When I’m not traveling, I spend a significant amount of time at my desk.
It’s a great desk.
When we furnished our office with an office cubicle system, I opted instead for antique oak furniture for my office. Jan and I have furnished our home primarily with oak antiques we’ve refinished, so this was another opportunity for us to enjoy working on projects together. It also makes me feel “at home” while I’m “at work.” (The boundaries between these are often blurred, but that’s a subject for another day.)
When anyone comes into my office for a conversation, they typically see me sitting in my antique oak office chair, my laptop centered on my roll-top oak desk, with miscellaneous notes, books, and frequently used supplies within easy reach in the oak storage boxes.
Photos of Jan, my daughters and sons-in-love, and grandsons are obvious. If you look very carefully you can see the Family Circus coaster Lindsey got me for Father’s Day one year.
But almost no one sees something that I see all day every day. My “secret” mission.
It’s right there in plain sight, if you know where to look. Just above my computer screen. A white sheet of paper tucked into the open space under the storage boxes. Four lines of printing, in large enough font that I can still read it without my glasses (which is now approximately never).
What does it say?
Sorry. I can’t tell you. It’s a “secret”.
Actually, it's not really a secret. But I shouldn’t have to tell you my mission. It should be obvious—from my actions. If it isn’t obvious, it’s probably not really my mission.
I’m often encouraged that I’m actually accomplishing my mission because people keep connecting with me asking me to do things that are part of my mission. But occasionally people confuse my mission with their mission. That can be awkward for both of us.
So, with only the clues you’ve heard and seen in my life, what do you think my mission is?
This is a test—not for you, but for me.
