When I was going through Marine officer training, one of the things we had to do was learn how to dig foxholes. For those of you not familiar with military traditions, a foxhole is a pit that combat troops dig to give them shelter from enemy attacks. My training course occurred in northern Virginia, during the summer, when it was not only hot, but humid. So digging anything was not fun. Being young and lazy at the time, I proceeded to dig a foxhole that was barely big enough to hide me from the enemy. I was standing there admiring my handiwork, my homage to minimalism, when old, grizzled Gunnery Sergeant Ford approached. He looked at my foxhole, which was really more like a scratch in the ground, and then he looked at me.  I prepared myself for one of his famous verbal reprimands. But he surprised me when instead of a reprimand, he crossed his arms across his chest, got this far away look in his eyes like he was remembering something important and then simply said, “Lieutenant, you never dig a one man foxhole. When the battle comes and the bullets start flying, I don’t care how tough you are, you’re going to want somebody there next to you. So the bigger your hole, the more support it can hold.” And then he walked away.

That lesson stuck with me. It turned out that he was right. When I was in combat in Desert Storm and the battle came and the bullets started flying, I wanted as many of my fellow Marines around me as I could find. So we dug huge foxholes and like the lyrics from Billy Joel’s Goodnight Saigon: “we held on to each other like brother to brother.” And together, we made it through that ordeal.

As I was thinking this week about the tough time that a lot of us have been going through over these past couple of years, for some reason I was reminded of the lesson that Gunny Ford taught me more than 20 years ago. Sadly, there is something in our American DNA that brings out the individualist in all of us. We try to do everything on our own—we love to build one-person foxholes.

So I thought it would be fitting to share with you what wise Gunny Ford shared with me in the forests of Quantico, Virginia: “Never dig a one-person foxhole.” When the oil rig blows up and your means of making a living starts disappearing, when you get laid off and you start falling behind in your bills, when your customers stop spending and your business starts to go under, when your parents get ill and your brother gets cancer, when all these difficult circumstances come your way, you’re going to need somebody there next to you. So the bigger your foxhole, the more people you can have in it.

Now is the time for us to come together to support one another. I invite you to open your eyes and your lives to the people around you. If you need help, ask for it. If you can give help, offer it. There are too many of us for any one of us to struggle alone. Let’s all start digging gigantic foxholes and make room for other people in our lives.

Please allow me to close with the quote that appears at the bottom of all of my emails. It is a line from another song, this one called What Susan Said by the late Rich Mullins: “And if your home is just another place where you’re a stranger, and far away is just somewhere you’ve never been. I hope that you’ll remember, I am your friend.”

Warmest Regards,

Coach Paul
www.lifechangingcoaching.com

“And if your home is just another place where you’re a stranger, and far away is just somewhere you’ve never been. I hope that you’ll remember, I am your friend.” – Rich Mullins

Life-Changing Coaching by Paul Edward is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivative Works 3.0 License.

I live in Claremont, California; a place whose nickname is the “City of Trees.” It should really be called the city of hills, because there are very few flat streets in this city. This geological introduction is important because today I decided to dust off my fairly new mountain bike and take it for a spin. After all, it was a beautiful spring day. The sun was shining and the weather was a comfortable 70 degrees.

By the way, when I say dust off my mountain bike, I was being literal. The last time I had ridden it was several months ago (despite my weekly intentions for the past six months to go for a ride). It was not only dusty, but the tires were flat. So my 20 minute ride was already turning into an hour long adventure. I had to dust off the bike and re-inflate the tires. After dragging my trusty air compressor out of the garage, I discovered that the valve stems on my bike were not the kind I was used to and therefore did not work with my old air compressor. So I dragged my air compressor back into the garage and then drove to my local bike shop to get the proper pump for my valve stems.

An hour and 15 minutes later, I was ready to go. I put on all my gear: backpack, helmet, gloves, and sunglasses; and headed down the street. And when I say down the street, I mean down the street (see paragraph one). Not really thinking about the consequences of my actions, I followed the path of least resistance and took a winding road through several tree-lined streets. The only consideration for which way I would go was that I keep going downhill.

What an exciting time it was! The sun shining down, the wind blowing against my face, the road passing by underneath my rapidly spinning tires. I was so glad that I had decided to do this. Mentally I kicked myself for not doing it sooner. What a rush!

Eventually I reached the point where I had to head for home, so I made a quick right turn (I had to brake hard because I was going so fast) and then began to pedal toward the main street that led back home. One more right turn and I would be there. I checked my watch, a little concerned because I had only spent seven minutes of the 20 that I had allotted for the ride. At the pace I was going, I would be back home with time to spare.

I know what all of you intelligent folks are thinking, but I hadn’t made that mental leap yet. At this point the dots were still unconnected and I was in a state of ignorant bliss.

And then I made the right turn onto the main street leading to my house; and I looked up (see paragraph one). I shifted into my lowest gear and began the trek uphill. Huffing and puffing I made my way up that hill, hoping and praying that my family, who had gone shopping earlier, would be coming home at that moment and offer me a ride. No such luck. At one point, this group of ninety year old ladies on their afternoon walk passed me on their way uphill. They smiled and waved as they flew by. I just grinned and kept inching my way up the mountain, I mean hill.

Eventually, I made it home. I didn’t stop (next time I plan on riding at night, so if I do decide to stop, no one will recognize me) and when I pulled into my driveway, I prayed a silent prayer of thanksgiving to God for giving someone the brains to make the combustion engine.

Warmest Regards,

Coach Paul
www.lifechangingcoaching.com

“And if your home is just another place where you’re a stranger, and far away is just somewhere you’ve never been. I hope that you’ll remember, I am your friend.” – Rich Mullins

Life-Changing Coaching by Paul Edward is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivative Works 3.0 License.

This weekend was a deadly one for California law enforcement officers. I post their names to memorialize their service and also to remind us that there are still some very dangerous people living among us. I am grateful for the men and women who put their lives on the line every day to keep us safe from those who would do us harm. Please join me in praying for the surviving family members and friends of these fallen heroes.

• February 25, 2010: Joel Wahlenmaier, 49. Reedly Police Department. Died as a result of wounds sustained during a shootout with a suspect during the service of a search warrant.
• February 28, 2010: Ken Collier, 39. San Diego Sheriff’s Department. Died as a result of wounds sustained in a traffic accident during the pursuit of a drunk driver.
• March 1, 2010: Javier Bejar, 28. Reedly Police Department. Former US Marine. Died as a result of wounds sustained during a shootout with a suspect during the service of a search warrant.

Rest in peace my brothers-in-arms.

Warmest Regards,

Coach Paul
www.lifechangingcoaching.com

“And if your home is just another place where you’re a stranger, and far away is just somewhere you’ve never been. I hope that you’ll remember, I am your friend.” – Rich Mullins

Life-Changing Coaching by Paul Edward is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivative Works 3.0 License.