I listen carefully to what people say to me after I speak. If they say, “Boy, I wish I could speak like you,” then I’ve failed. But if they say, “I’m not going to forget that,” then I’ve succeeded.
I speak only to change behavior. Making a speech is not an accomplishment; changing behavior is. But to make a lasting change in behavior, I need to make my message memorable. How can I say it so people will remember?
The missing third element
Some say, “If you want people to remember, tell stories.” Beginning preachers are instructed to illustrate each point with a story.
It’s true that good stories stick in the memory. But to really help people remember, I find I need to move beyond point and story to add a third element. I call this an “essence statement.” You might also call it a “handle,” because it gives people a way to hold on to the concept. Some people even call it a one-liner or proverb. But whatever the name, an essence statement is a simple, memorable statement that capsulizes a truth. Over the years I’ve developed a number of these:
- “God created us from the dust, but he didn’t intend for us to stay there.”
- “If your wife doesn’t treat you as she should, be grateful.”
- “When we understand each other’s motives, we can understand each other’s actions.”
They’re short, they capture a truth, and they stick in the memory.
Combination of three
The combination of point, story, and essence statement makes a message unforgettable.
For example, in my book You and Your Network, I wanted people to remember that we have the right and responsibility to choose our attitude in every situation. So I used the combination of point, story, and statement:
- I described the point as simply and clearly as I could.
- I told a story about being on a plane when the pilot announced there would be a four-hour mechanical delay. Another passenger bolted off the plane to tell the young woman at the counter (who, of course, controls all jet mechanical failures) what he thought of the way they ran the airline. Irritated by the inconvenience, I decided this was the appropriate thing to do, so I moved to join him. As I stood up to follow, I remembered Viktor Frankl’s definition, “Ultimate freedom is man’s right to choose his attitude,” and I sheepishly sat down. I had not chosen my attitude but had absorbed it from the circumstances and the people around me. I used those four hours of quiet, with free coffee, to productively do the work in my briefcase.
- I summarized my point in an essence statement: “When we absorb our attitude, we are slaves; when we choose it, we are free.” Point, story, statement—and the last is not the least. I’ve had many people say, “I’ve always thought that; I had no way to say it. Now I’ve got words.”
Writing an essence statement
The first and most important step in creating an essence statement is to decide what I’m trying to say. Then I see if I can express it briefly, using one or more of the following qualities:
Contrast. Often it helps if the essence statement sets up two “goalposts,” two opposing or contrasting words. Contrast wakens the mind. For example, “While celebrities may dazzle us, heroes enlarge us.”
My wife, Mary Alice, is having trouble accepting the reality of a progressive illness. As long as she thinks about the illness and doesn’t accept it objectively, then she can’t enjoy the limited possibilities that are before her. I tried to capture that truth in an essence statement: “Until you accept the bad, you cannot enjoy the good.”
Humor or surprise. I sometimes joke, “Moses was the first person to break all Ten Commandments.” People laugh, but they also remember my point: All of us have sinned.
Or when teaching about marriage, I might quip, “Too many marriages start out in bliss and end up in blisters.”
Poetic sense. Memorable phrases grab the ear with balance or alliteration. They sound right. I tried to capture this in one message with the phrase, “The fallacy of fantasy.”
Another time I said, “In middle life you don’t want to make a junkyard out of your old age.” Tears came to the eyes of one listener who was about 40 years old. Afterward he said, “You don’t know what that meant.”
I probably did know. I’d have bet anything he was thinking about divorcing his wife. I wanted to say, “Man, you’re taking away the place where the grandchildren can come. You’re splitting the home, and you’re bringing competition in when there ought not be any competition.”
But I said all that in one phrase—”Don’t make a junkyard out of your old age.”
Fred Smith is a business executive in Dallas, Texas, and a contributing editor of Leadership.
1998 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. For reprint information call 630-260-6200 or contact us.
