by Bob Roberts, Jr.<\/p>\n
\nI want to know that some pastor out there made it. I don’t mean that he became\na religious success story, but that he completed the race. I want to know\nthat he didn’t have to lose his sanity or morality to do it. I want to know\nthat ministry really is what we say it is. I want hope that I will really\nbe more than what I do, and stay true to who I am.<\/p>\n\n
\nI need an old man.<\/p>\n\n
\nNeil Young, in his song “Old Man,” sings, “Hey, Old Man, take a look at yourself:\nyou’re a lot like me. I need someone to show me the whole way through.”<\/p>\n\n
\nSometimes I feel like a windmill—blowing in the wind so fast but never going\nanywhere. Sometimes I feel like a small, hyperactive child who never grew\nup; I just got older.<\/p>\n\n
\nI need a pastor who will show me his scars so I’ll know I can survive being\ncut open. I need an old man who has asked the same questions I’ve asked and\ndoesn’t think I’m a heretic because I ask them. I’m not sure I need a model,\njust a person who is willing to talk honestly.<\/p>\n\n
\nIn my attempt to understand busters and boomers—the ones I give myself to\nreach-I know little about “bombers,” those who were born during the Depression\nand World War II. I’ve discovered that boomers and busters aren’t going to\nbe there for me; they’re too busy. But a bomber, though twice my age and\nnot nearly as current, still flies and understands flying (though perhaps\nnot with jet speed and current technology).<\/p>\n\n
\nRecently I found an old man for my life, and already I thank God for him.<\/p>\n\n
\nFirst, my old man isn’t too big for someone like me. A pastor of a large,\nflagship church once told me to drop him a line and we’d get together. I\nwrote, and he replied with an autographed copy of his latest book and a note:\n“You can imagine how busy I am. But in God’s timing we shall meet.”<\/p>\n\n
\nIn contrast, once when I shared deep hurt with my old man, he wept with me.\nHe then told about a hurt in his life.<\/p>\n\n
\nMy old man listens to me, not like an operator obligated to listen, but with\neyes looking into my soul and hands holding his chin, like a man praying\nintently. I’ve learned I can talk ministry philosophy with him, because even\nif he disagrees with me, his goal is not to make me exactly like him.<\/p>\n\n
\nSecond, my old man has moved beyond technique and into touch. As young men,\nwe thought that if we just had the right technique, all would be well. Then\nwe got the technique, and it even worked, but it still didn’t make it all\nwell inside of us. My old man has no charts, programs, breakthroughs. But\nhe understands the power of passion. “If you think you’re big enough!” seems\nto be his reply. “Be ambitious for God!”<\/p>\n\n
\nWe’ve pushed physical limits by rapelling, rafting—I’ve even been part of\n“baptizing” him in a spirit of Christian love and force in the Watauga River.<\/p>\n
\nThird, my old man teaches me by illustration of his life. I’ve never seen\nanyone be so open about his fears. One night I asked him, “I’ve heard you\ntalk a lot about getting older. Why are you afraid of it?”<\/p>\n\n
\nHe admitted, “I don’t know.” I heard his voice crack as he said, “I guess\nI’m really afraid of being alone. Losing family members, friends, coming\nto the end.”<\/p>\n\n
\nSo honest. But this old man need not worry about being alone. Pouring his\nlife into young leaders assures him of being surrounded by people for years\nto come.<\/p>\n\n
\nImagine if we started the ministry as old leaders and became younger the\nlonger we ministered. Wow-wisdom and strength! That’s not going to happen,\nbut there is wisdom out there. Wisdom comes only from those who live out\nthe truth over the long haul. You see a young man’s power and strength in\nthe speed of the windmill. You see an old man’s wisdom in a sail that harnesses\nthe wind, points you into the waves, and sails you to a distant land.<\/p>\n\n
\nThat’s why no matter how long I’ve been in ministry, I will always need an\nold man.\n<\/p>\n
Bob Roberts, Jr., is pastor of NorthWood, a Church for the Community,\nin Ft. Worth, Texas.<\/p>\n\n
by Fred Smith<\/p>\n
\nA woman told me recently, “I’m in counseling. I mentor various people.”<\/p>\n\n
\n“Do people came to you?” I asked.<\/p>\n\n
\n“I go to them.”<\/p>\n\n
\nThen I asked, “What would happen if you waited till they came to you?”<\/p>\n\n
\n“I wouldn’t stay busy.”<\/p>\n\n
\nThis woman is a “fixer,” not a mentor.<\/p>\n\n
\nIt’s important to find the right mentor. Over the years I have identified\nseven qualities I look for:<\/p>\n\n
Scripture says young\nmen are for strength, old men for wisdom. A mentor must understand the principles\nof life, which I think are the principles of Scripture. A mentor needs depth\nof experience—and to have synthesized those experiences into teachable lessons.\nA good mentor has lived long enough to see things take effect, and so understands\ncause and effect. Many of us have not lived long enough to see that what\nlooks great starting out isn’t always great later on. Take, for example,\nwelfare. It started as a humane, short-term program. Now we’ve lived long\nenough to see that in some ways welfare is harmful.<\/p>\n\n
\nAs an older person, I’m interested in “vector decisions.” At the time of\ndecision there’s little difference between two options, but over time, their\nresults diverge widely. It takes wisdom to see where that vector is going\nto go. We need to find mentors who, based on their experience, can see that.<\/p>\n\n
I see\nsome fathers who still compete with their sons. They’re not able to relax\nand let the boy grow up and go past them.<\/p>\n\n
\nMy son, Fred, is beyond me. I have more experience in certain areas, but\nhe’s way out in front of me. I’m happy!<\/p>\n\n
\nYou need a mentor who is able to relax and say, “This person is a race horse,\nand I’m just the trainer now. He’s going to go to the winner’s circle. He’s\nthe one who’s going to win the money. I’ll feel good just making a contribution\nto that.” Mentoring is vicarious accomplishment.<\/p>\n\n
\nA good mentor must know when to say, “I’ve taken you as far as I can,” then\nturn you over to someone more skilled. That’s integrity.<\/p>\n\n
\nSometimes, people try to counsel in subjects in which they’re not expert.\nThey’ll find a verse of Scripture or something they make fit the situation,\nthen say, “Try this, and I’ll pray for you.” But integrity demands that a\nmentor say, “That’s something I really don’t know well enough to help you.”<\/p>\n\n
Part of the ability to mentor is the\nability to judge talent. A real mentor is looking for champions or superior\nperformance. In my first meeting with someone, I look for “an unscratchable\nitch” for excellence. If I see that, I know the person will persevere beyond\nthe plateau of comfort.<\/p>\n\n
\nOccasionally, I see a parent spend an awful lot of time trying to make a\nrace horse out of a fine mule. They’re educating him and grooming him and\nputting him in races that he never wins. That’s damaging. A mule is valuable\nbut not as a racehorse. Good mentors can assess your current skills and take\na good guess at your potential.<\/p>\n\n
\nThey can also discern if you’re coming for the wrong reason. A young person\nsaid, “I’d like to have lunch with you once a month.” We talked for a while,\nand I asked certain questions. Then I said, “No, I won’t do that because\nall you want is my contacts.” That was all the person was interested in.\nA good mentor wants to contribute to accomplishment.<\/p>\n\n
I want to be around a potential\nmentor to see our chemistry, because I never want a doctor who isn’t my friend.\nI want a mentor to be able to hear me, and I want to be able to hear him.\nThis is personal chemistry.<\/p>\n\n
\nFor example, I was talking to a young man the other day, and he couldn’t\nhear me because he has a great prejudice against wealth: Anybody who has\nmoney is verboten. Even if we never discussed wealth, our chemistry would\nnever match.<\/p>\n\n
\nOne way I check chemistry is to stop and say, “Please repeat to me what I\njust said.” Sometimes you hear the darnedest things. I’m sure every speaker\nhas had the experience: people tell you they enjoyed when you said such-and-such,\nand you said no such thing. (Now when that happens, I thank the person and\nsay, “Well, I’ll include that the next time I talk.”) But if a person isn’t\nlistening well, there probably won’t be a profitable chemistry.<\/p>\n\n
I don’t want\nto spend my time with anybody who won’t take the occasion seriously. I don’t\nmean without humor, but as something important. Does it have meaning to them?\nDoes the relationship count? Can they feel hope?<\/p>\n\n
\nMost of the time, solving a problem takes more time than we think. Is the\nperson willing to put that time into it? To think about it between visits?<\/p>\n\n
I need to be close\nenough to somebody to say, “If I read the situation right, you are going\ntoward trouble.” That’s all I owe you. I don’t need to spy on you or to stay\nafter you. But I owe you that sincere confrontation.<\/p>\n\n
\nThe person may say, “Well, you’re wrong.” If I am, I’ll be delighted to find\nout. But if I genuinely believe someone is headed toward trouble, I must\nconfront. Some people might say, “He wouldn’t like me if I said that.” I\nam no friend if I will not risk the friendship for your good.<\/p>\n\n
\nConfrontation is surgical. If you’re afraid of blood, you should not be in\nthe operating room. And if you primarily want people to like you, you’re\nnot good at confrontation.<\/p>\n\n
\nOn the other hand, you want a mentor who will pause before the confrontation,\nto consider: Am I fairly convinced I’m right? How much can I say to correct\nwithout immobilizing the person? How can I say it in love—”willing the ultimate\ngood for the other”?<\/p>\n\n
Maxey Jarman, former chairman\nof Genesco, used to say, “A board member’s chief function is the questions\nhe or she asks.” Management is supposed to know the answer, but the director\nis supposed to know the question. So a mentor ought to be able to ask good\nquestions.<\/p>\n\n
\nI said to a woman the other night, “I wish you could see yourself like I\nsee you. You’ve got potential in my eyes that I don’t think is in your eyes.”\nThe natural thing for her to say is, “Well, what do you see?” If she doesn’t\nsay that, then I don’t answer. But I open the gate for her to explore more.\nI might say, “Would seeing yourself this way appeal to you?” Asking the question\ngives her an opportunity to grow.<\/p>\n\n
\nTo a young executive, I might say, “You work in the corporation. How would\nyou look at yourself if you owned the company? Would you feel better about\nyourself?” If he says, “Oh, man, I’d be scared to death,” that’s important\nto know. But I don’t start arguing with him. The job of a mentor is to open\na window, the right window. And then point to the best path.<\/p>\n\n
Fred Smith is a businessman in Dallas, Texas; a board member of Christianity Today International; and a contributing editor of Leadership.<\/p>\n\n \n
by Chuck Swindoll<\/p>\n
\nThere we sat, a cluster of six. A stubby, orange candle burned at the center\nof our table, flickering eerie shadows across our faces. One spoke; five\nlistened.<\/p>\n\n
\nEvery question was handled with such grace, such effortless ease. Each answer\nwas drawn from deep wells of wisdom, shaped by tough decisions, and nurtured\nby time. And pain. Mistakes and mistreatment. Like forty years in the same\nchurch. And seasoned by travel. Like having ministered around the world.\nAnd honed by tests, risks, heartbreaks, and failures.<\/p>\n\n
\nHad those years been spent in the military, he would have had a chest full\nof medals.<\/p>\n\n
\nHis age? Seventy-two. His face? Rugged as fifty miles of bad road. His eyes?\nAh, those eyes. Piercing, as if they penetrated to the back of your cranium.\nHe had seen it all, weathered it all-all the flak and delights of a flock.\nOutlasted all the fads and gimmicks of gullible and greedy generations, known\nthe ecstasy of seeing lives revolutionized, the agony of lives ruined, and\nthe monotony of lives unchanged. He had paid his dues—and had the scars\nto prove it.<\/p>\n\n
\nThere we sat for well over three hours, hearing his stories, pondering his\nprinciples, questioning his conclusions, and responding to his ideas. The\nevening was punctuated with periodic outbursts of laughter followed by protracted\nperiods of quiet talk.<\/p>\n\n
\nAs I participated, I was suddenly 26 years old again. A young seminarian\nand pastoral intern, existing in a no-man’s land between a heart full of\ndesire and head full of dreams. Long on theological theories but short on\npractical experience. I had answers to questions no one was asking, but a\nlack of understanding on the things that really mattered. In momentary\nflashbacks, I saw myself in the same room with this man thirty years earlier,\ndrinking at the same well, soaking up the same spirit. Back then, however,\nI was merely impressed; this time I was deeply moved. Thirty years ago he\nhad been a model; now he had become a mentor. Thoroughly human and absolutely\nauthentic, he had emerged a well-worn vessel of honor fit for the Master’s\nuse. And I found myself profoundly grateful that Ray Stedman’s shadow had\ncrossed my life.<\/p>\n\n
\nIn a day of tarnished leaders, fallen heroes, busy parents, frantic coaches,\narrogant authority figures, and eggheaded geniuses, we need mentors like\nnever before—we need guides, not gods. Approachable, caring souls who help\nus negotiate our way through life’s labyrinth.<\/p>\n\n
\nAs we said goodbye to Ray that evening, I walked a little slower. I thought\nabout the things he had taught me without directly instructing me, about\nthe courage he had given me without deliberately exhorting me. I wondered\nhow it had happened. I wondered why I had been so privileged.<\/p>\n\n
\nA knot formed in my throat as I forced myself to realize that, at age 72,\nhe didn’t have many more years left in the world. I found myself wanting\nto run back to his car and tell him again how much I loved and admired him.<\/p>\n\n
\nBut it was late, and after all, I was a 55-year-old man. A husband. A father.\nA grandfather. A pastor. To some, a leader.<\/p>\n\n
\nBut as I stood there alone in the cold night air, I suddenly realized what\nI wanted to be when I grew up.<\/p>\n\n
Chuck Swindoll is president of Dallas Theological Seminary.<\/p>\n
\nExcerpted by permission from The Finishing Touch by Chuck Swindoll\n1994, Word, Inc., Dallas, Texas. All rights reserved.\n<\/p>\n \n
1996 by Christianity Today\/LEADERSHIP journal<\/p>\n