Reflection: Remembering Franklin Delanor Lambert, Junior

As I sit down to write this post, I'm a little in shock. My mind is swirling with memories--laughter tears, and long, meaningful conversations that won't happen again on this side of eternity. Last night, I learned that one of my oldest friends, and one I had not seen in person for a very long time, died of a heart attack. He had just recently turned 43 years old.

Frank was a proud West Virginian and a proud Mountaineer. He had grown up in some of the hill country of West Virginia (Elkins), and had moved to some of the river country (Parkersburg) our senior year of high school. And while we both knew each other then, we really became good friends our freshman year of college at WVU on the basketball courts and in the residence halls.

Frank had a deep appreciation for music, and probably had the biggest music collection of anyone I have ever known. And he knew the music too--every album--he could tell you about the artist and explain the nuances of the songs. He was a huge fan of all kinds of music from Pearl Jam to Cyprus Hill and just about everything in between. Back in college we would spend hours listening to and talking about the latest albums, and he would be among the first to acquire them at the Discount Den in Morgantown.

Frank and his sister Angie introduced me to the Forest Festival in Elkins, and because of them, I have been able to introduce it to members of my own family as well. Frank was incredibly generous with his time and was always willing to help out a friend in need. When I was installed as a chief in my tribal community nearly 17 years ago, Frank was among a select few friends from outside my tribe who I was privileged to invite to our land and have him witness that historic moment. Frank was a history major in his undergrad too, and so there was something special about having this friend share in a piece of history.

I believe it was through Frank that I discovered just how close Pittsburgh was to Morgantown as he would invite a group of friends to travel with him to explore the city. I can remember many drives to Pittsburgh while we were in school. Frank also believed in being well-dressed. In fact, he and a couple of other friends took me on a "fashion emergency" trip (before it was a thing) because my wardrobe and style could "use some work." We definitely had a lot of awesome road trips together.

And wow, we could spend HOURS on the basketball court. We would play hoops outside til dark, or head to Stansbury Hall (the courts where Jerry West played) and shoot hoops until we got kicked out of the building. In fact, many times we would shoot hoops and then listen to tunes and talk about the games we played--we would even try to come up with creative plays. And actually, there was a time where me, Frank, and my roommate at the time (Andy) got invited to play in a prison by a dude we were playing who happened to be a prison guard at a supermax prison in Pennsylvania. That game was pretty unforgettable--everyone in the prison came out to watch the game with us "outsiders" and we got SMOKED--I think we lost by 30+ points. I have lots of great memories with Frank on the basketball court, and he was a strong athlete.

Frank was always willing to speak truth to me (and to anyone) whether it might hurt or not. He never did it out of malice, but always to help people be better human beings and better friends. I remember one occasion when I had told him that I was going to come to a cookout he was hosting, and as I was walking there I ran into two other groups of friends at two different times, and ended up not making it to the cookout. He called me out for not honoring my word. At the time it really stung because I really valued keeping my word (and I still do). He told me he knew that I had the intention of being there but that if I commit and I don't follow through it hurts people, and that it wasn't the first time I had done it and that he wasn't the only person I had done it to. He told me that other people understood my intentions were good, but that I was hurting my friends and friendships when I didn't follow through and honor my word. Frank made me, and everyone he met a better person.

We went through our share of hardships together. One of the foremost burned into my mind happened during 2006 and 2007. Frank's dad and my mom were both diagnosed with cancer. We would see each other at the hospital often as our parents were going through the last stages of their fights with cancer. And as Frank was watching his dad fight hard in a losing battle against cancer, he was also getting ready to marry the love of his life, Dena. I remember going to their wedding in Ohio, and all of the sadness and joy being swirled together. Frank lost his dad, and I lost my mom within days of each other. Loss is always hard, but enduring it as you are starting a new life with someone and adding to your family is a difficult path to walk. Frank always walked the path bravely though, in every area of life.

Frank was 43 years old. And now his wife, sister, and mom (and many others) are grieving his unexpected death. For my part, I had hoped that we might be able to connect the last time I was in Parkersburg--I was hoping he would be able to meet my daughter and wife. And learning news of his death makes me want to be even more committed to do everything I can to live as long as I can on this earth with Jamie and Sylvia. I know our time of departure from this life is not entirely up to us, but I want to do everything within my power to ensure that my choices are not limiting the quality and quantity of the time I have left.

May we each savor the moments and memories we have, and as we are able, make new ones to cherish and treasure in this life, and Frank, may you rest in peace my brother.

Reflection: Marine Corps Marathon 2016

After two full and amazing days sharing Nuru’s story with folks at the expo, I had the privilege of lining up with about 30,000 other runners from around the world to run my fourth Marine Corps Marathon.

This time was really different for me. I had not trained as diligently as I had in previous years, and I had a couple of injuries during the summer. Not only that, but this was the first time I ran the Marine Corps Marathon without Jamie there with me. She was of course busy caring for Sylvia, so I thought this year I would be running for all three of us. This was my first Marine Corps Marathon as a father too.

Thankfully I was at least able to start the race with my good friend JR Pittman. He decided to run for Nuru with me this year, and we had a great run during the first half of the race, and then my lack of training at longer distances began to catch up with me. I made it about eighteen miles before I started cramping up, and I think that was about the same time the sun came out, and the temperature began to shoot upward a little more quickly. Even with the heat, the fatigue, and the cramping, I am so glad I persevered through it.

When I think about all of the runners who have joined me in running to help Nuru fight extreme poverty, I get a little emotional. Thirty thousand people run this race each year, and I’ve been so grateful that slightly under 100 of them have run with Team Nuru. And, I think about all that each one of us gets out of the deal. Not only are we helping others half way around the world, but we are also making ourselves better in the process.

A lesson I learned from my first Marine Corps Marathon in 2013 was that the training and the race provide a great tool for exercising self-discipline, long-term planning, and working toward a larger goal. I’ve been able to translate those same attributes into many other areas of my life, and I can’t help but think that they will help me be a better father and a better husband too.

When I crossed the finish line, I took a few seconds to express my gratitude for finishing the race. I also took a few seconds to pose for a starjump in honor of Jamie since she wasn’t there with me this year.

As the miles began to add up, I remember two distinct voices in the crowd (other than the ones offering hot dogs, beverages, and gummy bears). There was a little girl around mile 17 and a little boy around mile 22. They were probably each around six years of age. The little girl yelled out as I went by, “Keep going, you can do it!” and the little boy yelled, “Don’t ever give up, keep going!” And for some reason, amid all of the various cheers and shouts, the words of these two children yelling with all they could muster made their way into my heart, and my eyes teared a little. Their words of encouragement are what we all need to remember, no matter what the challenge is we are going through.

There is at least One Voice out there that believes the absolute best for each of us, and if we are attentive we can single it out above all of the noise. And, as we apply discipline to our lives and accomplish challenging goals, we become more and more attuned to that voice. May we each keep running and keep our ears tuned in for that Voice.

Meditation On Mortality

Over the last few days, I have had circumstances happening around me that have led me to really think deeply about my own mortality. A few weeks weeks ago, I received a phone call that let me know that the principal chief of my tribe had died at age 55 from a heart attack. More recently, I found out that another close friend of mine had recognized early signs he was having a heart attack, and was able to arrive at a hospital in time to save his life, he’s 42 years old. My dad suffered a massive heart attack in 2009, and his life was saved because it happened in a hospital.—he’s still going strong though. My mom died at age 61 in an inspirational fight she lost to stage four cancer, high-blood pressure, diabetes, and congestive heart failure.

As each of these events have occurred, they have brought into focus some basic truths to which I personally don’t like to give a lot of thought. Every single one of us will meet the end of our days one day.  When life events calls me to freshly consider the bigger questions of our mortality and purpose, I do not place my focus in pop-culture platitudes, but rather to ancient and timeless truths of the scriptures. This life will end. Saul of Tarsus tells us that it is appointed for each of us to die, and then after that comes the judgment. James, the half-brother of Jesus of Nazareth, warns that our life is a vapor and that tomorrow is not promised. One of the Hebrew Psalmists encourages us to learn to number our days. And with all of these myriad warnings, and the daily reality that there are people who are dying from various causes, I feel like we can lose sight of this reality.

But the last few weeks, have been a megaphone for these truths. So what does a person do with the reality that this life is temporary? I find myself looking to the wisdom of scriptures, and considering the application of the wisdom of the ages. In my estimation, the scriptures are a guidepost for living life on purpose, in light of our earthly mortality, and in light of the fact that each of us are, as the philosopher Dallas Willard has said, “unceasing spiritual beings with an eternal destiny in God’s great universe.” The ancient theologian Saul of Tarsus has also written an exhortation for the ages to, “Make the most of the time because the days are evil, and understand what the will of the Lord is.”

When I consider these truths, that my life is short, and that I’m seeking to make the most of the time, I still find myself in need of guidance. We live in a world FULL of chocies, at least most of us in the West seem to have limitless choices. I’ve spent enough time in other areas of the world (and honestly even here) to know that our circumstances can sometimes limit our choices—but we ALWAYS have a choice of some type. So, again, I look to ancient texts for truths that have stood the test of time. An Ancient Hebrew Prophet laid it out this way, “What is required of you o man, but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”

These are powerful words, but we need more than wise words to live by, we need to cautiously and humbly seek to apply these words and embody them in our lives. The reason I encourage caution and humility is because, if these words are meant to move us toward a life of purpose from the perspective our own mortality, then we need to be willing to course-correct if we may be mis-applying the wisdom. We need to be in a place to listen to the feedback of others. We need to be open to suggestion, but at the same time, we need to be resolute. If we aren’t resolved to a degree, then we will waffle and waver from our purpose, and we will likely live a less fulfilling life.

So as I consider all of the events swirling around me, death of a close friend, near death of another close friend, and the arrival to this earth of our first child, I consider this text in the following ways.

Do Justice—This is an active part of our life rhythm. In order to be able to do justice, I need to wisely steward the limited resources I have, in the limited time I have, for the good of others. This encourages me to pursue my own physical health, not so much so I can live longer (although there is a correlation between physical health and longevity), but more so I can do more in terms of justice. If I am healthy and strong, I can give more of my resources to service. I can volunteer. I can run and play with my child. I can help friends move, and it just leaves me in a place where I have more to give.

Love Mercy—There is so much wrapped up in this phrase. This phrase helps me to more fully be present to all that is going on around me. If I am loving mercy, I am willing to walk in forgiveness—I’m neither carrying bitterness toward others, nor toward myself. There are times in our life where all of us “do injustice” to ourselves and to others. There are times when we will have injustice done to us. It is in those times we have an ability to love mercy and extend mercy toward ourselves and others. Carrying bitterness, anxiety, and disappointment are not the way of mercy, and they will rob us of our life long before we breathe our last, if we let them. In this spirit, I strive to make space to choose to believe the best of myself and of others, and to extend mercy rather than enmity.

Walk humbly with your God—This is probably the least popular aspect of this ancient nugget of wisdom. Our pride screams defiantly at any form of humility. We want to do things in our way, according to our time schedule, and according to our own priorities—we do not like the thought of anyone or anything dictating how we should spend our time, talents, and treasures. And yet, when we walk in humility, we are able to have eyes to see our own shortcomings. When we walk humbly with God, we are choosing to listen to the ONE voice that desires the best for us, and has the clearest insight into how we can live the most fulfilled and purposeful life, the wisdom and guidance of God nudges us to the best life we can live. And by taking time regularly to listen and to respond, we can truly make the most of our limited window of time on this earth.

I would never claim to execute these three principles perfectly, but I believe they offer each of us guidance toward how we might each live our lives in a way that truly “makes the most of the time because the days are evil.” May we each strive to walk in a way that is mindful of our mortality, and that savors and makes the most of each magical moment of our lives.

Mourning, Grieving, Healing, and Reconciliation

A few days ago, I received a text message from a long time friend asking me to give him a call when I had a moment. I responded as quickly as I could—this friend wouldn’t make a request like that unless he had something really important to share. When I called, he told me that Joseph Crow Neale, a one-time very close friend of ours, and the principle chief of my tribe, had passed away from a heart problem earlier in the week.  He was under sixty years of age, and from what I gather, his health had been in decline, but no one thought his light would be extinguished so soon.

I was beside myself as I took in this news, and unsure how to respond. For years, I had prayed that somehow our friendship would be reconciled and restored, and that we would be able to pick up where we left off, but this news took away any hope of that future outcome on this side of eternity.

Over the last few days as I have had space to reflect and grieve, I’ve given a lot of thought to the important role he had in my life and in the lives of many other people. He wasn’t perfect, and as much as we ourselves are able to see our shortcomings, he would have been ready to admit them.

He was generous with his time, and would spend hours with young men and women in our tribal community, and he would patiently teach them as much of our tribal traditions as they were willing to learn. He always wanted to make sure the younger generation could feel proud of their Shawnee heritage, and that they could hold onto some memories of our ceremonial ways and traditions. I had a conversation recently with a member of our tribe reminiscing over how much he cared for her youngest daughter when she was brought to our tribal grounds as an infant. He said, “These young children are the next generations of our people.”

I remember when my best friend in the whole world, Willie, had his daughter and son on our tribal grounds for the first time. Crow went out of his way to always make sure these children were included. On one occasion, Crow took paints with Emalee, Willie’s daughter, and had her “help” him decorate a coconut shell rattle.  I believe making gestures like this to include young people like Emalee, likely positively shaped her own memories of what it was like to grow up in a tribal community.

Crow and his late father were always willing to share responsibilities and give our people opportunities to learn by doing. In allowing others to gather materials for ceremonies or take care of various aspects of preparation, he would allow people to make mistakes, and then use these mistakes as an opportunity to educate. He valued giving people an opportunity to at least attempt to figure things out on their own before intervening.  

Crow would work tirelessly for our tribal community. Every year he set a goal of making some type of improvement to the land, and he sought to involve whoever was willing to help make those improvements. He launched into the construction of our tribal council house (designed by his uncle, Flying Duck), and he also led work parties in the construction of an arbor, the transit and assembly of a supply shed granted from Fort Necessity, as well as the creation of an earthen oven.

Crow encouraged our people to explore and visit the sites of some of our ancestral villages. In fact, I remember one occasion where the owner of a piece of property that was once the site of one of our villages allowed us to take a few stones back to our ceremonial grounds as a gesture to symbolically reconnect us with those lands. We took road trips all over West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Ohio to help ourselves and other Shawnees to connect with their past.

Crow and his father were two of the first people I ever saw pursue servant leadership actively. By tradition, chiefs usually would eat first during feasts, but for Crow and his late father, they chose to eat last—they believed that it was a more important principal to ensure that everyone in the tribe had eaten—and that elders would eat first. They taught by example that we take care of our elders, and that we seek the good of others before we seek our own welfare. This concept is in line with our common Christian heritage as well as much of Native tradition.

He and his father allowed me to spend a summer living with them and learning the old ways back when I was in college, and during the months after graduating and before I started my first “grown-up” job, they invited me back into their home where I continued to learn from their leadership and mentorship. Thankfully I was offered an opportunity to give back (and learn additional skills) by helping put a roof on their house and repair parts of the home that had fallen into disrepair. Toward the end of my time with them that fall, they handed me $200 for “helping out.” That same day, my mom called to tell me that my first student loan payment form came in the mail—I owed $200. They had providentially helped me address that financial need.

Crow and his dad helped me grow in my relationship with Christ from some of the earliest moments of my walking with Christ. I witnessed their examples of generosity with time and resources (along with similar examples from friends in Morgantown), and sought to emulate their rich faith, and learn as much as I could about Jesus and the Bible. Crow used to listen to the Bible on cassette everywhere he went, and, as a result, he was incredibly familiar with the scriptures. He often had a timely verse for various situations.

The last time I remember speaking to Chief Crow was in the fall of 2004. I had just heard a sermon about recognizing people who had been a positive influence in your life, and when possible letting them know the valuable role they had in helping you become a better person. I was driving home to visit my parents in Parkersburg, West Virginia, and I thought, “I’m going to call Crow and thank him for the positive influence he had been in my life.” And so I called out of the blue, and told him just that. I thanked him for the lessons he had shared with me, and for the important role he had played in helping me become the person I had become, and for taking the time to pour into myself and many others. He thanked me and let me know he appreciated the gesture and the words, and then we said goodbye for what ended up being the last time.

Looking back from this present vantage point, I would have never imagined that this conversation would be the closest he and I would come to reconciliation on this side of eternity. I can only imagine there are many others who have had similar relationships with people with whom they never get to experience the full reconciliation that they hope would happen on this side of eternity. Crow’s untimely demise is a very compelling and sobering reminder of the importance of keeping short accounts with others, and striving, so far as it depends on you, to be at peace with others.  Not everyone has an opportunity for those types of conversations, but when we do, we should take them. There is healing and reconciliation that can take place for all.

And now, as I think about Chief Crow’s legacy, it is my heartfelt prayer that our people will continue to move forward even more strongly, and that we will collectively embody all of these wonderful attributes of this leader who has gone to be with Jesus. To me, I feel like that is the greatest way we can honor those who no longer walk this earth, and it is a gesture of reconciliation and healing that can carry forward into future generations for the good of all people.

Reflection: Visiting Fort Frederick's 22nd Annual Market Fair

Last weekend, Jamie and I had the privilege of traveling from Morgantown to Fort Frederick (near Big Pool, MD) with our friends Dan and Lori. The entire day was filled with memories to savor, and new ones to be made. There's something heart-warming about taking a road trip with friends in the first place, but this was the first extended period of time we had together for a long time. Dan and I grew up together, and so the drive was a mix of laughter over old memories and adventures, and in depth discussions about what is happening in our lives right now. An automobile, with no screens and no music is a great place for these types of discussions, but walking together in a park is even better, and that is EXACTLY what we did upon arrival at Fort Frederick.

Fort Frederick State Park has hosted Market Fair for 22 years, and I have probably attended about half of those years. My old chief used to love going to the event because the focus of the weekend was the French and Indian War (Seven Years War) era frontier. The event is a large rendez-vous and historic reenactment weekend with individuals donning the attire of British troops, militia, settlers, and some First Nations peoples wearing traditional regalia. Back in the 90s, going with my chief was like going with a celebrity. Everybody seemed to know him, and enjoyed having him stop by their weekend lodging. Hundreds of canvas tents scattered around the stone fort and these become the homes of participants for four or five days during the event.

Many of these participants are also artisans who specialize in various primitive skills. Every year when I go, I love seeing a variety of incredibly talented gunsmiths, knife smiths, blacksmiths, tailors, tanners, tobacconists, potters, silversmiths, and more. Some of the participants have spent weeks and months making absolutely beautiful quill work designs (they even dye the porcupine quills using traditional dyes). Still others make large belts of wampum, weaving the beads by hand.

In the early years of Market Fair, I remember my chief was brought in as a consultant for a group of Native American re-enactors who were interested in constructing a traditional eastern woodlands village. The photo above was taken at the edge of the woods where this village once stood--I participated in a wedding out on that. A number of native people from the region, including a strong contingent from our Native student group at WVU, would make the annual trek for Market Fair to trade, to find traditional wares, and to connect with other folks from various tribes as well as with other people who simply had a deep appreciation for history and simple living. For many years, this event served as an unofficial and unplanned reunion for many of us. We spent many evenings around the campfire swapping stories and drumming and singing very, very old songs and sometimes writing new ones.

This year was probably the busiest Market Fair I can remember. There were multiple overflow parking areas when we arrived at 1130AM. There's something to be said for perseverance, tradition, and time. This event has grown huge over the years. And, like every other time I have traveled to it, there was an unofficial and unplanned reunion. This year, it was with one of my former roommate's parents, Mark and Debbie Culp. Of course we had to take a group photo and send it off to their son Nic. We were able to enjoy a meal together, and I was able to introduce them to Dan and Lori as well as give them an update on the latest happenings with Nuru. Nic's parents have a love for wilderness, for traditional skills, and for history, but it was their first time visiting Market Fair--they LOVED it!

I highly recommend stopping by Market Fair if you find yourself near western Maryland in late April. The event itself has a longstanding tradition, and you never know who you might run into there. There's something really beautiful about meeting and connecting with individuals who are keeping old ways alive, and who are incredibly dedicated to their craft. There's also refreshment to be found by taking a step away from screens and devices for a few hours to breathe in the fresh air, and to engaging in the quickly fading art of conversation. May you find time and space in this hurried world to slow down and enjoy people and the beauty of the outdoors.

Reflection: Bonfires and Bonding

This year at our Nuru all-staff summit, we started a new tradition, or maybe we continued an older tradition in a new format. We gathered around a fire on the first night of our summit, and shared stories of ways in the past year different members of the team stepped forward and went above and beyond to carry the mission forward. This time of celebrating wins was not entirely new at Nuru, but, the bonfire was.

Sitting around that fire and enjoying some pizza and solid conversations and catch-up times with teammates as the sound of Pacific waves crashed in the darkness beyond us brought back several other memories for me. Back when I was more actively engaged in my tribal community, we would circle up around what we called "Indian-TV" or more specifically "Shawnee-TV" and conduct similar activities. We would enjoy meals, catch-up with one another, share stories, and laugh together as we enjoyed the dance of the fire/"TV" before us. My understanding is that our staff living in Ethiopia and Kenya also have fire pits around which they gather fairly often.

My tribe has a New Year's ceremony (not in January) in which the nation's fire is stamped out to signal the close of the old year and the start of the new year (there's much more to the ceremony, but this is one key element). As the fire is stamped out, individuals are encouraged to make amends, to forgive, and to leave the hurts of the previous year in the past. In this way each year starts with a clean slate.

I can remember heading out to one of my old roommate Lucas Harriman's family home in West Virginia during my undergraduate years too. We would gather about indoors, eat a ton of buckwheat cakes and pizza while simultaneously downing pot after pot of coffee, and then we would make our way outside to a fire pit, and gather around to sing praises to the Creator of the universe, share testimonies of what He was teaching us, and even take time to pray for one another.

I've always thought about a fire as a tool for survival, a place to keep warm, and a place to cook food and share meals, but in reality a fire represents a gathering place, and in some regard, the breath and life of a community. It's no wonder that people talk about relationships ending as "fires going out" or even of death in a similar fashion "their fire burnt out too early."

While I know that there are modern equivalents for gathering spaces, I can't help but think that a fire as a gathering space is unparalleled, especially a fire in the night. The fire calls us away from the darkness, calls us to warmth and laughter, and allows us to see one another more clearly rather than only seeing shadows.

Do you have any fireside memories? May we each make a practice of spending time together with others around a fire, and celebrate community, warmth, and connectedness.

Reflection: Servant Leadership In The Form of a Good Friend

One of our values at Nuru is servant leadership. One of the core values of my tribe and my faith is also servant leadership. Growing up in Parkersburg WV, I saw both of my parents model servant leadership for me and my siblings and for anyone who was paying attention. I've appreciated it and also tried to live it out for much of my adult life. And, as our time in California was wrapping up during the first week of 2015 (among many other times), I saw it modeled in my coworker and friend Troy Hickerson (in the photo above). 

Troy is an incredible human being. He manages all of the IT needs of Nuru, and is also an executive and cofounder in two other companies working to address malnutrition among children in the developing world—Mana Nutrition and Calorie Cloud. You should check them both out, and consider ways you and/or your company/family can be involved with them! 

But that’s not the point of this post. Troy and I were hoping to connect during the week of the summit to go for a run, but his busy schedule kept this from being a possibility—until the day we were leaving. He invited me and Jamie to come to his house in Newport Beach for an early morning jog and catch up time. He was really glad to see us show up, and admitted when we were running a few minutes behind, that he half-expected us to text him with a ‘Sorry bro, we aren’t going to make it.” Jamie and I were not about to let that happen. Troy had to leave for a meeting in Los Angeles mid-morning, so we only had a narrow window. So, we ran for about 30-40 minutes and then, came back to his house for a quick shower before heading inland to see my brother one more time and board a plane back east.

Amid the entire morning, Troy demonstrated servant leadership, but then, he took an additional step and began brewing coffee and preparing bacon, eggs, and pancakes for breakfast for us. He welcomed us into his home and showed us hospitality. He needed to head to Los Angeles for a meeting, but he took his time, and prepared and enjoyed a meal with us.

Every time I see servant leadership in action, I am inspired. Servant leadership is completely counter-cultural to the way much of our world seems to work—it’s like an act of resistance against our own selfishness every time we choose to serve.

Who are some examples of servant leadership in your life? How do you take steps to become a servant leader? May we all learn to be better leaders as we learn to serve and care for the needs of others instead of seeking to serve ourselves!