Improve Your World

In her diary, Anne Frank documents the horrors of Nazi Germany and her life of hiding, capture and efforts to survive in a concentration camp. Her wholesome attitudes and keen observations of life continue to amaze her diary readers even today. One of her statements leaves me defenseless and convicted: “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.” She is right!

I am so appreciative to have had people in my life who were determined to make this world a better place, regardless of all the reasons imposed on them why they could not. Two such people were my aunt and uncle, Rev. Robert O. and Lela Jackson. Early in their marriage they had volunteered to go to Argentina as missionaries. Later, they traveled to Swaziland, Africa to help establish a medical mission in the 1940s and 1950s. They landed in a place called Manzini and served four years at a pioneer hospital and nurse’s training center. The next four years were spent out farther into the bush veldt at a place called Piggs Peak Station. Uncle Bob directed the efforts of the medical clinic and coordinated the activities of the mission. They literally poured their lives into the work.

One of the greatest rewards of my work with Project C.U.R.E. came in 2004, when Anna Marie and I were requested to travel to Swaziland. The Raleigh Fitkin Hospital in Manzini, Swaziland, 17 additional district clinics, and a nurse’s training college were in desperate need of help. The medical institution, as well as the Swaziland government, had requested that Project C.U.R.E. come and assess the health care facilities and see if we could be of assistance. The Swaziland government Health Ministry had promised to help financially underwrite the hospital. But the Swaziland government was having a tough time backing up their promises with money.

Over 100 years before, the King of Swaziland had given the missionary endeavor a huge piece of land that now was part of the city of Manzini, and had invited them to educate and minister to the people in Swaziland. Their presence in that part of southern Africa had been very successful and influential over the many years. Uncle Bob and Aunt Lela Jackson had been a part of that successful endeavor. The hospital administrators showed me records and evidence of the Jackson’s indefatigable efforts while they were there.

When we finished our assessment work in Manzini we were taken to the mountainous region of northwest Swaziland to view the outlying medical clinics in Piggs Peak, Endzingeni and 15 other clinics. Upon our arrival at Piggs Peak Station I stood just inside the entry gates of the compound and drank in a 360 degree view. “So, these were the views my relatives captured in their hearts day after day so many years ago.” They had worked in this very hospital and lived on this very compound during the critical days of growth and development of the care- giving ministry. As a young boy I had become vicariously acquainted with Swaziland. I had studied the pictures, listened to the wild stories, had touched and seen the artifacts from Africa that they had toted home with them. My soul now drank it all in as if I were a thirsty sponge with human legs. How soon we forget the exacting price others in the past have paid in their eternal journey to improve the world.

Upon my return to Colorado I called my 84 year-old “Uncle Bob,” who resided in an assisted living center near Roseburg, Oregon. My Aunt Lela had died a few years before. I told him that I had just returned from Swaziland. I let him reminisce and encouraged him to tell me once again about their experiences in Manzini, Endzingeni and Piggs Peak. “Do you remember seeing a long line of trees stretching from the church, past the clinic and toward the main house?” Uncle Bob asked me. “Oh yes,” I replied, “they are huge evergreen trees all in a straight row.”

“I planted all those with my own hands. I got them from a tree farmer who had come to plant a forest of trees on the rich and fertile hillsides of Piggs Peak.” “Uncle Bob,” I assured him, “you are to be commended for having planted all those trees in a straight line from the church building, past the clinic and toward the house. They stand today as a testimony that you left Swaziland a greener and better place than when you went there.”

“But,” I continued, “you and Aunt Lela are to be commended even more for the many years of your lives that you invested in Swaziland. Spiritual and physical seeds of help and hope were planted there by you that are far greater than the row of beautiful evergreen trees. Only heaven will reveal the waves of goodness that have lapped the shores of eternity since you and Aunt Lela affected that place by your committed lives and efforts. For Anna Marie and me, it was a great privilege to go to Swaziland and honor not only God but also you and Aunt Lela with additional medical goods for the hospital and clinics. Thanks for being a faithful worker and a good uncle.” Somewhere in their early journey they had discovered the eternal message also penned by Anne Frank, “How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world.”

Better Off

I think it’s time that someone should bring to the discussion table the difference between the concept of “greed” and the idea of the pursuit of someone’s “best interest.” The two concepts are not the same. However, the intent to confuse the two has some ideological appeal and, as usual, time aids in the erosion of many traditional words and concepts.

Historically, greed has been considered as one of the “Seven Deadly Sins.” It is a sin of excess and inappropriate expectation . . . the “me first – regardless of cost or consequences.” Greed is not always easily identifiable in the beginning, and that makes it confusing. But, be assured that sooner or later, harbored greed will surface into observable behavior. Another thing I have noticed is that greed delivers a different result than what was anticipated in the beginning, and sad and terrible consequences of greed may take a long time to surface.

Pursuing one’s best self- interest, however, is not necessarily greed or selfishness. It has to do with appropriate expectations and comes along as a necessary component in the “free choice” package. When you are given daily alternatives it is the expected behavior to choose that which is highest, best and most fulfilling. Of course people pursue their own self- interests, thus the beauty of individuality and divergent creativity. Pursuit of their own self- interests includes seeing their families become “better off.” Pursuit of their own self- interests includes their concerns for their friends and neighbors being “better off,” as well as the entire citizenry of their communities.

I am a businessman and an economist . . . a compassionately involved cultural economist, dedicated to helping other individuals in the wholesome fulfillment of their self- interests.

I often tell people that “I have decided to give the best of my life for the rest of my life helping other people be better off.” So, what on earth does that mean? Albert Schweitzer acknowledged, “I don’t know what your destiny will be, but one thing I do know: the only ones among you who will be really happy are those who have sought and found how to serve.” Serving other people includes the concept of helping them become “better off.”

Lately, I am running into more articles and interviews where I hear frustrated folks bashing the concept of anyone advancing or moving ahead in their circumstances, saying, “They are getting more education and trying to acquire more skills just because they want more of the pie, and I get less of the pie as a result. They are just greedy, and it’s not fair,” . . . or . . . “The earth is sufficient to meet every man’s need . . . if only those profit people would just stop their greed.”

I have two dear friends, husband and wife, each is a talented medical doctor. They are highly motivated, full of energy, and are Nigerian. Their burning passion was to build a 50 bed hospital in Port Harcourt, Nigeria with a fine radiology department, laboratory and well- equipped operating room. Impossible!

Dr. I.C. Ekwem and Dr. Linda Ekwem heard about Project C.U.R.E.’s work in Nigeria. They pursued me aggressively and even secured the money, purchased airline tickets, came to Colorado, and stayed at our home in Evergreen. They shared their dream and passion with Anna Marie and me. They showed us what they had already done to accomplish their dream. I really wanted to help them become “better off,” so we helped them finish and furnish their dream hospital. Today, the Ebony Hospital stands as a miracle near the shores of the Gulf of Guinea and the Atlantic Ocean in Port Harcourt, Nigeria.

The doctors Ekwem were aggressive, passionate, and persistent in pursuit of their self- interests. They wanted to see their hospital become a reality. Today, they are “better off,” and hundreds of patients are alive and not dead, and thousands more are healthier . . . all are “better off.” But I implore the cultural levelers to never bash my friends as “greedy” and assign them to their contrived category of “selfish.” Acting in one’s self- interest is not the same as being selfish. Making good choices that serve one’s best interest is different than greed.

World Survival Tip #2: Forget Not the Photos!

I’ll bet you thought I was going to extol the wisdom of taking a backup camera along with you in case your cell phone camera went dead in Mongolia. Nope. I don’t want to talk about taking photos of your trip, but taking photos to your trip. Hundreds of times my trips turned from “minus” or “mundane” to “marvelous” because I had remembered to take photos with me. Updated photos of my family were never outside my reach during my forty years of international travel. People in Montenegro, Morocco and Mozambique, Papua New Guinea, Pakistan and Palestine all know my family.

In December 1997, I had just finished lecturing at the University of Kiev in Ukraine. I needed to travel to the Pirogov Medical University in the city of Vinnitsa, Ukraine. An Eastern European snow storm had blasted the region and many of the roads were closed. Riding the old Soviet train was my best option for making the four hour trip.

The train had been traveling all night before arriving in Kiev. When I got on the train the compartment was still made up into a sleeping car arrangement. Other people were already occupying my compartment. A middle aged couple had staked their claim on the upper berths; their clothes and food leftovers were strewn on the compartment table and around on the floor. Another fellow in the compartment was a shriveled- up old man with thick glasses and white hair. He wore a gray, hard wool suit with the entire left front of his suit jacket covered with Soviet military medals and badges of accomplishment. I had just put my two bags on the bench by the door. The old retired military man immediately began rearranging everything.

I smiled warmly at the old “czar” and he mumbled something in Russian. I replied with a mumble in English. When he realized I did not speak Russian, he simply snapped his head around to the opposite direction and stared at the compartment wall. The train was very hot and stuffy. The absence of any fresh ventilation exaggerated the foul smells of rancid food and the peasant peoples’ belongings.

Old, frumpy Ukrainian women with knurled faces and hands gathered in gaggles around the stopped passenger trains. Their ragged cloth bags contained homemade food being offered to the hungry passengers. Before we pulled away from Kiev Station the middle aged couple from our compartment jumped down from their beds and purchased some of the food. I scooted over on my cot and made room for them to spread their newly acquired goodies out on the already messy table. From the wrappers of old newspapers, they pulled a plastic bag of greasy potato chunks, slimy, cooked cabbage and chunks of strange looking meat. Small loaves of unwrapped bread, along with a smaller plastic bag of pickles, rounded out their breakfast meal.

I quickly used up as many Russian words as I knew. I smiled a lot and politely deferred the offer to share the greasy potato chunks and cold cabbage. The diplomatic ice was broken; then came the magic. I reached into my thin leather attaché and pulled out the photos of my family. Their eyes brightened and their whole bodies responded. They reached for the photos and handled them with their greasy hands and laid them on the table. Everyone began talking in chorus, waving their hands and smiling. Even the grumpy old “czar” smiled and pulled from his wallet two crumpled black and white photos from the past. He told me all about the women in the pictures, and I told them all about my wife, sons and grandchildren. He knew what I had said and I knew what he had said even though we didn’t catch the words. We had all become good friends.

I have shown photos of my family to kings, presidents, rogues, prisoners, dictators, refugees, priests, holy men of Tibet and hostile border guards. They almost always reciprocate by sharing a photo with me. Photos are full of “super glue.” They bond hearts together instantly and speak a language that surpasses words. They have opened doors that were solidly shut, shut doors that would have led to my demise, and skipped over years of relationship.

Photos have also been one of my best moral defenses while traveling. Cultures and folkways differ considerably throughout the world, but respect shouts its message from the mountain tops. If I find myself in a situation of uninvited familiarity or unwanted pursuit, I simply reach for my family photos and proudly display a picture of my beautiful wife, explain how much I love and respect her, and then show photos of my important sons and gorgeous grandchildren. Without being rude or judgmental, the conversation gets back on track or tapers to a respectable close.

The only travel documents I own that are more worn and used than my bulging passports are my travel photos. I never want to leave home without them!

Holding the Rope

Two of the finest international friends Anna Marie and I have made while traveling throughout the world are Dr. James Terbush and his lovely wife, Leigh. For years, Dr. Terbush worked for US Department of State as a medical liaison at many different US Embassies. Eventually, Captain Terbush became the Command Surgeon for NORAD, NORTHCOM and Home Land Security. We worked together in Senegal, Argentina, South Africa, and Afghanistan. We even sat together in the palace living room of the president of Albania, in Tirana, where we helped organize medical camps for the refugees fleeing the Bosnia-Herzegovina-Croatia massacres. 

We became better acquainted with the Terbush family when we spent time with them at the Embassy in Athens, Greece and explored the mystical Greek islands together with their 21 year old son, Peter. Jim Terbush and Peter loved to climb mountains together all over the world. Peter decided to enroll in Western State College in Gunnison, Colorado and started teaching climbing classes, talking incessantly about one day becoming a climbing guide.

Early on, Dr. Terbush had taught young Peter about the “belay” position used when you are holding the rope to secure a climbing partner on the mountain above you. “Always protect a partner at the end of his rope,” he would tell Peter. “Never let go!”

Peter and two of his college friends, Kerry and Joseph, decided to make a quick trip to Yosemite National Park and climb the legendary Glacier Point Apron. Sunday evening, June 13, 1999, Kerry had climbed about 60 feet up the mountain. Peter was in the belay position securely holding Kerry to the granite face as he climbed. Then the absolutely, unimaginable thing happened! With the roar of a hundred freight trains and the energy of an exploding bomb, the upper ledge of the famous mountain let loose and shed in excess of 200 tons of boulders down to the valley below. Peter looked up to see boulders the size of automobiles coming straight down upon him. The earth shook. He looked again and saw Kerry. Peter knew that if he moved the slightest he would lose his belay position and Kerry would swing out and catch the full force of the cascading granite from over 1,000 feet above. “Always protect a partner at the end of his rope . . . Never let go!” Peter could have made it to safety. He chose to stay. The valley filled with dust and people in the park fled.

Both Kerry and Joseph lived. Young Peter was crushed by the thunderous slide. In order to free the rope to let Kerry down they had to get to Peter. There he was . . . his left hand was gripping the rope above and his right hand pulled down hard against his right hip just in front of the belay device attached to the climbing harness at his waist. . . the perfect belay position. They had to pry the rope from Peter’s grip. The Park Rangers and Search and Rescue members on the scene hailed Peter as a hero, consciously giving his life for the lives of his two climbing buddies.

Today, I want to thank my friends, Dr. Jim Terbush and Leigh, for bringing Peter into this world and into this culture. And I want to honor his memory by thanking Peter for his dauntless character and selfless expression of sacrifice. Whenever my circumstances press me to the point of inescapable decision, I want to recall Jim’s life lesson to his son, Peter, “Always protect a partner at the end of his rope . . . Never let go!”

**If you would like to know more about the Peter Terbush Memorial Outdoor Leadership Summit-Western State College of Colorado, go to:www.western.edu/student-life/wp/outdoor-leadership-summit **

Only One Person

When I was thirty years old Anna Marie and I decided to give away all our accumulated wealth and start over. We decided to start listening to a different drummer and restructure our value system. I decided to “Give the Best of my life for the Rest of my life helping other people be better off.” That was the best business decision I ever made. That one decision set into motion unforeseeable consequences and an exhilarating adventure full of challenge and reward. That adventure took me to nearly every corner of this earth and taught me time and again,“To the world you may be only one person, but to one person you may be the world.”


One day my travels had taken me to Madras and Salem in the southern part of India.Project C.U.R.E. had promised to deliver donated medical goods to needy orphanages and medical clinics in the region. When I finished my agenda in India I traveled on to Singapore. My next venue was Hong Kong where I had meetings scheduled with a number of NGO leaders operating in mainland China. But in Hong Kong I had a most memorable meeting that absolutely had to do with neither governmental nor non-governmental agencies. 

Upon arrival at the Hong Kong airport, I hailed a taxi and rode to the downtown Kowloon Hotel. Once settled into my room, I made my way to the dimly lighted restaurant and ordered dinner. Minutes later they seated a white-haired gentleman at the table next to me. He was trying to read the menu in the near darkness and he had forgotten his glasses. I knew exactly what he was going through. So, without saying a word, I took off my glasses, leaned across the chair and laid the glasses on his table. It caught him so by surprise; he stumbled all over himself thanking me for noticing his plight. He admitted that he was about to randomly point to something on the menu and hope for the best. We began to chat and when I had finished my dinner and was finishing my tea, he invited me over to his table. 

My new friend lived in New Zea­land and was a successful businessman, coming to Asia often in his line of business. He had been buying and selling umbrellas for over twenty- seven years. He inquired about what I did, and I shared with him about Project C.U.R.E. He asked a million questions, and my answers kept getting more involved. He looked directly into my eyes and surmised, “You can’t do what you are doing without being a deeply religious man.” I told him that once I wasn't, but several years ago everything changed. That opened the flood gates of emotion for him.


He told me that just three weeks prior the diagnosis had been confirmed that he had can­cer . . . the same kind that had taken his mother within a span of 10 months after her diagnosis. They assured him that he would not have even the ten months to live. I went through two more cups of tea as I simply sat quietly and listened to him pour out his heart. He had it pretty well figured out what he was going to do with his business, but he painfully struggled as we discussed the effects his death would have on his wife and his grown children. “My wife begged me to not take this business trip to Hong Kong. But, I absolutely knew I had to travel from New Zealand to Hong Kong and check into the Kowloon Hotel. You reached over and loaned me your glasses . . . but you did more. You allowed me to use your vision and see through your eyes and discover hope and confidence and a future for my family.” 

I left the restaurant that night very humbled . . . just to think that God would bring one man from New Zealand and one man from Colorado all the way to Hong Kong in order to strike a match and kindle a flame of hope and encouragement in the heart of a needy traveler. “To the world you may be only one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

Trust Accounts (Part IV)

Deposited into your TRUST ACCOUNT is exactly what someone around you needs.

How is it possible that 80% of the male population of a civilized country could be brutally massacred in the 1990s without alerting the attention of the world? Yes, it happened! No, it did not occur in Africa. Yes, I was a witness. 

As far back as 340 AD the Armenians could trace their Christian religious heritage by church buildings and monasteries located throughout the area now known as Nagorno Karabakh. Throughout the centuries the Turks, the Azerbaijanis, and, later, “Stalin the Supreme” tried to eradicate the people of Karabakh. Stalin destroyed or closed down all the churches and monasteries, lined up the religious leaders and ordered them shot. He then totally cut off the Armenian enclave of Karabakh from the geographical borders of Armenia and presented Karabakh to Azerbaijan as a gift. 

During the 1990s the precarious fate of Nagorno Karabakh took another tragic turn for the worse. The oil cartels desired to build an oil pipeline from the Caspian Sea to the Black sea . . . right through the heart of Karabakh. Ethnic cleansing was determined to be the simplest solution for dealing with the nuisance population. They were perfectly isolated. No one would know. Former Azeri President Elchibey pronounced in June 1992 that if there were still Armenians in Karabakh in October of 1992, the people of Azerbaijan could hang him in the Central Square of Baku, the Azerbaijani capital. The atrocities were unbelievable at the hands of the Russian Fourth Army, the Turks, and the Azerbaijanis. 

One lone international figure became the voice for the voiceless in Nagorno Karabakh. Baroness Caroline Cox, Deputy Speaker of the House of Lords in London, stood in parliament and pled their case. She then went to the scene of the atrocities and actually rode in the helicopters helping evacuate the victims from Stepanekert, the capital of Karabakh, to hospitals in Yerevan, Armenia. 

Baroness Cox and her Executive Assistant, Stuart Windsor, contacted Project C.U.R.E. and requested that I join them in Yerevan, Armenia and travel with them to Karabakh. My research of the Armenian and Karabakh situation had somewhat prepared me for a cursory understanding of the history of the region. But I was in no way prepared for the emotional wrenching I would experience during my stay. 

While I was in Nagorno Karabakh, I agreed that Project C.U.R.E. would deliver millions of dollars worth of needed medical goods to the bombed out hospitals in the devastated country. I also promised to send enough pieces of physical rehabilitation equipment for them to open a rehab clinic to serve the crippled victims. 

But when I returned to Denver I was told that we had just sent all our physical therapy and rehab equipment to some other needy place around the world. We had none left in the warehouse. We needed a miracle. We made a list of all the pieces of equipment we would need to procure and send. We then hung the list in a conspicuous place. We all began to pray. 

Several weeks later Dr. Douglas Jackson and I took a walk through our warehouse. Justin, the man in charge of our warehouse, came running up to us with tears in his eyes. He was so excited! “Listen to what just happened!” he shouted. “This morning a company who sells medical equipment called and said they were discontinuing to sell rehab and therapy equipment and were donating everything they had in their warehouse to Project C.U.R.E. We just finished unloading their huge truck. Listen to this! . . . 

We took our written list in hand and as they began to unload the truck, we began to check off the pieces of needed equipment from our list. When they had finished unloading, every single item on our list had been checked off . . . every piece of rehab equipment we had written down has just now been miraculously delivered. What we needed to put on the ocean-going cargo container headed for Nagorno Karabakh was on that truck!” 

As Justin was telling us the story, this thought was exploding inside my mind: 

“Deposited into my Trust Account is exactly what someone else around me needs!” 

Review again some of the principles of the Trust Account concept: 

1. The inventory of your Trust Account (everything you possess) is there as a result of a Direct Gift or a Gift Exchange. 

2. The inventory is to be administered by you, the Trustee, for the Benefit of Others. 

3. As you, the Trustee, transfer inventory out of your Trust Account into the Trust Accounts of Others, God makes Compensating Deposits into Your Trust Account . . . thus allowing you to give Even More into the Trust Accounts of Others. 

4. God determines the Amount, Kind, and Timing of the Compensating Deposits . . . the Trustee is only responsible for the Current Inventory of the Account. 

5. Deposited into your Trust Account is exactly what Someone else around you Needs. 

Allow these concepts to change your life! 

Trust Accounts (Part III)

In the days following the collapse of the Soviet Union, I spent a great deal of time in the corridor along the Volga River from St. Petersburg to Moscow, Russia. The US Agency for International Development (USAID) had agreed to pay all the shipping charges ifProject C.U.R.E. would donate the incredibly needed medical goods to the area. In the city of Tver, I was hosted by the retired head of the elite Soviet Military Academy, General Yuri Tyulin. Following the coup, most of the top military personnel were notified that there would no longer be money to pay them. Desperation set in. In the evenings I was invited to meet with groups of generals and colonels and suggest ways to get involved in free market enterprises, like television repair, wood working, leather handcrafts and upholstery. Later on, I even sent used sewing machines to the officers so that with their labors they could earn enough to buy food.

One night a group of officers learned that I had a very early flight leaving Moscow. In order to make the flight I would need to leave Tver at 1:30 a.m. The officers protested, “You are not going to travel the road to Moscow at that hour. Even if you were not American, you would not pass through without getting robbed. The desperate criminals along that route would have no second thoughts about robbing you and perhaps killing you. The train is even less safe at that hour!”

The next morning my hostess, Galina Tyulin, prepared for me a hot cup of black tea and a small cake to take with me. As I stepped out into the frigid February night I was met by General Brice and Colonel Chols, retired Soviet Officers. I was placed in the rear seat of an old Russian Lada sedan with my luggage stacked on either side of me. The Lada was a virtual arsenal on wheels. Automatic weapons were on the floor in the front and very high powered, silent, gas-operated pistols were in the officers’ laps. The only thing the Lada lacked was any sort of heater. General Brice had to leave the front windows lowered to lessen the buildup of ice on the inside of the windshield. 

In route to Moscow, we did indeed see the occurrence of large transport trucks coming along either side of passenger cars and pinning them between. In tandem, the trucks would squeeze the car to the side of the road and thugs would rob the travelers. I simply pulled my top coat up over my ears and breathed a prayer of thanks. The officers successfully delivered me to the passport counter of the Moscow airport, and returned to Tver. My new friends, who had been trained all their lives how to kill me, put their own lives at risk to save mine.

While I had been in Russia, I had transferred into their Trust Accounts love, concern, attention, medical goods . . . oh, yes, and some sewing machines. God had orchestrated the transfer of a “Compensating Deposit” into my Trust Account, not of more medical goods and sewing machines, but something I really needed precisely at that time . . . safe passage to Moscow in the middle of the night! 

So far, in our study of “Trust Accounts,” we have discussed:

1. The inventory of your Trust Account (everything you possess) is there as a result of a Direct Gift or a Gift Exchange.

2. The inventory is to be administered by you, the Trustee, for the Benefit of Others.

3. As you, the Trustee, transfer inventory out of your Trust Account into the Trust Accounts of Others, God makes Compensating Deposits into Your Trust Account . . . thus allowing you to give Even More into the Trust Accounts of Others.

Now, let’s consider this:

4. God determines the Amount, Kind and Timing of the Compensating Deposits . . . the Trustee is only responsible for the Current Inventory of the Account.

Example: When Anna Marie and I made the decision to give away our accumulated wealth and start over again, we gave away, primarily, millions of dollars worth of real estate assets. God never made Compensating Deposits back into our Trust Account of multiplied millions of “like kind” real estate assets. But rather, over the ensuing years God has deposited hundreds of millions of dollars worth of desperately needed medical supplies and pieces of medical equipment into our Trust Account. We haven’t been responsible to give away any more real estate assets, but for the past 25 years we have been moving around in every corner of this earth distributing those donated medical goods into thousands of hospitals and clinics in 123 far flung countries.

God is very creative with his Compensating Deposits. Sometimes he gives back in like kind . . . sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he makes his Compensating Deposits according to our expected timetable . . . sometimes he does not. Sometimes he makes his Compensating Deposits in an amount we had in mind . . . then, he surprises us with abundance . . . but not usually in the way we had insisted. Usually, it takes us traveling down the road a way, then upon looking back, we say, “Oh, look at how God worked that out. It all turned out so much better than I could have ever imagined!” I would have asked for millions more in real estate. God knew I needed medical goods he could transform into safe passage from Tver to Moscow in the middle of a blustery Russian night.

"The Happiest Man in the World": An Excerpt

The Happiest Man in the World:  

Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist

By Dr. James W. Jackson, Founder of Project C.U.R.E. 

“At that moment I was slammed by a wave of unexpected compassion. I had crossed over a line. No longer was I a foreign economic visitor observing at an arm’s length distance. All the hurt and tragedy of what I had previously seen at the free clinics in the favelas with Lorena came crashing in. I saw not only the hurting people in front of me and heard the crying of the babies there inside Dr. Neves’s sparse clinic, but I felt the hopelessness of the millions of people in Brazil who were ragged squatters; the people who lived in the squalor and poverty of shanties with open sewers and impure drinking water; who faced the daunting and discouraging task of eking out their survival on the streets of the Brazilian cities. I hadn’t experienced the scorching flames of passion and empathy like that before. Nothing in the ego-centered churches of entertainment and comfort where I had spent my life had ever ignited the compassion I was feeling standing in that ramshackle house of a clinic in Brazil.”  ~ An excerpt from"The Happiest Man in the World: Life Lessons from a Cultural Economist." 

New Book!


From his personal experiences visiting some of the world’s poorest and most dangerous places, Dr. James W. Jackson describes the heartbreak of seeing children die of treatable illnesses simply because the doctors and nurses lacked proper medical equipment and supplies. He also shares the joy expressed by doctors and nurses who saw containers full of donated medical supplies arrive just in time to save a life. 

In his inspiring story, Dr. Jackson describes his varied life experiences including: childhood lessons in entrepreneurship, making millions in mountain real estate development, relinquishing his wealth in order to “start over,” serving as an international economic consultant, and later, founding the international humanitarian organization, Project C.U.R.E., which delivers donated medical supplies and equipment to developing country health care facilities.

The book provides an honest and personal assessment of the challenges and professional obstacles that confronted him, as well as best practices for building a “Business of Goodness.” Dr. Jackson challenges people everywhere to learn from his life experiences, and join him in becoming “The Happiest People in the World!”

Trust Accounts (Part II)

In the previous writing regarding our “Trust Account,” we discussed that all I possess today has come to me either as a direct gift from God, or has come to me as a by-product of a “gift exchange,” whereby I took something that had been given to me in the first place and simply traded it for something that I desired even more. Now, I have a fiduciary responsibility, as a “Trustee,” to manage my portfolio of possessions in such a way as to make other people around me “better off” instead of selfishly spending all those possessions on myself. 

We have been given our inheritance for a reason. The owner and grantor of everything has deposited into our Trust Account not only sufficiency for meeting our own needs, but possessions that are expressly for the benefit to others. We have the privilege to respond as “Trustworthy Administrators” and function as an integral part of a plan for meeting the needs of others around us. 

The economic and cultural soul of Romania had been ripped out and trampled by the greedy dictator, Nicolay Ceausescu, and his despicable wife. In 1989, the people of Romania rose up, kidnapped the pair with a helicopter, gave them an informal trial in a farm house and killed them on the spot. But the country was in shambles. Project C.U.R.E. was called in to assess the medical delivery system and to give help. 

Anna Marie accompanied me on one of my trips to Romania in 2002. We flew into Timisoara and drove along the Hungary-Romania border to the city of Oradea to perform our studies. On Sunday we were taken to the peasant village of Cefa where we joined village worshipers at a small frame church. The building included a wood-burning stove in the middle of the congregation, but the real heat came from the worshipers robustly singing from their Romanian books of worship. Average income of the peasant farmers was about $50 US per month. 

After the service, we were introduced to a middle-aged couple and informed that we were going to their house to eat Sunday dinner. They rode their bicycles ahead of us to their village farm about a half-mile from the little church. As we opened the gate the farmyard animals scattered. Above, was an ominous November sky and a cold, misty rain was falling, which made the farmyard a bit messy for walking. 

As we entered the house we were taken directly into the kitchen, which was the largest room in the house and appeared to be the only room with heat. The wife’s name was Marianna and she had already set the long table with plates and utensils. Even though none of the pieces matched, yet the arrangement placed on one of her homemade tablecloths made an attractive setting. 

Marianna had been working on her Sunday dinner for a couple of days. She had special bread baking in her wood-burning oven and a salad of peas, diced carrots, corn and boiled eggs on her rustic cupboard. Pans of chicken and roast pork simmered alongside her potatoes. I watched the peasant farm wife as she flitted through her kitchen. Her feet hardly hit the floor. She had chosen to wear her roadside-market-bought dress for the occasion. It was dark blue with a floral print and had a velvet-type material around the collar. Even though it was a size or two too big, yet the color complimented her dark brown eyes and black hair. But the real compliment to her appearance was the compelling radiance that enshrouded her entire being. She had tapped a gusher of happiness. She was entertaining foreign guests in her own kitchen. She was fully prepared and was enjoying every minute of it. 


About 15 minutes into our meal, four other people showed up at the door, including a Gypsy preacher and his wife. They were all expecting to eat. The little farm wife never missed a beat or seemed the least bit frustrated. She went into another room and brought to the kitchen another small table and four chairs. From somewhere she found additional mix-and-match plates and graciously seated her unexpected guests and began serving them as well. 

As we ate, I continued to be intrigued by the peasant farm wife. She was so happy in what she was doing. She was not allowing her obvious poverty to trump her spirit of creativity and generosity. Royalty lived within the rustic walls of that Cefa farmhouse. I would never forget the look of contentment in the eyes of the peasant woman. 

As we were leaving, the peasant woman was filling up plastic sacks with fresh vegetables, pickled cucumbers, squash and cheese for our friends to take home with them. As we were walking to our car, she made a mad dash to the barn and collected some fresh eggs. From somewhere that peasant couple, living along the border of Hungary and Romania without enough money to even fix their old Russian-made Dacia car, had found the true joy of living through the experience of giving. 

Happiness resides not in possessions hoarded for our own consumption, and not in tarnished gold hidden away in the secret recesses of our souls, but, rather, in the assurance that we are uncomplicated folks, grateful for what we have and graceful enough to share with others when we have the opportunity to help.