Thursday, February 3, 2011

Faith

Sitting in the conference room in the Marriott at George W. Bush International in Houston, I was chairing a Board meeting of people working to redefine health care. It is a critical issue at a critical time and we’ve got some compelling stuff.

I introduced a woman we had contracted with to assist with of the details of our efforts which are many. She is a nationally known consultant, is attractive, and appeared to be the epitome of professionalism. So I said some nice things about her and how fortunate we were to have her helping us. Then it was her turn.

Twelve eyes stared. Three sets of ears on the speaker phone stained to hear what she had to say. There was this pregnant pause as we waited.

And she burped.

I should have taken it as a sign I suppose. I mean I’ve got nothing against burps and do it myself from time to time. This was the first time in my career that I’ve ever seen a presentation start with one. It did get our attention.

“Excuse me,” she said and then rushed onto explaining chart number one to us. She took the approach that if you pretend it didn’t happen then nobody would notice. Each of us grabbed chart number one and poured over it and within seconds it was as though her burp had never happened. Though I was seated next to her and it lingered there for a bit so I knew.

We spend four hours working through complicated issues against a political landscape. It was grueling. Then we retreated to the bar and continued talking about these things in a more informal manner. Finally we all went to dinner together and the conversation grew serious again.

Afterwards we were all walking to the hotel elevator to collapse into our beds when she said, “I can’t take anymore. This is just too much to process.”

So yesterday I’m sunning on my beloved back deck. Van Morrison is explaining what it would be like if I was into the mystic. The phone rings and I answer.

“It sounds like you’re having a party,” she said.

The music was loud coming from my ear buds. I turned off the I-pod and asked her what was up. And she resigned. It was all just too much for her; too complicated; too political; too many large personalities; and too ambitious. I think that it was the burp that was the first indication of all of this.

Immediately I had eight phone calls to make to the people with us in Houston. Aside from a brief break, I worked the phones. Ideas are bigger than people. And if you believe in them you don’t stop just because someone burps in the middle of grand design.

Throughout my career I learned that faith in an idea plus persistence equals success. Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel would have never overcome impossible discriminatory Southern Baptist odds without such a conviction. And Union Mission would still be a little tiny homeless shelter (which is what its fast becoming again. Hi Francis!) if we hadn’t made it into a major company with a diverse portfolio.

Sure, I had my share of burps in my face (the worst are from elected officials) and every kind of obstacle and barrier was thrown in the way of just about everything that we tried. But we kept trying. We had faith.

“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Out of that came Union Mission. And out of it will come this redefinition of health care. Of course it is not just me with the faith but eight other people who believe.

Jesus and 12 others (11 if you discount Judas) changed the world. Eight others and me believe that we can change a country.

In spite of burps in our face, I like our odds (Thank you Kermit Lord!).