So, I’m taking advantage of the pace of summer by following through on a promise I made to my three boys…
For the past two years, they have been asking for a treehouse in the back yard. There were two problems with this: First, we had a newborn, and although he would have loved quality time with his brothers up in the treehouse, I didn’t necessarily think the responsibility level of 2 and 4-year old siblings was quite at the level of trustworthiness.
Second, admittedly I would have been in over my head with a project of that magnitude. Although I studied engineering in college, I am not what you would call a handyman. Sure, I could probably sketch out a design with the best of them, but when it comes to yielding a saw and drill, I’m not sure I’m the one you want to trust doing that…
Fast forward a few years, and I arrived at the conclusion that every little boy needs a treehouse in his backyard, if at all possible.
And so I made a promise to my boys this spring: The treehouse will be built this summer.
I still didn’t really know how I would do it, but I knew that I needed to do it—for them and me. I needed something that would challenge me in a way that would test my resolve, my patience, and my follow-through. I needed my boys to know that when Dad promises something, it gets done—despite fatigue, heat, and the lack of know-how. I needed to know that I have the ability, dedication, and perseverance to tackle a project despite those same conditions of fatigue and a lack of expertise.
And so, we began building the treehouse a couple of weeks ago.
It has been incredibly taxing, physically, mentally, even emotionally as my patience with a saw, chisel, drill and socket wrench has been tested continually.
But yesterday, my boys and I all sat up on the “floor” of the treehouse—8 feet above the yard. It was as sturdy as can be, and the boys were downright giddy at being up with Dad in the treehouse.
We’re not done, mind you—we still have the walls, the roof, the trap-door and ladder to build.
But we’ve made progress—progress that can actually be realized, climbed upon—progress which is tangible, even in the eyes of a few young boys.
I see this as a metaphor…
My journey with Wild Goose started off with ideals—lofty ideals—such as using money from the sales of coffee to provide food for people in their own community.
It was something that I felt was a great idea, but if I were honest with myself, would admit that I was in over my head, that it was hard, tiring work, and that I lacked the know-how to run a business in a pioneering way.
But at the same time, I knew I had to do it.
And now, Wild Goose is being built, one floor plank, one 2 x 4, at a time.
And to be perfectly honest, now is when I feel my resolve tested more than ever.
The commitment to donate a certain amount of money per pound sold has been tested. It has been tested when bills come due, when international coffee prices increase, when I want to take my family out to dinner but we don’t have the budget for it.
I suspected something like this would happen, and it has. It’s only the beginning of this kind of testing, mind you, but it’s still there, and it’s quite tangible. As our volume has increased, so have our donations. And writing larger checks is both deeply gratifying and terrifying at the same time. It can be easy sometimes to lose sight of what that larger check means for people in my community—if I’m not focused, diligent, and careful, I might be tempted to see a larger check for food donations as simply one more line-item in the “expenses” column.
But this is where the promises come in.
This is precisely why I had to build the treehouse.
Because promises are so easily swept aside and exchanged for something easier, something more convenient. In a world where cynicism reigns supreme, I want to be an agent of change, if for no other audience than my precious boys. I want to be an agent of change in my own heart and soul as well, proving to myself that I can make a promise and fight against the dark voices that whisper to back out, to modify the promise, to opt for the easier route.
And so I build the treehouse, and the company, on a promise. An unwavering promise that, due to my own humanity, is tested. But that same humanity is what compels me to fight, to hang on, to persevere.
It might mean measuring another cut for a floor plank in one scenario, while in another writing a check to a food bank even amidst the growing uncertainty of an economic climate that is not particularly conducive to growing a business.
When all the voices say to pull back, to be more fiscally conservative, to keep more in the company coffers, I counter by saying that good things are not built unless they are built for others.
For it is the thrill of my boys climbing up into an unfinished treehouse that propels me forward. It is knowing that they are anticipating the day the treehouse is finished, looking forward to that moment with much excitement. But they are also enjoying the journey of building this together, knowing that they have a Dad who is keeping his promise, even if that Dad is quietly battling demons of self-doubt, selfishness, and fatigue.
But it is the fight against these very things that grows us all stronger, binding us in the unified cause of building something worthwhile, motivated by the sheer delight of those who get to participate.
It is perhaps the most worthwhile fight, and so I fight on, amidst the uncertainty, in spite of the inner demons, in spite of the self-doubt.
Because, after all, nothing worthwhile is supposed to be easy, right?
