tensing in the pit of my stomach. feel defensive walls go up; I prepare for battle. My focus
is not on the long-term growth and understanding but on the short-term behavior. I'm
trying to win the battle, not the war.
I pull out my ammunition -- my superior size, my position of authority -- and I yell or
intimidate or I threaten or punish. And I win. I stand there, victorious, in the middle of
the debris of a shattered relationship while my children are outwardly submissive and
inwardly rebellious, suppressing feelings that will come out later in uglier ways.
Now if I were sitting at that funeral we visualized earlier, and one of my children was
about to speak, I would want his life to represent the victory of teaching, training, and
disciplining with love over a period of years rather than the battle scars of quick-fix
skirmishes. I would want his heart and mind to be filled with the pleasant memories of
deep, meaningful times together. I would want him to remember me as a loving father
who shared the fun and the pain of growing up. I would want him to remember the times
he came to me with his problems and concerns. I would want to have listened and loved
and helped. I would want him to know I wasn't perfect, but that I had tried with
everything I had. And that, perhaps more than anybody in the world, I loved him.
The reason I would want those things is because, deep down, I value my children. I love
them, I want to help them. I value my role as their father. But I don't always see those
values. I get caught up in the "thick of thin things." What matters most gets buried under
layers of pressing problems, immediate concerns, and outward behaviors. I become
reactive. And the way I interact with my children every day often bears little resemblance
to the way I deeply feel about them.
Because I am self-aware, because I have imagination and conscience, I can examine my
deepest values. I can realize that the script I'm living is not in harmony with those values,
that my life is not the product of my own proactive design, but the result of the first
creation I have deferred to circumstances and other people. And I can change. I can live
out of my imagination instead of my memory. I can tie myself to my limitless potential
instead of my limiting past. I can become my own first creator.
To Begin with the End in Mind means to approach my role as a parent, as well as my
other roles in life, with my values and directions clear. It means to be responsible for my
own first creation, to descript myself so that the paradigms from which my behavior and
attitude flow are congruent with my deepest values and in harmony with correct
principles.
It also means to begin each day with those values firmly in mind. Then as the
vicissitudes, as the challenges come, I can make my decisions based on those values. I can
act with integrity. I don't have to react to the emotion, the circumstance. I can be truly
proactive, value driven, because my values are clear.
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