to be.

C3 Church and the God Factor

This week I got to spend some time with a great group of people at C3 Church in Clayton, NC. I always enjoy connecting with visionary leaders. I meet professional Christians almost on a daily basis, but it's not often that I run into people who see what's not there and who trust God to build something than can only be described as a "God thing."


Matt and Martha Fry took over a Bible study in the middle of nowhere, NC back in 1998. Today there's an amazing church drawing close to 4 thousand people on the weekends, reaching out to an entire community and region with the good news of the Gospel. Driving up to the church one has to go through tobacco fields on a one-lane road and suddenly, there it is: a sprawling beautiful campus--a testament of vision, faith and leadership. It has that "field-of-dreams" vibe to it. It was not the if-we-build-it-they-will-come strategy that built this camp, but a better one instead: if we preach Him, they will come.


As I walked through their new Starbucks Cafe and Bookstore I was blown away by the attention to detail and commitment to excellence. Theirs is the only place you can get a caramel macchiato within a 15-mile radius. It' also the only place you can get Christian resources for many miles. I had the privilege of spending time with their leadership team, and all I can say is that these are people from my tribe. I'll hang with them anytime.

Meeting genuine people of faith who still trust God to do the improbably, if not impossible, is why I love my job.

The Latest Worship Trend

I travel all over the country visiting some of the most innovative churches around. It's rare when I run into an experience that touches me deeply, and I recognize it as the latest trend that will sweep the country. It looks like the Worship Team from Faith Community Church is on to something big.

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The Father I Never Knew

I miss my dad today. Monday I left him in Florida at my sister's house while my family and I drove back to Tennessee. He stood at the front porch fighting the inevitable tears. Being close to my father, Senhor Maurilio, as he is known in Brazil, is something very new to me.

Growing up I respected my father, but I mostly feared his occasional outbursts of violence. Even though there were not often, these incidents left very powerful and negative impressions on me. I also remember my father always nursing headaches that prevented him from any meaningful exchange with me or my siblings.


But God and time have a way to heal wounds and change people. In the last 25 years that I've lived in the US my father has changed into a kind, low-maintenance and fun man. Three weeks ago he came from Brazil by himself without knowing how to speak any English. My mother did not want to come, and she "released" him to come alone. He called her bluff and came anyway.

The first conversation we had as he arrived at the airport was about his to-do list around my house. Senhor Maurilio is a fixer, and he has to have a series of projects to keep him busy: painting, electrical work, cleaning, whatever. So, during the last three weeks I have made more trips to Home Depot--aka Nirvana, heaven, paradise--than all of last year. As we reconnected, I found out that the man only required two things to be completely happy: a hamburger and a trip to Home Depot. After his recent discover of Arby's, he commented that "every place is better than the other. Wow, Americans know how to cook hamburgers." "Yes, dad, but wait until we get to the beach and you see what happens when people eat too many of them," I said trying to shatter his new-found American dream.

The time I spent with him in the past 20 days has been the most valuable of my entire life. There was no cathartic moment when I confronted him with all my young, unsettled angst and he responded by repenting and weeping openly. I think that only happens in bad Christian movies anyway. But I got to spend time with him, hear about the faith he developed since I left home as a teenager, and just hang out with my father. Fortunate for both of us, this was the first time we didn't have to manage my mother's emotions and try to relate to each other around her constant commentary (mom deserves her own blog post--well posts, many, many posts.)

There was no cathartic moment when I confronted him with all my young, unsettled angst and he responded by repenting and weeping openly.

Last week I came home to find the 71-year-old Senhor Maurilio 10 feet above ground on the porch railing trying to paint the ceiling. When I asked him to get down and not do it again, he was quick to report that he "was still able to climb trees." "Great dad, you're in America now. Here that's called a liability. We pay illegal immigrants to climb for us," I informed him.

I took him with me on a golf outing while on vacation. I was fortunate not to play with a group--just the two of us went out. Thinking about it, the other guys who were supposed to be in our group were the fortunate ones. Dad and I spoke fast and loud Portuguese and laughed the whole time I played as he tried to "coach" me on my every move. "No dad, 6 points on a par 3 is not good."

In the past 20 days I ate enough cheeseburgers to shorten my life by at least 15 years, but I gain something I never thought I would find: a relationship with Senhor Maurilio. I didn't know how much I craved it and how much I needed it until I started to drive away and saw him standing alone on that front porch. My eyes filled up, my throat tightened and for the first time I can remember, I knew I was going to miss my dad.