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Reflections of a Grumpy

I’ve been silent for quite a while. In part this is because I have been involved in so much travel and other work. But also I suffer slightly from the constant barrage of social media and other forms of electronic communication. What is it about human beings that make us think that everyone in the world will be interested in the minutiae of our individual lives. There seems to be an uncontrollable competition for self-disclosure if not self-promotion. May be my problem is that I’m part of a dying generation and have therefore been promoted to the status of Grumpy Old Man. This accolade is not the result of any election to office. It’s the inevitability of life which the younger generation usually fails to see is hurtling toward them as well. grumpy_old_men

In the western society in which I am embedded in Australia, once one reaches the grand old age of 40, he or she is often cast off as some sort of irrelevant has-been with nothing further to offer those who are younger, whose appetites demand constant titillation for the ever fleeting, impossibly sustainable new happening. Fortunately for my sense of self worth, I spend much of my time beyond the shallow trivialities of Western culture in the developing world in which ones value in society appreciates with age.

Today, in my very small hotel room in the middle of Tirana, the capital city of Albania it’s Saturday morning. All is quiet. The sun streams through the window and I do not have another engagement for 90 minutes. Such seclusion and  anonymity is bliss for the soul.

I have just read an article in German and English about a novelist. He is Paulo Coelho. He is a best selling Brazilian author. I only get time to read one novel a year and this  when I am on a snippet of annual leave. Image

http://paulocoelho.com/images/avatar_500.png

Coelho has sold 150 million books. He has 11.5 million Facebook friends and more than 8 million followers on Twitter. He has lived a rich and fulfilling life that flows into his stories.

In his youth he indulged in many of the past-times common to that era of our lives. In his twenties he spent two years hitch-hiking through South America, Africa and Europe. He classified himself as a real hippy. He did drugs, magic rituals, joined a sect and indulged in a whole bunch of what he calls “crazy things”.

These days he doesn’t have to worry about money. For relaxation he fronts up at the counter at his nearest airport with his wife and asks the destination of the next available flight on which there are available seats. Wherever that flight is going he joins it even if it is to Timbuktu. He sees the biggest advantage of being wealthy as not having to do anything he doesn’t want to do. But money does not dominate. He wears a cheap plastic watch, although obviously he could afford a much more elaborate customized timepiece like many of the glitterati wear to impress others.

He avoids cocktail parties because he considers them boring, always inhabited by the same people mouthing the same conversations through the same forced smiles. He considers it is much better to take photos of nature and go for walks with his wife.

His novels are created in his head and flow out when the time is right. He writes one in a matter of weeks. Occasionally he produces something that he considers not up to standard ,in which case he hits the delete button.

To achieve what he has become, one needs to dig a little below the surface. As a boy he attended a Jesuit school in Rio de Janeiro where he learned the role of discipline. He came to realize that discipline and freedom are not mutually exclusive. Earlier in his life his family considered him a rebel because he wanted to be an artist rather than an engineer like his father. He sees the gateway to reason as being supported by two pillars, discipline and passion. The balance between these two enables him to write for eight hours a day. For exercise he practices archery.

Since his 1988 novel, The Alchemist, which became his first international best seller, he has become one of the world’s most successful novelists. The question is, apart from discipline how is such creativity maintained?

The secret is probably this. Sometime ago he spent two years travelling around the world revisiting people whom he considered he had hurt or offended. To each he offered an apology.

These days he says, “I always apologize to people within three days. I think it is important to ask people for forgiveness (even if that means) you don’t forget everything that has happened.”

Long ago Jesus had something to say on this subject. He said it was very important to forgive [Matthew 5:23-24: 6:14-15; Mark 11:25-26; John 20:26]. If we don’t forgive the result will be a root of bitterness in our lives [Hebrews 12: 14-15; Ephesians 4:31-32}. And if that is not extracted the result is hatred and murder {1john 3:15].

Archer Coelho has hit a bull’s-eye. I like this guy[and Jesus]. I can learn from him even if he was born only in 1947.

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Islam’s Enemy

 

Arabic newspaper, al Insan al Jadid called him Islam’s Public Enemy #1. Not to be outdone, an Islamist website reportedly declared him to be one of the most wanted infidels in the world. To reinforce the point they put a $60million bounty on his head!

In 2009 calls were made to strip him of his Egyptian citizenship. A court case was lodged in an attempt to compel the Egyptian Government to request Interpol to arrest and deliver him to Egyptian authorities. He is probably the most widely loved and hated person across the Middle East and wherever Arabic is spoken in North America, Australia and elsewhere. He is certainly the most watched, because of his daily TV satellite broadcasts into Islam’s heartlands.

Although World Magazine gave him their “Daniel of the Year” award in 2008 in acknowledging his bravery in the face of constant violent threats, he remains largely unknown in the West. In part to redress our ignorance he was to make his first public appearance in continental Europe to deliver a lecture in Vienna in 2010. Muslim threats of violence compelled the meeting to be cancelled. In 2012 he received more media attention in the West when it was falsely claimed he was associated with the film “Innocence of Muslims”. This film provoked violent reactions across the Middle East, Africa and Asia.

When his satellite broadcasts ceased in July 2010 there was relief in some quarters. But in November 2011 transmission was recommenced on Al Fady Channel.

Why are Muslim leaders so upset with this man?

Why do they decline to debate with him?

Why do they want him dead?

He says that Truth should be freely available to all. Toward that end he challenges Muslims to discover the truth of Islam, to re-examine their long held assumptions and make their own decisions unfettered from external influence and control. He does this effectively through his lifelong study of Arabic language and Islam’s authoritative texts and commentaries and by comparing these with Truth as it is revealed especially through Jesus and the Bible.

When through internet communication enquirers feel safely freed from censorship control and fear imposed by Islamic authorities and uncontrollable mobs who may attack anyone questioning or criticising tenets of Islam, the results are staggering.

Television behemoth, al Jazeera, reportedly aired a segment about this troublesome preacher in which it was claimed that he was making an “unprecedented evangelical raid on the Muslim world.” Muslim cleric Ahmal al Qatari is reported as saying that 6 million Muslims convert to Christianity annually many being persuaded by this man.

Only after he turned 70 years of age was he permitted to retire from the Priesthood of the Coptic Orthodox Church to commence full time his unique outreach to Muslims.

Today he is almost 80. He says,”There is no fear in my dictionary. I am determined to see people freed from the grasp of the evil one and converted to the freedom of Jesus Christ.”zakaria

God continues using his ministry to multiply viewers and new believers in Jesus from the world of Islam.

His name is Zakaria Botross. You can learn about his amazing life and ministry in the book Defying Death written by myself with Peter Botross, published by City Harvest.

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The Long Road Back

The rain is relentless. It’s as if through pressure and volume it’s trying to hose down the stubborn snow from the 1612 metre peak of Mt. Dajti which glowers darkly over the city. The 620 000 citizens huddle indoors. Only the nation’s hero, Skanderbeg, astride his mighty bronzed steed in the park which bears his name, unflinchingly defies the downpour.albania statue

The city of Tirana, established by Sulejmar Pasha Bargani in 1614, languished till December 31 1925, before it was proclaimed as the permanent capital of Albania.

Tourist brochures would have us believe that the city “is undergoing a major renovation…reinventing itself to become an energetic, vibrant, cosmopolitan city”. Esprit, Geog, Mango, Jumbo, Carrefour, Sheraton and others have already arrived to flash their seductive wares, enticing any who may be tempted to burn cash, quickly obtained through a variety of entrepreneurial skills way above that of the average wage earner who, if a job can be found, may receive officially $6 000 per annum.

For would-be really high fliers there is the Sky Tower Rotating Bar. Money can at least buy temporary elevation above the chaotic clogged city arteries which are called streets down at ground level. Not even the torrential rain will clear or clean them completely.

Mountainous Albania, perched precariously across a few kilometres of water from Italy in the West and abutting Turkey in the East, has for many centuries suffered the clash of competing religious allegiances. The aforementioned National Hero, Skanderbeg, justifiably encapsulates that history.

When his country was attacked from the East by adherents of that ever expanding “Religion of Peace”, Islam, as a young boy he was carried off and retrained as a Janissary in the service of the Ottoman Sultan. He rose to high rank. But after decades of military engagements, he defected, returned and reclaimed his father’s castle, lost in an earlier battle in the hills adjacent to today’s Tirana.

He then withstood 25 years of repeated sieges and furious attacks from his former Muslim overlords. After his death, the castle and those it protected, finally succumbed. Thereafter followed 500 years of enforced Muslim rule till independence was gained in 1912.

Freedom for the long suffering Albanians was fleetingly short lived. In 1945, Communist dictator, Enver Hoxha fought his way to absolute unchallenged power. His rule was so severe that he broke first with the Soviet empire and later with that of China. Those regimes were not pure enough to be considered truly Communist. When he died in 1985 a typically majestic pageant was held to enthrone the dead dictator in his Mausoleum in the nation’s heroes’ cemetery. Five years later in 1992, when the bankrupt Communist State finally collapsed, Hoxha’s remains were unceremoniously exhumed and carted off to more modest environs along with other trappings of his era.

History records that the only distinctive of his time, was his boast that Albania was the first and only officially declared Atheist State. But even that claim decayed faster than his despised corpse.

Today religion is back in sufficient strength to make famous book publishing atheists in the West wince in dismay.

On Boulevard Zhan D’Ark there is the recently constructed St. Paul’s Catholic Cathedral. albaniaIndeed that worthy Apostle did traverse this land on his many journeys. On Rr. Deshmoret e 4 Shkurti, west of Skanderbeg Square, immediately adjacent to the Ministry of Defence, is the new Resurrection of Christ Orthodox Cathedral. It’s anyone’s guess how many hundreds of millions of dollars were supplied by the Greek Orthodox authorities across the border to construct this impressive pile of gold braided masonry. Not to be outdone in reclaiming lost territory, Muslims with outside help, are busily constructing an Islamic university on the outskirts of Tirana.

But really lasting renovation and revival is never measured by the grandiloquence of stone edifices. Jesus said that his church would consist of living stones which would be the changed lives of his followers. Precisely that is happening.

Bereft of property or finances worth mentioning, a new type of Albanian is emerging. It is claimed there are now about 23 000 of them. Collectively, having recently secured government recognition, they are known as the Evangelical Alliance. Paradoxically during the process for legal recognition, government sources reportedly advised them that those most opposed to their being granted official recognition by government were not the Muslims, but the Roman Catholic and Orthodox hierarchies. This story is depressingly common in former Communist countries.

In these small evangelical congregations composed of people from former majority faiths, of which Communism was just one, one hears the most dramatic testimonies of people who were searching for years for Truth and freedom. They speak of being lost in fathomless darkness. Finally they stumbled across people whose lives seemed totally different. These people had discovered –Jesus.

The rain continues its ceaseless beating against the window. Perhaps after all it will dislodge some of the snow on the nearby mountains. It may even dilute some of the remains of the pestilential scourge of recent dictatorships. But nothing is going to stop the renewal of ancient Albania, especially through this new generation of “born again” true believers.

Through the Old Testament prophet Isaiah, God declared that he “brings princes to naught and reduces the rulers of this world to nothing” (Isaiah 40:23). Seven centuries later Jesus said, “I will build my church and the gates of Hades will not overcome it” (Matthew 16:18). Albania is living testimony to both these truths.

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A Road Much Less Travelled

Outside it was dark. Very dark. The dimly lit metal cigar which locals referred to as a bus, lurched between cratered potholes, probing its way slowly forward along a thin black sliver of “road”, which snaked between high white banked snow drifts. No one spoke. Each was wrapped securely in protective furs, companioned by thoughts of self preservation.

Occasionally eyes squinted open to check the temperature gauge. Minus twenty degrees and falling. My cell phone battery had died in the early hours of the morning in deserted Munich Airport Terminal One. There was no recharging facility. Nor was there any wifi available for my laptop. Terminal One is a generation behind most modern Asian airports.

Now, on this odyssey further into the frozen wastes of Ukraine, none of my twenty-two fellow travellers spoke English. There was no way I could communicate with any of them. Nor could I contact those who would hopefully be waiting for me at the airport in Chernivtsi to tell them my flight had been diverted to Lviv, 300 kilometres further north west.

In the normal winter fog and snow in these parts planes do take off. But unless there is clear sight around their destination airport there is no way to land safely. In this region many airports lack the equipment to assist aircraft to land using only instruments for guidance. In such circumstances one plane had already crashed this week.

The gears of the bus, and the night ground on hour after hour. I had no idea where we were or how I would know when to get off or what to do then. How did I get into this? More importantly how would I get out of itukrain bus

The flight from Melbourne to Munich via Singapore was the usual uneventful twenty three hours cocooned in the care of ever efficient Singaporean International Airline hostesses. A five hour stopover and two more flights would see me arrive at my destination after thirty two hours, to be able to snatch a couple of hours sleep before having to speak at a local meeting.

Anxiety fluttered within as grey fog swirled around the airport. We clambered into a bus to be taken out onto the vast network of runways to board Carpetair flight V3322, which would take us from Munich to Timisoara in Romania. A name like “Carpetair” evoked images of Arabian sand dunes. Maybe flying “carpets” could land on snow drifts as well.

We recognised the whitened outlines of our plane by a man in a captain’s coat and cap banging on the front of the snow covered fuselage with a long handled broom. He was trying to find and clear the cockpit windows.

Briskly we valiant travellers sprinted up the stairs into the darkened plane which seemed somewhat tomb like–as well it may become. The captain kept enthusiastically bashing away outside. Fortunately all passenger windows were iced over. This would be a ride of blind faith in more ways than one. Satisfied with his efforts, the captain stomped the ice off his boots, boarded our craft, left the hostess to wrestle the door closed and disappeared into the maze of lights under his control. Not only did he permit us to view his cockpit dexterity, he even favoured us with a little lighting in the main cabin.

Because not many passengers had braved this flight, the regulation four person crew seemed to be reduced to two. Perhaps the lightened load would keep us aloft longer and make landing easier. At the press of a button, propellers sluggishly turned till engines snorted out ice and thundered into life.

fokker 100With props at noisy speed we trundled past all those boringly predictable ultra safe international jets lined up as if in a passing out parade salute to bid us bon voyage or fond farewell. Not for us a common Boeing or Airbus, We were privileged to ride the finest Fokker 100 still flying. It seemed unfortunate that the worthy Fokker aircraft company had gone out of business some years previously. I’d last flown in one back in the 1970’s. Still I took comfort in the thought that Dutch engineering was as sturdy as that country’s citizens. Besides, there must be a supply of spare parts in some shed somewhere. How else could this plane still keep flying? How indeed!

As we climbed towards out cruising altitude of 10700 meters suddenly the plane started to shudder like a trapped deer caught in the glacial gaze of a merciless tiger about to pounce. In such instances, the deer is soon despatched out of its misery. Not so for the passengers of flight V3322.

Still the shuddering served good purpose. It cracked the thin filament of ice in the cardboard cup I held so I could see into the blackened murky depths below, 2.5 cms of the finest Carpetair cold coffee, served to steady the nerves of the less courageous among us. It also cracked the ice on the outside windows so I could see the comforting insignia on the engine cowling -RR. These were the famous dependable Rolls Royce workhorses. Nothing to worry about here.  Shuddering still we thundered forward. Come to think of it, Rolls Royce was the same company that supplied the engine which blew apart shortly after taking off from Singapore’s Changi airport on a Qantas Airbus 380 in 2011. Perish the thought. Our engines were of older more reliable vintage.

By luck, good fortune or providence we landed at Timisoara. This was the hub and headquarters of Carpetair. At least five other “carpets” were parked on the tarmac ready to welcome us.

Two hours later, after not a little confusion as to from which gate to board for the final leg of the journey, we were airborne once more, this time in a Saab 2000. We had entered the jet age. Alas Saab is another company which also went bust some years ago. Perhaps with time, vintage planes, like Bugatti cars, increase in value as collector’s items and if only Carpetair had realised this, they could have been in for a killing in more ways than one.

Then came the unanticipated, much dreaded announcement over the muffled intercom system.

Owing to inclement weather at Chernivtsi we were being redirected to Lviv. At least we would avoid some time wasting machinery inspector who might have been lurking at the airport to try to uncover the mystery as to why our on board coffee machine was producing lovely cold coffee again. saab 2000

Lviv airport is amazingly modern. It sparkles against the stainless steel sky. It’s nearly the same size as Melbourne’s Tullamarine airport. There are a couple of differences. Saab 2000 Flight V3811 was the only plane at the glittering terminal. And there was no electric lighting inside apart from at one or two counters. Reflected light filtering through snowy windows would suffice. If it was good enough for Santa, it would be good enough for me and my intrepid fellow travellers.

But the question looming in my mind was, what now? No English was spoken, but I was able to follow the rest of the passengers. They seemed to know what was afoot. They piled into the aforementioned bus. So did I. Where to now? There can’t be too many towns in this part of the world.

Some hours into the kidney stone crushing journey, at about 11.00 pm, I thought of a verse in the Bible. Jesus said,” Ask and it will be given to you, seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Luke 11:9) While I certainly didn’t want that bus door to open and let in more cold air, I did need help. So in faith I asked, “God, I’m asking you for your help and guidance. Without some minor miracle I could be forever refrigerated in these frozen, trackless wastes, only to be discovered 1000 years from now by some archaeologists looking for more of those extinct elephants.”

As I asked and prayed, I noticed suddenly up front a dull glow in the hand of a stirring body. It looked as if it could be an iPhone4. In some remote places cell phones are prized not for use as phones because there is no reception but to take photos and to listen to music. “Lord I’m asking for a phone and for reception,” I prayed.

With rising faith I pulled a scrap of crumpled paper from my pocket on which were written nine digits. No name. Just numbers.

Putting legs to my own prayers I stumbled toward the dull blue glow of the phone. I gesticulated toward the phone and my numbered piece of paper. I wondered if I looked too much like a threatening Mafia figure in my long black coat and if so, would the phone person be too frightened to respond. For whatever reason, the phone was surrendered to me. Numbers punched in. I waited.

A voice came on line wanting to know where I was and at what time would I be arriving. I couldn’t give an intelligent answer to either query, but as I handed the phone back the phone owner, I said another prayer. An hour later the driver signalled to me to alight. I was the last person out. But there was one other. The phone owner.

With my luggage beside me on the ice, the town clock signalled midnight. I was all alone. Then the phone owner reappeared and signalled me to get into a car. I was dropped some distance away at a bus station. Still no one to greet me.

Within a matter of minutes a van rumbled up and slid to a stop. Out popped a cheery gent calling my name. He had been waiting elsewhere. The bus had dropped us at the train station instead of the bus station.

After 43 hours the adventure was over. Nothing more to worry about, until I needed to depart for my next destination five days later.

I thought once more of the immortal words of Jesus about the pointlessness of worry and how God has everything under control for those who trust him [Luke 22-34]. Good words to think about, as I drifted of into the oblivion of sleep and snow filled dreams.

 

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Small Understandings

A few days ago a friend asked if I’d seen a movie based on the true life story of a pastor who had established a shelter for children in a violently conflicted area of Africa. I replied that I’d never heard of it.

So he disappeared into his home and returned quickly to hand me the movie. For several days I’ve been looking at it. Not the actual movie but the packaging in which it comes.

It’s compressed into a small silver key the total dimensions of which are 5x1x0.2cm. And it’s not the only movie in there. There are several of them in that little device. How amazing is technology that it can compress years of work of thousands of people who produce these films into such a small device!

When I became a Christian and first read the Bible, I remember discovering Matthew 10:30 which says that God knows the number of hairs on our head. I had my doubts.

Then I reached Matthew 12:36 in which Jesus says we are going to be held accountable for every word we speak. How could that ever be possible?. Surely Jesus was speaking metaphorically. He couldn’t mean this literally.

I certainly don’t think like that anymore.
Watch this video and you will see why.


If our inventiveness can produce this, imagine what God can do. After all he created the humans who produce this.

Of Him the Bible says that he knows everything (Hebrews 4:13; 1 John 3:20). His understanding has no limit (Psalm 147:5).

 

By comparison, my very small finite understanding has grown just a little bit and it’s only taken seven decades.

 

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False Expectations

I am a preacher. For 57 years I’ve been a preacher. So I’m used to seeing peoples’ heads droop  as I drone on. But in more recent times the number of heads which drooped seemed more than usual. And it was happening even before I began to preach. I thought that someone may have warned the congregation what to expect. So much for my faulty expectations.
Light dawned as to what was really happening, when a couple of weeks ago, I had the exquisite pleasure of actually sitting in a congregation and listening to another preacher.
 He was usually a much better contemporary communicator than I could ever be, but he was dealt the same treatment as I had been. When he started to preach many heads went down. It wasn’t the time for corporate prayer. He had mentioned a Bible  reference. But these people didn’t have Bibles. They had smart phones with Bible Apps!
I have a smart phone. I’ve never actually bought any sort of cell phone in my life. Younger people offer me theirs when they upgrade to the latest “must have” device. I had mistakenly believed that a phone was a device used only to talk to others at a distance. Having been given one of these smart phones, I was now obliged to become smart myself by entering the App world and download a Bible so I could “get with it”.
 That operation was a bit beyond me, but with the help of two more experienced accomplices I finally had access to about 20 editions of the sacred book through my phone. I hoped God didn’t want to phone me, because I doubted there was  much room for him to get a word in after all those  Bibles were downloaded.
Confidently I arrived at church last week armed with my phone and all its Bibles. My hand  hovered nervously over the phone waiting for the preacher to give his first reference. Finally he mentioned the Book of Acts plus chapter and verse. Off I went into a frenzy of  phone  tapping. Twenty-five minutes later at last I found that reference, just before the benediction was announced.
At  the end of service, as I was floundering in a cloud of enfeebled frustration, my grandson Obed suddenly cheerily loomed large. He optimistically announced, “Granddad, I noticed you were trying to use your phone to find Bible references. If you’ll just do it again and again you’ll eventually learn how”
“Thanks for your encouragement Obed”, I gloomily replied.
In the last couple of weeks as I’ve struggled with this new technology I’ve missed much of what the preacher has said. But one thing has stuck. It was a true story told to him first hand by a business acquaintance.
This fellow was sitting with his wife in their church as the Pastor was making a strong case for giving to a particular good cause. As the pastor spoke, this businessman leaned closer to his wife to talk about what should be their gift toward what the pastor was presenting. They agreed it would be $100 000.
But as the pastor was concluding his presentation, he mentioned that the most he expected any would be able to give should   be $1000.
What was this couple to do? They wanted to participate, but they also wanted to honour their pastors expectations. They solved the dilemma by giving $10 000. By setting a limit through his own expectations, the Pastor had just “lost ” needlessly $90 000! His assessment on what others may have been able or willing to give, was as bad as mine when I thought that people were dropping off to sleep, when in fact they were reading electronically the Bible references and making notes as I spoke.
Lesson to learn? People are more committed than we preachers give credit for and God is able to move them more mightily than our mini expectations allow, if we get out of the way and allow him to do what only he to do.

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Leadership

A week ago, my son Kynan finally managed to persuade me to provide a little material so he could construct and put up a web site on my behalf. Then, after that was successfully launched, he informed me I now have to feed this monster.
I am struggling to enter the twentieth century. Should I live long enough I might even reach the degree of competency which could qualify me to be admitted to the twenty-first century. In the “good old days” some people considered me to be a “leader”. Now, at least in technological terms, I don’t even qualify to be classified as having reached nappy status. I am typical of my generation.
Two weeks ago my wife and I suddenly discovered that our television screen was reduced to showing us only four of the available free- to- air channels. We pressed every button on the remote control which was available. No improvement. Mind you, it wasn’t much of a loss because we never watch any of the commercial channels except when the Australian tennis championships are on. But I was miffed.   baby with computer
For two weeks I fumed at that wretched TV screen till my son- in- law Rob turned up. He’s our in- house fixer of anything electronic. He tried for a few minutes but without success. Fortunately his son Obed was also present, head buried in some mini electronic gadget as usual. So my grandson was summoned to assist.
 Bingo! Opening a panel in the set I didn’t even know existed, in two and a half seconds he had the problem solved. I wasn’t too upset because we’ve only had this TV set for two years, so we can’t be expected to know everything about it. But I did think, so much for my leadership of my generation. Already I am passed by my grandson and cast aside as a useless relic of a previous era.
But how might one identify a real leader as compared to those whizz kids that have mastered all the technology that continuously bedazzles us?  Here is a little acrostic that I have found helpful to remind me of what real leaders might look like.
Leaders:  Model the way forward
                Inspire vision
                Challenge processes
                Enable others to act
                Encourage the heart
A leader who fulfils this MICEE role will never be mistaken for a rat. Like the Pied Piper, these sorts of leaders attract many followers irrespective of technological competence or incompetence.

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Welcome

It’s exhilarating to think how easily through modern technology, with a few key strokes we can access millions of other people around the world. While I have been privileged to work in over 70 countries I may not have visited you personally. But by coming to this site you are visiting me. Amazing!

I’m sorry I may not yet know you personally and therefore we are still strangers. But by your visit we may start the journey toward friendship. Remember, strangers are only friends who have yet to meet.

Welcome to my site. May we both enjoy your visit.

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