There’s an amusing phenomenon that can happen when we sing songs with multiple verses.

(Imagine a group of people singing at a summer camp, a school, or a house of worship.)

Certainly the group sings a verse or two. But do we sing the third verse? The fourth? Everything that’s printed?

Sans established protocol, sans a music leader, the question arises, “Was that the end or do we keep going?”

If everyone stops singing, the song obviously ends. But if just one person begins the next verse — and continues confidently — the entire group will continue.

Ah, the power of one voice.

In any number of situations, you can be that “voice” that determines whether we continue what we’ve been doing. For better or worse.

Paraphrasing recent words from Pope Francis:

We are often tempted to give primary importance to secondary needs.

Profound. And worth some quiet personal reflection.

A lot of youth sports and performing arts programs have elements that involve parent volunteers.

Whether it’s fundraising, concession stand duties, or ticket sales, there’s work to be done. Sometimes, the “volunteering” is compulsory and parents are “voluntold” what to do.

So be it.

In these situations, it’s important to communicate purpose. To explain why.

“Here’s why we need your help.”
”Here’s how this activity supports our program.”
”This is what happens with the money.”
”This is why it’s worth it.”

When volunteers are connected to that vision, they can be enrolled in the journey.

And if you can’t figure out why participation is necessary, then it’s time to revisit the plan.

And if in articulating the purpose, you realize, “Based on what we’re trying to achieve, there’s a better way to do this,” then it’s definitely time to revisit the plan.

We deal with fire better than we deal with melting glaciers.

And it makes sense that our antennae are tuned for urgent crises. Without that bias, we wouldn’t survive emergencies.

The challenge comes — in any of our pursuits — when we’ve successfully put out all the fires, but we’re still on high alert. When we find ourselves waiting for another urgent issue to call for our immediate attention … and nothing arrives.

Meanwhile, the important but non-urgent problems persist.

For us to have an impact on those critical but slow-moving issues, we need to attend to them during the fire-free seasons, even if those are just brief moments that we can regularly create.

Of all the things that beg for your attention — the things that are shiny, the things that shout, the things that pop up, the things that are important, the things that seem important, the things that are satisfying, the things that will yield future value — among all these things, how do you choose?

Because not choosing has a cost.

Even if much of the day is met with passive openness, we can still choose to direct our attention in small, but meaningful ways. And over time, those choices begin to shape a story.

Making a choice is at the heart of it.

What happens when we add patience to all our efforts?

Instead of learning, patient learning.

Instead of partnership, patient partnership.

Patient investing.

Patient exercise.

Patient cooking.

Patient leadership.

And maybe “adding” is the wrong word. Maybe it’s more like “embracing” or “cultivating” or “living” patience.

Even patient eagerness.

Patient everything.

How might that change the experience of living?

External change — for it to last — requires internal conversion.

We can’t have one without the other.

“We just don’t know what will happen.”

It’s a shared feeling among many.

But there are other things that we do know. Things that we know that we know. Things deep in our soul.

We lean on these truths for support when all the unknowns lead us to a place of worry.

Some things are certain — and many of them are good.

I was searching for a replacement part for a microphone — a foam windscreen — but I couldn’t identify the specific mic model. More accurately, I couldn’t find a photo of a microphone that matched what I had.

The manufacturer, Shure, is among the most recognizable in the industry. Surely I could find the exact model so I could order the right part. Right?

What I later discovered is that the microphone in question had the remnants of a bracket for the old, missing windscreen.

Once I removed the old bracket, the mic looked just like all the manufacturer’s images.

* * *

Sometimes we have to remove what’s broken before we can begin to make repairs. The remnants of what’s damaged can fool us. We can look at old bits and pieces and mistake them for being part of the whole.

At times, what’s broken can be healed. But there are other times when we have to shed the debris to even see what we have.

Tragedy continues to unfold in Ukraine. And war diminishes all of us. The bells toll for all of us.

Yet beauty can be found. Acts of horror have sparked resolute acts of love. Defiant love. Generous love.

Bravery and kindness are at the fore in Eastern Europe. Strikingly, at Polish train stations, parents have delivered baby strollers and supplies — quietly leaving them on the platforms for arriving refugees. A profound example of people doing whatever they can to help.

Death may surround us, but life is within us.

We might even ask ourselves, “What’s my version of delivering a stroller? What acts of compassion can I offer when I see suffering?”

The idea of “finding your voice” feels like a chore. Where are you supposed to look anyway?

The easier instruction is merely to speak. Speak, and speak often.

If you’re really concerned about finding your voice, then begin sharing now. Let others do the finding for you based on what they hear.

The invitation is to stop searching and to start speaking. Besides: over time, you’ll find that speaking can be a powerful part of searching.

As an artist and woodworker, I have a fondness for tools.

Depending on who you ask, I have a lot of them.

And I have favorites, too.

Over time, we learn to trust tools that work well. Taking them for granted, even.

This happens in situations and relationships too. Over time, we become familiar with tools that work well, and we reach for them every time.

Some of these “tools” happen to be timeless. Listening is good example.

But other tools (or perhaps strategies) can wear out. Like saying, “I’m sorry.” That’s a tool that won’t work forever.

When I need to pound a nail, my hammer will work every time. I don’t have to think about it.

Interpersonal conflicts, however, are not nails. We don’t have a hammer that will work as a perpetual solution. What worked before — like cracking a joke, or giving a hug, or waiting, or a handy rhetorical question — might not work this time or next.

Problems change and so must solutions. Sometimes we have to go back to the toolbox to try something new.

Don’t lament what you are not.

Instead, become.

Or slowly, peacefully learn … to be.

We are seekers. Gathering, scanning, searching. Delighted to find bits of wisdom and nourishment though quotes, passages, paragraphs, and posts.

But we must be ponderers too. Contemplators. Meditators. Patient thinkers.

Noticing a concept that resonates is only the first step. The next step — the more rewarding step — is to hold space for an idea. To sit with it. To understand it more deeply.

When it comes to powerful ideas, let’s not stop at hunting and gathering. Let’s take what we find and make balms and salves. Let’s lay good ideas on our hearts — giving them enough time and attention to change us for the better.

Weightless and floating sounds magical — but without something against which you can push, you’re left dancing in space without direction.

That can be its own thing, and it can be beautiful, but if we want to move along a certain path … gravity, obstacles, and launching points are of great use. Self-propulsion works in this metaphor too, but not quite as effectively as the idea of a push or a pull.

(Creatively speaking, this can come in the form of a fellow traveler with whom interaction helps to propel you. Or a contrast: “I don’t want to do work like that, so I’ll purposely move in another direction to do work like this.)

Freedom is liberating, but gravity — and navigating fixed points in space — can set conditions for beautiful growth.

Don’t pull the fire alarm every time someone lights a match.

In life-or-death situations, it’s often appropriate to have a bias toward safety. But most situations aren’t life-or-death. Or they’re not presently and urgently about life and death.

A little restraint can be powerful in the long run.

Even if you risk a minor burn in the meantime.

We don’t forget about our sledge hammer when we need to demolish a wall.

Or our whisk when we need to whip a few egg whites.

Or the camera flash when we need extra light in a shot.

Or a pen when we have a document to sign.

These tools naturally come to mind when they’re needed.

But from time to time, we do forget about tools we have. Tools like questions. Or humor. Or silence. Or stopping to breathe.

We learn about things like Michael Bungay Stainer’s seven “coaching habit” questions. Or Lincoln’s advice to write a letter that you don’t deliver. Or the idea of reflecting upon “What do I want to happen?” before voicing a complaint.

We’ve collected a lot of great tools.

However, these techniques and resources can easily gather dust if we’re not using them often enough. So take inventory. Practice.

And when we don’t know how to handle a situation, we might pause to think, “What tools do I have that I can use here?”

On my way to a commitment, time was tight. Just as I arrived at my destination, I noticed a driver whose truck was stuck in the snow. Accepting that I might be late, I put down my things and put my shoulder to the tailgate.

The driver was happy for the help. Still, I couldn’t quite push hard enough to make a difference. But within minutes, a young man hopped out of his own car and we pushed together. With both of us pushing, we had just enough strength for the truck to find dry pavement.

As we celebrated our victory, I recognized the truck’s passenger: a teacher from my son’s school.

I’m grateful for all the unexpected lessons that this interaction delivered.

• Stop to help. Even when you’re short on time.

• If you have traction of your own, you can help someone who’s stuck.

• You might not have enough strength, but you can still try.

• When others see you doing good work, sometimes they’ll join you, and it will make a difference.

• Every so often, the strangers you help end up being friends you know.

Finally, I learned this: if the hill is icy, and you have a two-wheel drive truck, park somewhere else.

“They laughed at me.”
“They said it couldn’t be done.”
“They said it was pointless.”
“They said I was wasting my time.”
“They ignored me.”

“They” have a lot of opinions.

But “they” are not going to offer consolation when you feel the dull pain of having abandoned a dream without giving it a fair shot.

Don’t listen to the naysayers. Listen to the fire in your heart.

In any journey, getting started in the right direction is the first major challenge.

But sometimes, we begin with incomplete information. In those moments, we have to go with our best judgement — and find out find out whether it’s the right direction only after we start moving.

Pointing and alignment is useless if we’re unwilling to take the first step.