Rise up a genuine leader Who is driven by moral character and integrity Who commits to truth and responsibility Who models personal discipline and accountability Who earns respect by giving it Who is humble in self-imperfections and gracious in others’ Who nurtures trust and collaboration
Rise up a genuine leader Who is we-oriented, not me-oriented Who articulates vision with clarity and infuses pride in purpose Who disables barriers to people development Who confronts social ills with positive solutions Who seeks understanding and resolutions in contentions Who fosters creativity and inspires hope
Rise up a genuine leader Who can undo chaos and create order Who is composed instead of clamorous Who promotes diversity of viewpoints in unity of purpose Who invests in people and worthy dreams Who is transparent, trustworthy, and teachable Who upholds faith in a better future and spurs actions toward it
Rise up a genuine leader Who values people and ideas over profit Who knows virtue sustains character, but its absence destroys it Who is considerate instead of caustic Who brings competence with candor Who discerns realities with compassion and directs resolutions with care Who influences people to mutually elevate lives, institutions, and ideals.
Rise up a genuine leader Who is attentive to needs of the people and builds their spirit Who overcomes personal ego, arrogance, and unethical behavior Who rejects conflict mongering Who is consistent and persistent in value-added contributions Who equips and empowers other leaders Who builds an enduring legacy of transformational results
The strength of my character determines the vitality of my leadership.
It’s frequently denied, but more commonly ignored. We swear we don’t want to know what public leaders do privately—it’s their own business. (Yet the media claims it’s merely scooping up the private dirt the insatiable public appetite demands!)
Perhaps. But we need look no further than the morning’s headlines to document the direct correlation between countless individuals’ private and public behaviors. While it may be covered up for a time by bluster, talent, charisma or other gifts, we can all recall more than a few public failures, or “mistakes” admitted to in which private actions became public scandals.
When a leader’s intentions and behaviors clash, look to character to discover why.
Lance Armstrong, Gary Hart, Anthony Weiner, Jim Baker, Richard Nixon, Brian Williams, Rob Ford, Bernie Madoff, Martha Stewart, Mel Gibson: they’re just a fraction of the more infamous fallouts. Such a list of Exhibit A’s demonstrate the problem is not confined to particular professions, industries, ages or genders.
Here are five characteristics that make character the pivotal point of everyone’s persona:
Character is a foundational morality product. Morality is universally and primarily a social issue, not a religious one. Conforming to the rules of virtuous conduct is good for everyone: virtues are universal and absolute standards that do not change with circumstances, time or point of view.
When virtues are practiced, they always support personal and collective well-being. When rejected by a person, team or community, their foundations corrode and crumble.
Virtue sustains character, but its absence destroys it.
Character is more than talk. In my career, I’ve personally hired more than 300 individuals. As a usual part of my interview process, I ask the candidate to briefly tell me how each character trait I mention applies to them, and I take notes. Regrettably, there’ve been too many times I’ve had to go back to those very quotes to remind employees that their actions have contradicted their testimony.
Nobody ever admits that integrity isn’t important, but our outward actions are the real indicator of internal character, no matter what we say.
We cannot separate character from actions.
Character is a choice. We can’t control the circumstances of our birth, nor little else of the world around us, but we can determine our character. We do it with each choice we make. How we respond and react to life builds it or destroys it a decision at a time. Challenges don’t create character, but they do reveal it as we choose capitulation, compromise or conquest.
What others see of us is mere veneer. No matter how attractive or polished it may be with expertise, charisma or talent, it’s still just thin skin that occasionally gets torn open. The quality of the character inside then spills out for all to see.
Ability may be a gift, but character is a choice.
Character builds up. True leadership is built only as relationships are. As character is proven and relationships grow, so does trust. In that secure haven, a team thrives, a family flourishes, a society succeeds.
Sensible people do not follow those they know are flawed and untrustworthy: relationships dissolve, trust disintegrates and community breaks down. Society is upheld only by popular adherence to a code of principles distinguishing right and wrong.
Moral character brings strength to relationships and society.
Character is limiting—or liberating. Sooner or later, but inevitably, character outs. This is a universal truth, as evident in the ancient proverb—“out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks”—as in the modern maxim: “garbage in, garbage out.”
The strength of a leader is tied to the strength of his or her character. Everything rises or falls on leadership; and leadership rises or falls on character.
Leaders cannot rise above the limitations of their character.
There’s really no doubt: your personal character directly impacts your public leadership.
One of my unforgettable college memories didn’t happen in class, in the dorm, or even on campus. It did, however, involve a quite chilly night, a great snowy hill, a goofy bunch of friends, a slick toboggan, and a lot of carrying on in the dark on the farm of our hosts, Elna and Charles Antle. And as I recall, the rowdy antics continued indoors with some boisterous singing around Elna at the piano, and some spilling of hot chocolate.
When I met Charles, he was a Penn State statistics professor who loved working his farm, and the company of students—and he had a knack of bringing them together!
He effortlessly ensnared when he told me he had some work I could do for him on the farm. Which I did. It was hot and strenuous. I grew up on a farm, so the work was not strange to me, but it’s not like I was actually looking for a list of unpaid chores to do, either! Turns out Charles was a regular Tom Sawyer who convinced me I’d be doing myself a favor by helping him out. Several times!
What rang out so true in his memorial service yesterday, which was conducted entirely by his loving grandchildren, was his unflappable sunny optimism, his relentless cheerfulness, his extreme generosity, his thankful nature, and his loving spirit. What a guy!
Carol had the privilege of being his therapist and caregiver in the last seven years of his life. Together she’d get him to exercise his legs a bit, walk around the house, or drive him around to visit friends, or for a ride through the valley farms, or for a haircut, and even to McDonald’s for ten cheeseburgers at a time (which he’d freeze at home for later!) And she absorbed many of his stories about his time in Korea, his early life, farming, his family, and his unshakeable belief in all the goodness around him—even in his 93-yr-old frailty.
To me, Charles was more of an influence on me than I realized until I had my own family—at least, in his penchant for enlisting free labor.
As our four grown children can testify, there was always some work to do outside as they were growing up on the Herd Homestead. On our few acres tucked up against the Blue Mountain and the headwaters of the Hokendauqua Creek, they—and this is the critical comparison—they and their visiting friends were often enlisted on some “short” project, that “won’t take long,” but usually did anyway. Whether it was hauling the maple leaves out of the front yard on a tarp; or weeding the garden; or removing the old rain gutters from the two-story garage (or even better—scaling the ladder to remove all the former maple-seeds-gone-to-black-gunk in the house gutters!); or to help to prepare all the materials for our company’s annual Staff Training Day, they didn’t escape. And in doing so, not only did they help me out, but they also developed a little personal keepsake called Real Character: A legacy gift, I’d say, passed on from a true gentleman farmer; a truly good man, our friend, Mr. Charles Antle.
Among the little things I inherited with the passing of my dad is what may yet prove to be a lifetime supply of No. 3 pencils, all embossed with his name, business and address. They’re modest, durable, and reliable—just like the man himself.
I have now lived just as long as Leonardo Da Vinci, and longer than Walt Disney, Abraham Lincoln, Marie Curie, Martin Luther King Jr, Jim Henson, C.S. Lewis, and so many other accomplished men and women I admire—and I can’t help comparing what I’ve done with my life to date.
But that’s not what I should be measuring, is it? I may not have produced a similar depth and breadth of accomplishments, but…
Have I nurtured my own gifts and talents?
Have I well-stewarded the resources I’ve been accountable for?
Have I contributed my best to my tasks, responsibilities, goals, and dreams?
Is my conscience clean, despite my failures, mistakes and shortcomings?
Have I extended grace to those who have disappointed or wronged me?
Have I been a positive influence to those who know me?
Have I loved my family to the utmost, and lived my life with integrity?
If so, I’m ok with that.
And any comparisons with others’ accomplishments are useless.
It’s been ten years since I resigned my job to keep my integrity, spent 17 months unemployed, and lost all my money.
And I still don’t regret it.
At the time, I was the chief executive to lead and administer my organization’s comprehensive operations. But a pattern of destabilizing behavior by the Board chair undermined my authority and community relations, unsettled two organizations, hindered the ability to attract and keep good associates—and ultimately severed the trust between us.
Without recounting the agonizing year-long details, I can report that my choices narrowed to two: I could defer to the Chair’s autocratic takeover and abandon my responsibilities, my conscience, and my integrity; or I could resign to keep what was truly in my control.
Because I resigned, I was not eligible for unemployment compensation. And at age 57, I discovered ageism first-hand as I applied unsuccessfully for more than 45 positions over the next 17 months, for which I was well-qualified.
It was truly a hard time.
But as I’ve learned, “Hard is ok.” Hard times are prime growth times—but only if I so choose. My attitude and my decisions remain within my exclusive control (unlike my circumstances!), and do inevitably influence my eventual outcomes.
What I confirmed is that my character is refined in crucibles, and my resilience ripens in distresses—but only when I sustain my faith in a better future.
Do I regret having to go through this? I am sorry it happened.
However, for its surpassing opportunities and eventual superior future, I am very grateful for the experience.
I’ve discovered peace is not the absence of conflict, but a condition of my spirit.
atop Steptoe Butte, Idaho, a thousand feet above the rolling hills of the Palouse area
It’s been a quick trip to the view from here. The climb’s not been easy, nor predictable. But here I stand amazed, a “senior.”
I’ve traded time for experience, and mistakes for learning. I’ve gained strength, but lost endurance. I’ve won wisdom, but lost patience. I’ve raised hope in discouragement, and grown grit from defeat.
I’ve found that storms may cross my paths, But don’t determine them.
I’ve seen tolerance harden to intolerance, And pride swell to arrogance. I’ve seen hate multiply and evil strut. But I’ve watched kindness repulse anger, Character rise undaunted, And virtue stand uncowed.
I’ve lost money, but invested in family. I’ve cried in sorrow and grieved in pain, yet laughed again. I’ve been mistreated, ordeal-sharpened, and test-refined. I’ve played and fought, joked and argued, lost and won. I’ve screamed, offended; and apologized, repentant.
I’ve added girth, assembled wrinkles, And grew perspective. I’ve failed repeatedly, But fewer than my tries. I’ve wrestled with my tongue and temper, And learned to carry more tunes than grudges.
I’ve discovered peace is not the absence of conflict, But a condition of my spirit.
I’ve known sicknesses, but not all. I’ve enjoyed health, but not always. I’ve prospered in relationships, but also in regrets. I’ve seen a lot, been through a lot, and loved a lot.
This privileged, age-afforded vista, From this spot on not-quite-over-the-hill, Reveals a journey far from perfect, Yet a scuffle worth a life invested. It satisfies my seasoned eyes, my slowing body, An agile mind, and a grateful heart.
Agonizing childhood Christmas tradition develops character
When I was a little kid, it was a time-honored tradition in my church that all the children of the Sunday School classes would “Say Pieces” at Christmastime and Easter.
Such were the agonizing times of Kid-dom. Whether it was memorizing and reciting a scripture verse or short poem, or playing an instrument, singing a song, or even performing a bit of drama, it was a stressful time on Center Stage.
Not that it was a big one. But that didn’t matter. It was all the mandatory preparation and the grown-ups’ stern warnings about getting it right in front of everybody. It was a big deal.
… Not that I can remember any piece of any of the Pieces I ever recited…
But many of them were quite similar to the now well-known declaration of Buddy the Elf: “The best way to spread Christmas cheer is singing loud for all to hear!” You know, when you’re a little impressionable kid, that’s really a huge pile of words to get just right.
I do, however, remember how we got to dress in plaid bathrobes to play Shepherds Abiding in the Fields. And how, one Eastertime, my cousin wore his green plastic army helmet to play a Roman soldier.
The annual production spared no one. Even the really little kids, the ones who were too little to even know what was going on, were sent out there. This cherished image is of my little sister Ann and her friend Jimmy, who paraded holding hands all the way from the staging area behind the upright piano to the platform, faced the audience with the signs hung around their little cherubic necks, then returned to wild acclaim.
Our individual and collective behaviors solicited both pride and embarrassment in our parents. For our grandparents and all the other old people, the spectacle was highly entertaining.
Afterwards, back in the classroom, we’d be rewarded with a small box of mixed chocolates and an orange from our Teacher: Presents! Next up: the real deal with Santa at home—yeah!
Despite all the trauma however, the ordeal developed character—not that we cared. But it did force us into such real out-of-the-comfort-zone growth experiences as public speaking, addressing an audience of peers and authority figures, overcoming fears and nervousness, exercising brain power, learning new information and how “practice makes perfect.”
I also remember how one little girl learned the power of a bribe. (Or shall I say “incentivized reward.”) All through the rehearsals, she refused to go on stage. But then her mother discovered just the right enticement in the promise of a special lollipop. (Did she bring some for all of us?) When it came to it, the girl delivered forthrightly, then ran directly to claim her reward from Mom hiding behind the piano.
After all these years, I’ve come to value sharing My Piece. It’s proclaimed a little differently now, and disseminated on a blog in a way no one could have imagined so long ago. Yet the sharing of our thoughts, concepts, ideas and ideals in a public forum remains a noble and cherished cause of personal expression and communal liberty.
So I now choose to share with you one of my favorite Pieces this Christmastime. It was written by the Nobel Prize winner of Literature in 1928, Sigrid Undset:
And when we give each other Christmas gifts in His name, let us remember that He has given us the sun and the moon and the stars, and the earth with its forests and mountains and oceans—and all that lives and moves upon them. He has given us all green things and everything that blossoms and bears fruit and all that we quarrel about and all that we have misused—and to save us from our foolishness, from all our sins, He came down to earth and gave us Himself.
And as Ann and Jimmy so endearingly express: Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
