The steam of news, information, and messages we get these days is enough to drown us. It’s staggering in its volume.
It’s a wonder anyone can find any focus with an information stream like that.
The Stream of Distractions
The more connected a person becomes on the Internet, the more distractions they face in their day. Just 15 years ago, most people’s distractions consisted of the phone, the fax machine, incoming memos and paperwork, solitaire, and actual people in their offices.
These days, people who work online face much more than that:
email (perhaps the biggest problem for most people)
instant messaging
Twitter
Facebook
online forums
blogs
other social networks
news sites
phones & cell phones
text messages
Skype
mobile device notifications (iPhone, Blackberry, etc.)
mobile apps
videos
online music
online shopping
Internet radio
paperwork
online games
solitaire
internet TV
ebooks
And more.
Why and How to Limit the Stream
With so many distractions, it’s impossible to truly focus on the important. We try to drink the stream, but it’s too voluminous and neverending to take in this way.
Some people think this is just a part of their work, or their lives, and that there’s nothing wrong with being connected. It’s a part of doing business, they say.
However, there’s no one way to do business, and this book is about finding a better way. A saner way. I’m just one example of many people who have managed to do business online, have managed to stay connected, but who are able to limit the stream and make conscious decisions about how to be connected and how much information we consume.
We do it consciously, with intent. Social networks, blogs and news sites you read, different ways to communicate and consume information … these tend to build up as you spend time online. You build them up without much thought, but you end up being consumed by what you consume.
I suggest becoming more conscious of this, and choosing what you consume and how much you communicate carefully. Limit your stream to only the most essential information and communications, and you’ll free up hours of time for creating and doing amazing things.
I also suggest starting from scratch. Assume that nothing is sacred, empty your plate, and only put back on it what you absolutely need or love. Let the rest fade away.
Make an Important Admission
It’s crucial that you admit to yourself: you can’t read and consume everything. You can’t do everything, respond to everything. Not only would the attempt take up all of your waking hours, but you’d fail. There’s too much out there to read, too many people to potentially connect with and respond to, too many possible projects and tasks to actually complete.
It’s impossible. Once you admit this, the next logical argument is that if you can’t do and read and respond to everything, you must choose what you’ll do and read and respond to, and let the rest go.
Let the rest go. This is unbelievably important. You have to accept this, and be OK with it.
An Information Cleanse
If you look at information and communication as a form of mild (or sometimes not-so-mild) addiction, it can be healthy to force yourself to take a break from it.
Go on a mini-cleanse. Start with something that’s not so scary: perhaps a day, or even half a day. Do this once a week. Later, as you get used to this, try a 2-3 day cleanse, and maybe even work your way up to a week.
Here’s how to do the cleanse:
Don’t check email or other types of digital inboxes.
Don’t log into Twitter, Facebook, or other social networks or forums.
Don’t read news, blogs, subscriptions.
Don’t check your favorite websites for updates.
Don’t watch TV.
Don’t use instant messaging of any kind.
Do use phones for as little time as possible, only for essential calls.
Do send an email if necessary, but try to avoid it, and don’t check your inbox if you do.
Do use the Internet for absolutely necessary research. Be vigorous about this rule.
Do spend your time creating, working on important projects, getting outside, communicating with people in person, collaborating, exercising.
Do read: books, long-form articles or essays you’ve been wanting to read but haven’t had the time for.
Do watch informative or thought-provoking films, but not mindless popular movies.
You could make a personalized list of your dos and don’ts, but you get the general idea. Again, start with half a day or a day — something manageable. Do it once a week, and gradually expand the time you spend on the cleanse.
Reducing the Stream
If you’ve done the cleanse, you now know the value of disconnecting, and you know that you can live without having to check your streams of information and messages all day, every day.
You’ve cleaned your plate. Now it’s time to figure out what to add back on it.
Give it some thought: what are the most essential ways you communicate? Email? Skype? Twitter? Cell phone? IM?
What are the most essential information streams you consume? What blogs? What news? What other reading or watching or listening?
What can you cut out? Can you cut half of the things you read and watch? More?
Try eliminating at least one thing each day: a blog you read, an email newsletter you receive, a communication channel you don’t need anymore, a news site you check often. Take them out of your email or feed inbox, or block them using one of the blocking tools mentioned in the “Focus Tools” chapter.
Slowly reduce your stream, leaving only the essentials.
Using the Stream Wisely
Just as importantly, reduce the time you spend using the essentials. If email is essential, do you need to be notified of every new email right this second? Do you need to be in your inbox all day long?
Place limits on the time you spend reading and communicating — a small limit for each channel. Only check email for 30 minutes, twice a day, for example (or whatever limits work for you). Only read the limited number of blogs you subscribe to for 30 minutes a day. Only watch an hour of TV a day (for example).
Write these limits down, and add them up for a grand total of what you plan to spend on reading, consuming, communicating. Is this an ideal amount, given the amount of time you have available to you each day? The smaller the overall limit, the better.
My child, if you accept my words and treasure up my commandments within you, making your ear attentive to wisdom and inclining your heart to understanding;
if you indeed cry out for insight, and raise your voice for understanding;
if you seek it like silver, and search for it as for hidden treasures —
then you will understand the fear of the Lord and find the Knowledge of God.
For the Lord gives wisdom; from his mouth come knowledge and understanding;
he stores up sound wisdom for the upright; he is a shield to those who walk blamelessly, guarding the paths of justice and preserving the way of his faithful ones.
Then you will understand righteousness and justice and equity, every good path; for wisdom will come into your heart and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul;
prudence will watch over you; and understanding will guard you.
It will save you from the way of evil, from those who speak perversely, who forsake the paths of uprightness to walk in the ways of darkness, who rejoice in doing evil and delight in the perverseness of evil; those whose paths are crooked, and who are devious in their ways.
Why the sadness? Because after working all night on Fridays, I’m just too tired to sew. I’m trying to figure out a way to get past this hump. Since I don’t work on Saturday nights, I do push myself to stay up a little later, but I just can’t get motivated to sew.
What gives you motivation to push on and sew when you are tired or don’t feel as if you have the time? I know that when I do get started, I enjoy it so much. Even if all I do is mending (which, obviously, doesn’t leave you with many feelings of creativity). It at least gives a sense of accomplishment.
FBI agent Samantha Cash sets out to solve a string of murders in a small Southern town. Troubles arise when the case turns personal…
Lynette Eason debuts a new romantic suspense series that features strong female characters who will stop at nothing to find the criminal: the Women of Justice series.
Too Close to Home is the first novel in this new series, which renowned suspense author Dee Henderson called “a hit” and said that she “enjoyed every minute.”
In this thrilling first book, readers meet Samantha Cash, who is the FBI’s secret weapon. Her methods are invisible, and she never stops until the case is closed. When missing teens begin turning up dead in a small Southern town, Samantha is assigned to help the local police chief Connor Wolfe find the killer. And he has two problems with that. There’s her faith–in God and herself. And then there’s the fact that she looks exactly like his late wife.
As they get close to an answer, the case becomes personal. The killer seems to be taking an interest in Connor’s 16-year-old daughter, who thinks her dad is getting way too protective. Can’t a girl just have some fun?
Too Close to Home ratchets up the suspense with each page, and will have readers cheering for the characters they love as justice is served and love grows even in the face of danger. Read this one with the lights on! is the first novel in this new series, which renowned suspense author Dee Henderson called “a hit” and said that she “enjoyed every minute.”
ISLAND BREEZES
Be prepared to be sleep deprived. I’ve been reading until my eyes crossed, because I was so sleepy. I did not want to put down this book.
There were lots of feelings engaged while reading this. Smiles, sadness, tenderness, fear, love. There were chuckles, understanding, trepidation, romance and tears. Oh, yes. Another one for the tissue box.
I thought I had figured out the villain several times, but kept bumping into obstacles. All I can say is, it’s who you don’t want it to be.
I’m pretty sure I know who the will be the main character in the second book of this series. Don’t let me down, Lynette. How soon will I be able to read this next one? How ever long it is, that will be too long.
***Special thanks to Donna Hausler of Revell Books for sending me a review copy.***
Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group, offers practical books that bring the Christian faith to everyday life. They publish resources from a variety of well-known brands and authors, including their partnership with MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) and Hungry Planet.
Available April 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to David P. Bartlett – Print & Internet Publicist – Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Laurette Willis, the founder of PraiseMoves®, is a Women’s Fitness Specialist and certified personal trainer, as well as a popular keynote speaker and an award-winning actor and playwright. She has produced the videos PraiseMoves™ and 20-Minute PraiseMoves™ and written BASIC Steps to Godly Fitness.
List Price: $16.99
Actors: Laurette Willis
Directors: Josh Atkinson
Format: NTSC
Region: All Regions
Number of discs: 1
Studio: CT Videography
DVD Release Date: December 1, 2009
Run Time: 120 minutes
ASIN: 0736928456
ISLAND BREEZES
Power PraiseMoves gives you a high energy workout mixed with prayer and Scripture.
This truly is a powerful Christian alternative to youga or the so-called “Christian yoga.” Yoga moves were designed as offerings to the many Hindu gods. That’s why there is no such thing as “Christian yoga.”
Power PraiseMoves is a way to strengthen your relationship with God while you strengthen your body. Please note that this is a physically demanding workout. If you’re a beginner or have physical limitations, I suggest you check out PraiseMoves at Laurette’s site.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)
***Special thanks to David P. Bartlett – Print & Internet Publicist – Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Gayle Roper is the award-winning author of more than forty books and has been a Christy finalist three times. Gayle enjoys speaking at women’s events across the nation and loves sharing the powerful truths of Scripture with humor and practicality. She lives with her husband in southeastern Pennsylvania where Gayle enjoys reading, gardening, and her family.
List Price: $10.99
Paperback: 224 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers; Original edition (February 1, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736925864
ISBN-13: 978-0736925860
ISLAND BREEZES
What happens when artist Kristie moves into an Amish farmhouse as a boarder? How well will an Englischer be accepted by her landlord and family? It’s a Christian meets Amish world view. It’s faith versus works.
There are also four very different men who play roles in Kristie’s life. Which one will break her heart? Why? It’s not what you think, so you’ll just have to read the book.
Be prepared for faith, love and mystery as Kristie’s heart and body get battered about a bit.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
By the time Jon Clarke What’s-his-name drove me to the hospital, my terrible inner trembling had stopped. My hands were still cold, and the towel pressed to my cheek was still sopping up blood, but I was almost in control again. If I could only stop shaking, I’d be fine.
I’d been so sure I’d lost my face. My stomach still curdled at the memory. All I’d done was bend down to pet Hawk, the sable-and-tan German shepherd sleeping contentedly in the mid-August sun. How was I to know he had a nasty cut hiding under that sleek hot fur?
I was horrified when he lashed out, startled by the pain I had inadvertently caused him. He got me in the cheek with a fang, but despite the blood, the wound was mostly superficial. The thought of what would have happened if he’d closed his mouth made me break out in a fine sweat.
How dumb to touch a sleeping dog. Dumb, dumb, dumb. I knew better. Everyone knew better.
As we entered the emergency room, I rearranged my towel to find an area not stained with blood. I went to the desk and signed in with a woman whose jet black hair stuck out in spikes to rival a hedgehog. When she had my life’s history, she patted my paperwork with a proprietary air that made me wonder if she was willing to share the information with the people I’d come to see.
“Have a seat.” She gave me a warm smile. “They’ll be with you shortly.”
Hoping shortly really meant shortly, I took my seat.
“You don’t have to wait,” I told Jon Clarke as he took the bright orange plastic chair beside me in the otherwise empty emergency room. He smiled slightly and stretched his long legs out before him, the picture of long-suffering
and quiet accommodation. His posture said it didn’t matter how long things took. He was prepared to be gallant and wait it out.
“Really,” I said. “I’ll be all right. You can go.”
I was embarrassed to have inflicted myself upon this man I didn’t know, this man whose last name I couldn’t even remember. He’d pulled into the drive at the Zooks’ Amish farm just as I bent over Hawk. While Mary Zook plied me with towels and bemoaned my possible disfigurement when she wasn’t yelling at the innocent Hawk, John Clarke Whoever climbed out of his car, took me by the elbow, put me in his passenger seat, and drove me here.
What would I have done if he hadn’t come along at just the right moment? Gone to the hospital in a buggy? Certainly that wouldn’t have worked if I’d had a life-threatening injury. I guess if that were the case, someone would run to the phone down on the road and dial 911 or run to a neighbor with a car. Hmm. Peace and serenity of the Amish variety had a definite downside.
Jon Clarke smiled at me now, looking comfortable in his very uncomfortable chair. “Of course I’ll wait for you. I’d never run out on a lady in distress. Besides, you need a way home.”
“I could call a cab.”
“Bird-in-Hand is too far from Lancaster for that. It would cost a fortune.” He smiled at me again, politely patient.
“It’s only fifteen minutes max.”
“That’s a lot when the fare indicator goes ca-ching, ca-ching. It’s better if I just wait.”
I gritted my teeth. Just what I needed, a shining knight when I was in no condition to play the lady. I smiled ungraciously and winced.
“Hurt much?”
Of course it hurt. What did he think? “The strange thing is that my tongue can push into the wound from the inside of my mouth. Only a thin piece of skin on my inner cheek keeps the puncture from going all the way through.” I pushed against my cheek with my tongue. It was a creepy sensation to feel the hole, but I couldn’t resist the need to fiddle.
He looked suitably impressed and apparently decided to keep talking to distract me from my pain and injury. I must say he shouldered the burden with stoic determination and great charm.
“Have you lived in the Lancaster area long?” he asked, and I could have sworn he actually cared.
“Three years. I love it here.”
“Were you at the Zooks’ to visit Jake too?”
Too. So he had come to see Jake. I shook my head. “I live there.”
That stopped him. “Really? On the farm?” He raised an eyebrow at me, an improbably dark eyebrow considering the light brown of his hair. “Have you been living there long?”
I glanced at the clock on the wall. “About four hours.”
The eyebrow rose once again. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Great beginning, isn’t it? Todd spent the morning and early afternoon helping me move, and he’d just left. I was on my way into the house when I stopped to pet Hawk.” I sighed. “They’ll probably decide I’m too much trouble to have around.”
I pulled the towel from my cheek and studied the bloody patterns on the white terry cloth. They looked like abstract art. I was an artist myself, but I never painted compositions like these. I liked more realism—which meant my work would probably never hang in important galleries.
Uptight and unimaginative, according to certain professors and fellow students from my college days. “Flex,” they said. “Soar! Paint where your spirit leads.”
I flexed and soared with the best of them, but the finished work still looked like what it was.
I refolded the towel, burying the modern art, reapplied a clean area, and pressed.
“Who’s Todd?” Jon Clarke asked.
I shrugged. Good question. “Todd Reasoner. A friend.”
“Ah.”
Would that Todd were as easily explained as the conclusion Jon Clarke had apparently leaped to.
“Don’t do that,” Jon Clarke said.
I blinked. “Do what?”
“Don’t push against your cheek like that.”
I hadn’t even realized I was doing it.
“What if that thin piece of skin ruptures? Scarring. Infection. MRSA. Who knows?”
I frowned. Talk about Worst Case Scenario Man. I wanted to tell him I’d play with the inside of my cheek if I felt like it, but he was probably right about all the dire possibilities. I didn’t want to rupture that thin membrane so delicately protecting the inside of my mouth. And I certainly didn’t want to do anything to encourage the possibility of scarring. I looked in the mirror enough to know my face didn’t need that kind of help.
“Not many people get to stay on an Amish farm.” He paused. “Because of their closed society,” he added as if I wouldn’t understand his point. “You’re very fortunate to get the opportunity.”
“I know. I consider this chance a gift straight from God. One day my principal mentioned that he had Amish friends who were willing to take in a boarder. I got the Zooks’ name and contacted them immediately.”
I didn’t tell him that when I first went to the farm, I wore one of my conservative suits, a gift from my parents when they were still hoping to quell my tendency toward bright colors and what they considered the instability of the art community, not that they actually knew any artists but me.
“If you’re too artsy, Kristina,” they said almost daily, as if being “artsy” was the equivalent of having a single digit IQ, “people won’t take you seriously.”
What they meant was that their people, all high-powered corporate lawyers who earned high six figures or even seven annually, wouldn’t take me seriously. They were a group that had no time for business casual, let alone colorful artsy.
On that first visit to the Zooks, I hadn’t been certain what cultural landmines I’d have to navigate, so I determined to at least defuse the clothing issue, the one I knew about and could somewhat mitigate. I’d straightened my navy lapels and smoothed my cream silk blouse before I got out of the car, another cultural difference that I wasn’t willing to yield on, not if I wanted to get to work.
To my delight, I found Mary and John Zook gracious, respectful, and kind. Mary sat there in her pinned-together dress and dark stockings, her organdy kapp crisp in spite of the humidity. John wore a white shirt and black broadfall trousers. His beard was full with only a hint of gray, and his straw hat hung on a peg by the door. They might demand the simple life of themselves and their family, but it was immediately obvious they would not demand the same of me.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if I had more freedom to be myself here in the midst of this highly structured society than in my own parents’ home?
“Your principal?” Jon Clarke asked from his seat beside me. “You teach?”
I nodded. “Elementary art.”
“When I first pulled into the drive, I thought you must be Jake’s visiting nurse.”
“Not me. I’d be a terrible nurse.”
“But a good teacher.”
“Adequate, anyway. And I get the summers off to study and paint. How do you know the Zooks?”
“I’ve known them forever. My aunt and uncle live down the road from them. But I haven’t seen them in several years. In fact, I haven’t been in Lancaster for a long time.”
So I’d bled all over his first visit in years. Great. “Was it a job that kept you away?”
“Yes and no. Yes, when I was a youth pastor at a church in Michigan. No, when I went to seminary and graduate school. I just finished my doctorate in counseling.”
“Really?” I was impressed.
“No. I confess. I’m lying. I just thought it sounded like a wonderful way to astonish and amaze a pretty girl.”
I blinked at him, and he smiled impudently back. “Really?” he said in a dead-on imitation of me.
Flustered, I looked away from his laughing eyes. “I was just trying to make decent conversation.”
His smile deepened. It was, I couldn’t help noticing, a most wonderful smile, crinkling his eyes almost shut and inviting me to smile along, which I was careful not to do because of my cheek.
“Kristina Matthews?” called the woman at the desk. Her nameplate said she was Harriet. She scanned the empty room as though there might be several Kristinas lurking about, and I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder to see who might have sneaked in while I wasn’t looking.
When I stood, Harriet smiled brightly. “There you are. Right through here, please.”
As I entered the treatment area, I passed a teenage boy staggering out on crutches and a lady in a bathing suit with her arm in a bright pink cast. The walking wounded. I wondered what my battle scars would be.
Ten minutes later I looked away as a nurse stabbed me efficiently with a needle.
“This tetanus shot may cause your arm to swell or stiffen,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow over my possible plight. I couldn’t decide whether she was sorry I might swell or sorry I mightn’t. “If it swells or stiffens, don’t worry. Take aspirin or Tylenol and call your personal physician if the pain persists.” She turned away with a great sigh and began cleaning up the treatment area.
I slid off the examination table and looked at my wobbly reflection in the glass doors of the supply cabinet. The flesh-colored butterfly bandage stuck in the middle of my left cheek distorted my face slightly, but I didn’t mind. There had been no need for stitches.
“Any scarring will be minimal,” the doctor said absentmindedly as he wrote something on the forms Harriet had passed to him. He was a good match for the nurse. I doubted he even noticed her melancholia. “Just keep the wound dry and check with your regular doctor next week to have it redressed.” He ripped off the top copy of the paperwork and handed it to me. “It tells you here. And you’re certain the dog had his shots?”
I nodded, took the paper, and hurried to the waiting room. At least Jon Clarke hadn’t had to wait long once I was seen.
But the waiting room was empty. My angel of mercy had flown the coop. I was standing there wondering what to do next when Harriet at the desk called to me.
“Don’t worry, honey. He’ll be right back. He said he had to run a quick errand.”
I nodded with disproportionate relief.
“Men,” she said sympathetically. “You never know what they’re going to do, do you? Sometimes they take off, and you never see them again.” The edge that had crept into her voice made me think she was speaking from experience. She gave herself a little shake. “But yours looked nice enough to me. I think you can trust him, don’t you?”
Her guess was as good as mine. We’d both known him for about the same length of time.
She got up from her desk. “Listen. I’ve got to go to the ladies’ room. I’m talking emergency here, believe me. Stay by the desk and watch things for me, will you?”
Yikes. “What if someone comes in?”
“Tell them I’ll be back in a minute. But don’t worry,” she called over her shoulder as she disappeared through a door. “Nothing big ever happens on Saturday afternoon.”
Taking no comfort from those words, I looked at the quiet waiting room.
No one, Lord, okay? Not till she gets back, okay?
The prayer was barely formed when the waiting room door slid open and an older man in khaki work clothes entered. His face, damp with perspiration, matched the color of the white envelopes sticking out of his shirt pocket, and he was rubbing his left arm. He stopped beside me at the desk.
“I think I’m having a heart attack,” he said as he might say he was going to sneeze.
I felt my own heart stop beating and my mouth go dry.
He staggered, and I reached out instinctively, taking his arm and lowering him into Harriet’s chair.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t apologize!” Now my heart was beating so loudly I could scarcely
hear myself talk. “Don’t worry. Someone will be here to help you in a moment.”
Suddenly he stopped kneading his arm and pressed his hand against his chest. His face contorted and I froze. He was going to die right here while Harriet was in the ladies’ room!
After a minute he relaxed, and I began to breathe again. I ran to the door of the treatment area. “Help, somebody! Help!”
The sad-faced nurse leaned out of a cubicle. “Is anyone bleeding?” She was so intent on what was going on behind that curtain that she didn’t even look at me.
“No, but—”
“Then we’ll be there as soon as we can.” And she disappeared.
I could see several pairs of feet below the curtain and hear several voices,
including that of my doctor, who was barking orders with impressive authority. Through a door down the hall I could see an ambulance with its back doors still open.
“But he needs you now,” I called desperately. “He really does! It’s his—”
“We’ll be there in a minute,” she yelled as a great cascade of blood flowed onto the floor.
Pushing down panic and not knowing what else to do, I went back to the man.
“They’ll be here in a minute,” I told him with all the confidence I could muster.
“Had one before,” he whispered to me. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. I’m not ready to die yet. I’ve got stuff to do.”
I tried to smile to encourage him, but between my punctured cheek and my fear, I think it was more of a grimace. The man seemed to appreciate my effort anyway.
Dear God, I screamed in silent prayer, where’s Harriet? Send her out here fast, Lord! Please!
The man rested his head against the wall. “What’s your name? Are you Harriet?”
“I’m Kristie Matthews. Should you be talking?”
“I drove myself here. You don’t think talking’s any worse than that, do you?”
“You drove yourself here? With a heart attack?”
He smiled faintly. “I had to get here somehow. And I didn’t think you were Harriet. You don’t look like a Harriet.”
I didn’t look like this Harriet. Plain old straight brown hair cut to bend at my chin instead of too-black spikes and the electrified look. Five seven and slim instead of short and a fan of Dunkin’ Donuts, if Harriet’s figure and the box in the trash receptacle were any indication. A hole in my cheek instead of an abundance of blusher.
Suddenly he raised his head and looked at me with an intensity that made me blink. “Will you do me a favor, Kristie Matthews?”
I leaned close to hear his weak voice. “Of course.”
“Keep this for me.” He fumbled in his shirt pocket, reaching behind the envelopes. “But tell no one—no one—that you have it.” He slipped a key into my cold hand and folded my fingers over it.
I heard a gasp from behind me. Harriet was finally back.
“Heart attack,” I said, but Harriet was three steps ahead of me.
Her voice boomed over the PA. “Dr. Michaels, Dr, Michaels, stat. Dr. Michaels, code!” Harriet disappeared back into the treatment area yelling, “Marie! Charles! Where are you? Get yourselves out here fast!”
An arthritic finger tapped my closed fist. “Remember, tell no one,” the old man managed to whisper. “Promise?”
“I promise.” What else could I say?
He stared at my face as if searching my soul. He must have been satisfied with what he saw because his hand relaxed on mine and his eyes closed. “Don’t forget. I’m counting on you.” He gave a deep sigh, and I froze. Was that his last breath? “I’m counting on you.”
The room came alive with people. Medical personnel converged on the sick man, and I stepped back with relief.
“Don’t you ever go to the bathroom again,” I hissed at Harriet, who probably never would if she valued her job.
When the doors to the treatment area slid shut and I could no longer see the man, I collapsed in one of the orange chairs, struggling with tears.
This is ridiculous. Why am I crying? I don’t even know the man.
I gave myself a shake and stared at the small piece of metal in my hand. Why had he given his precious key to me, a total stranger? Why hadn’t he let the hospital personnel keep it for him? Or asked them to hold it for a family member?
What could it possibly open that no one—no one—must know of it?
And what in the world should I do with it?
It was a relief when Jon Clarke finally returned.
“I’m sorry,” he said with that winning smile. “I got held up in traffic. I hope you didn’t think I’d deserted you.”
“Of course not,” I said as I slipped the key into my pocket. I hastened to correct my lie. “At least, not after Harriet told me you’d be back.”
He cocked that dark, heavy brow at me again, saying as clearly as if I’d spoken aloud that he knew all too well what I’d thought.
I flushed and began talking to cover my embarrassment. “This old man came in and had a heart attack. He scared me to death! I was the only one in the room—Harriet had gone to the ladies’ room. I had to be with him until help came. He gave me—”
I stopped abruptly. “No one,” he’d said, he’d insisted. “Promise.” And I had.
Did I owe him my silence? I didn’t even know him.
But I didn’t know this sandy-haired, dark-browed man standing beside me, either. I only met him an hour or so ago. I couldn’t bleed all over him anymore.
“He gave me quite a scare,” I said, decision made. I gave a short laugh. “I’m not used to anything more serious than the common cold or one of my students throwing up.”
When you set your sights on a large target, broad in scope, you spread yourself thin. This is why the best companies are those with a laser focus. They do less, but they do it better.
Apple is a good example of this — they don’t try to tackle every computer niche. They don’t make netbooks or low-end PCs, for example. They have a very small product line for such a big company. And yet, they do extremely well — they make beautiful, well-made, high-functioning devices that customers absolutely love. And they make billions to boot. That’s just one example of many.
A narrower focus allows you to do a better job — to be better than anyone else, perhaps, at the narrower thing that you’re good at.
The Danger of a Broad Focus
One of the biggest problems many people have in their careers, with work projects, with their businesses, is too broad of a focus. Just a few examples:
Working on too many projects and trying to juggle your time between all of them.
Adding too many features to your software and creating a bloated application.
Trying to do everything for every customer, and spreading yourself too thin.
Trying to be everything for everybody, but ending up being nothing good.
Trying to please all your bosses and coworkers and forgetting what’s important.
Communicating all the time via email, several social networks, phones, text messaging, cell phones, faxes and more … and never communicating with any depth.
Again, there are lots of other ways to have a focus that’s too broad. In the end, it’s a choice between trying to do everything but doing it poorly, or doing only a tiny amount of things really well.
Take Stock
What’s your current focus at work? Are you a writer involved in a whole range of writing projects at once? Are you a developer trying to offer something that appeals to everyone and solves every problem? Do you try to satisfy every possible customer, even if most of those possibilities are the exception rather than the rule?
Whatever your focus, take a closer look at it. What do you focus on that’s absolutely essential, and what isn’t as important? Figure out your top priorities, and also think about how much time you allocate to each of these focuses.
What are the possibilities of narrowing your focus? Of dropping some features or catering to a smaller group of customers or doing fewer things for fewer people? How hard would that be? What would need to be done to make that happen?
Narrowing Focus
Now that you’ve identified your top priorities, you’ve done the hard part. Not that narrowing focus is always easy — especially when you have team members or management involved who don’t quite get it.
In that case, it’ll take some convincing. Show them examples of companies or projects that excelled with a smaller focus, and the problems of too broad a focus.
Be unrelenting.
If you have control over your focus, and the focus of what you work on, you’re lucky. Now it just takes some guts, and perhaps some time. You don’t need to change everything overnight. That’s the power of small changes — you can slowly narrow your focus. Slowly do less, one thing at a time, and you’ll see how it can transform your work.
When you drop one feature at a time, do one less type of service, do one fewer project at a time … it’s not so hard. And the improvements that come with the smaller focus will encourage you to continue to simplify, until you’ve found the smallest focus that works for you.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Vicky Lynch of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc. for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Nonna Bannister was a young girl when World War II broke into her happy life. She went from an idyllic early-twentieth-century Russian childhood, full of love and comforts, to the life of a prisoner working in labor camps—though she was not a Jew—eventually bereft of her entire family. But she survived the war armed with the faith in God her grandmother taught her and a readiness to start a new life. She immigrated to America, married, and started a family, keeping her past secret from everyone. Though she had carried from Germany the scraps of a diary and various photographs and other memorabilia, she kept it all hidden and would only take it out, years later, to translate and expand her writings. After decades of marriage, Nonna finally shared her secret with her husband . . . and now he is sharing it with the world. Nonna died on August 15, 2004.
List Price: $14.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Tyndale House Publishers (March 4, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414325479
ISBN-13: 978-1414325477
ISLAND BREEZES
When most people think of a holocaust diary, they think of The Diary of Anne Frank. This is a very different book, because Nonna and Anne are very different people.
Nonna came from a privileged Christian family. Her family had wealth and possessions that we might find hard to imagine today. Her grandfather was a member of the Imperial Cossack Army assigned as part of the Imperial Protection Unit to protect the Tsar and his family.
After the Bolshevik Revolution, things gradually went downhill for the family, although they were still among the privileged. That still didn’t save Nonna and her mother Anna from being sent from the Ukraine into Germany as slave laborers.
This incredible witness to the attrocities of the Holocaust was kept secret for many years, even from Nonna’s husband for over fifty years. Nonna managed to keep diaries all during the war by hiding them in a small pillow she kept fastened to her body.
This is not a quick read. There is much to absorb. My heart grows heavy with the knowledge of what so many endured. As a child I was taught about the Holocaust and The Diary of Anne Frank was required reading, but it was not as much of a blow to the heart as Nonna’s revelations.
As an adult, Corrie Ten Boom’s writings became part of my library. Still, that didn’t leave the impact as these diaries of Nonna. Maybe it’s my life’s timing. Join me as I finish this book. It should be required reading in our educational system. The Holocaust has become too far removed. It’s incredible that something of that enormity is being denied by some.
There’s nothing more to say as I’ve become engulfed with emotion. Time to get back to my reading.
The proverbs of Solomon son of David, king of Israel:
For learning about wisdom and instruction, for understanding words of insight, for gaining instruction in wise dealing, righteousness, justice, and equity; to teach shrewdness to the simple, knowledge and prudence to the young –
Let the wise also hear and gain in learning, and the discerning acquire skill, to understand a proverb and a figure, the words of the wise and their riddles.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction.
Hear, my child, your father’s instruction, and do not reject your mother’s teaching; for they are a fair garland for your head, and pendants for your neck.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Staci Carmichael of WaterBrook Multnomah Publishing Group for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHORS:
Alex and Brett Harris are the coauthors of the best-selling book Do Hard Things, which they wrote when they were eighteen. Today, the twins speak regularly to audiences of thousands on The Rebelution Tour, maintain a large online community through their blog, TheRebelution.com, and have been featured on CNN, MSNBC, NPR, and in the New York Times. Raised in Portland, Oregon, the brothers currently attend Patrick Henry College in Virginia.
List Price: $12.99
Paperback: 176 pages
Publisher: Multnomah Books; 1 edition (March 16, 2010)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1601422709
ISBN-13: 978-1601422705
ISLAND BREEZES
This book is a great companion book to Do Hard Things. The first book by Alex and Brett Harris was a book that provided motivation for young people to do hard things. This second book shows young people what to do with that motivation. In other words, how to start your own Rebelution.
Through practical steps and real-life stories of young people who are actually doing hard things, you, too, can learn to do hard things. Brett and Alex answers questions and gives you the help you need to get started now.
The stories of Ana and John at the end of the book are very uplifting and motivating- even to people who are now longer young. We all can do these hard things to glorify our Lord, and the stories of all these young people can help those of us who are not so young to reclaim our youthful enthusiasm.
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
YOU ARE HERE
Opening the door to your own rebelution
Simple ideas and unbelievable dreams. First steps and great miracles. Ordinary teenagers and a God who still uses young people to accomplish His big plans.
That’s what our first book, Do Hard Things, is all about. Do Hard Things shows how young people can take hold of a more exciting option for their teen years than what society suggests. We wrote the book to counter the Myth of Adolescence, which says the teen years are a time to goof off and have fun before “real life” starts. We invited our peers to choose to do hard things for the glory of God and, in the process, turn the world’s idea of what teens are capable of upside down.
We were nineteen when we wrote Do Hard Things, twin brothers who wanted to follow God’s call and challenge our generation. We’re twenty-one now and sophomores in college. We still dream big dreams, still want to follow God completely, and still believe just as strongly that God wants to use our generation to change the world. (And, as you might have guessed, we’re still twin brothers.)
Whether or not you’ve read Do Hard Things (we’d recommend it—but, of course, we’re a little biased), this companion book continues the Do Hard Things message and piles on stories, practical suggestions, and detailed how-tos. You can use it either on your own or in a group setting, depending on your situation.
In other words, Do Hard Things marked the beginning of a movement. Start Here is your personal field guide to jumping in and getting involved.
The Rebelution Movement
The concept of doing hard things actually started as a blog we created when we were sixteen. We called it The Rebelution—a combination of rebellion and revolution to create a whole new word with a whole new meaning. We defined rebelution as “a teenage rebellion against low expectations.” (By the way, the blog still exists. Check it out at TheRebelution.com.)
Since Do Hard Things came out, the Rebelution movement has exploded. In the past year, rebelutionary teens have raised tens of thousands of dollars to bring the gospel to and dig wells in Africa, won prestigious film festivals, fought human trafficking in the United States and around the world, and made it on the cover of ESPN The Magazine. Around the world, young people are moving out of their comfort zones—whether that means standing for Christ in a hostile classroom, raising money to build a dormitory for orphans in China, or mending relationships with parents or younger siblings.
Maybe you’re part of the Rebelution already, or maybe you just want to find out more. Maybe you’re asking one of the questions we get most frequently from readers: “Where do I start?”
This book is about taking the next step. It includes ideas from us and dozens of other young people on topics like:
• How to stand up for what you believe
• Strategies for overcoming stage fright, fund-raising fright, and phone-calling fright (hint: it gets easier as you go!)
• Ways to get going when you feel stuck and keep going when you feel discouraged
• How to understand God’s will and glorify Him through your efforts
• God-honoring ways to think, feel, and act after you’ve completed a big project
In short, this is a handbook full of practical steps and real-life stories to encourage and equip you on your journey of doing hard things. We want you to feel as if you’re at one of our conferences, or in a small group of people talking about doing hard things—which you may be!
All the questions in the pages that follow come from people just like you, collected on our website and through personal conversations. We’ll do our best to answer them with stories and insights from our own lives. We’re traveling alongside you in this adventure—and we want to share with you what God has been teaching us these past few years.
But just like Do Hard Things, this book isn’t about us. It’s about the incredible, seemingly impossible things God is doing in our generation. That’s why in Start Here you’ll find dozens of true stories from rebelutionaries who are making a difference in their homes, at their schools, and around the world. We love sharing other young people’s stories because they challenge us as well—and remind us that we’re not alone. We also love the way real-life stories provide a glimpse of the diverse ways God wants to use each of us to do hard things for Him.
Toward the end of the book, we’ll be sharing the stories of two rebelutionaries in particular: Ana Zimmerman and John Moore. As you’ll see, Ana and John took on very different hard things, each with the purpose of glorifying God and helping others.
At the age of fifteen, Ana raised more than six thousand dollars and organized an event called Love the Least in her hometown. The event introduced her community to the work of Abort73, an organization that exists to show the injustice of abortion.
With a group of fellow teens, John Moore wrote, produced, and directed his own feature film at the age of nineteen—and went on to win the $101,000 grand prize at the San Antonio Independent Christian Film Festival.
John and Ana faced many of the same hurdles and questions you’re encountering. Their stories provide an in-depth look at the beginning, middle, and end of the “do hard things” process. We think you’ll be encouraged and inspired.
Pursuing Faithfulness, Not Success
As thousands of young people around the world are discovering, doing hard things is the most satisfying, thrilling way to live some of the best years of our lives.
So where do you start? As you’ll find in the pages that follow, the answer is: right where you are. Being a rebelutionary means committing to doing even ordinary things extraordinarily well.
As each of us is faithful in that, God will be faithful to prepare us for whatever calling He has for us.
For some of us, that calling will be big in the world’s eyes, and for some of us it will be small. Whether it is big or small, God will be glorified—and the world will be changed by a generation that gives up seeking worldly success to pursue a life of faithfulness.
That’s when the ordinary becomes extraordinary. And that’s what this book is about.
