Are You Mr. Browning?

Experiences touched by divine providence reveal the intimacy of God. 

Does God really care about the minute details of your life? Is he really in control of everything, some things or nothing? 
 

For many years I traveled in the worst and most dangerous places on the face of this earth for as many as 250 days of each of those years. Anna Marie would drop me off at the Denver International Airport, and we were aware that it was very possible that with that kiss goodbye we would never see each other again. Some of the times I was most vulnerable were when I traveled alone into a third world country for the first time, depending on someone I never knew to be there to pick me up at the foreign airport. 

From Singapore I boarded Malaysia Airlines to Kuala Lumpur. From Kuala Lumpur I changed planes to Madras, India. It had been agreed that I would be met in Madras, a metropolis of about 10 million people, by a "Mr. Browning.” I had been advised that arriving in Madras in the middle of the night would be extremely dangerous. He would be carrying a placard displaying my name and would be standing just outside the customs exit. 

I was traveling with only two carry-on bags, so I went directly to immigration control, bypassing “luggage pick up.” I was one of the first to leave the secured area and was dumped into the crowded mass of Indian people waiting for the arriving passengers. It was well past midnight. The suffocating crowd included many beggars and lepers. My eyes raced across the crowd searching desperately for Mr. Browning and a placard bearing my name . . . no one. I was trying to be careful not to step on the lepers sleeping on the concrete walkways. As I got closer to the outer edge of the crowd, a small band of desperate-looking Indian teens in ragged clothes began to surround me covetously eying my two carry-on bags. 

I had an instant flashback. My mind took me back to a safari in Kenya. Our guide was explaining to us how the cheetahs and female lions watched the eyes and behavior patterns of the gazelles or water bucks. The ones they picked out to ultimately attack were those perceived to have a flaw, or a weakness or lack of confidence. I thought to myself, "No way! If out of desperation you are looking for panic or lack of direction in someone's eyes you will have to find it in another victim's eyes." I confidently walked straight for an abandoned luggage cart and placed my two bags on the cart as if it had been planned for a year. I turned the baggage cart back toward the terminal and the crowd. There was another entrance to the terminal but it was blocked by Indian police. I pushed my way through the crowd and back into the security of the building. I searched the line again . . . no one! 

The only thing predictable about desperate people is that they are unpredictable. I decided to stay in the building. "Where in the world was Browning?” I spotted an older Anglo-looking couple. I pushed my cart through the crowd right up behind the couple. I reached over a row of short Indians and laid my hand on the old man's shoulder. “Are you Mr. Browning?” I asked. 

"No, I'm Mr. Selz, from Utah, U.S.A." “Well,” I answered. “I am Jim Jackson from Colorado; we are neighbors. I explained my situation to my new friend. “It doesn’t look like my party is here to meet me. This is my first time in this part of southern India. If no one shows up, where would you suggest I stay for the night?” Mr. Selz stroked his stubble-whiskered chin. “Be careful, but I think it would be good if you went to the Trident Hotel . . . that’s what comes to my mind.” With that exchange, the Utah couple found their arriving passengers and disappeared with them into the night. 

I was trying to find a taxi driver who would accept my fare in US money, when I spotted a bus coming across the parking lot. “Trident Hotel” was written on the side. I ran over and stood in front of the bus until it stopped. “My name is Jackson, and I need a ride to the Trident Hotel.” As the driver was putting my bags into the bus, a young Indian fellow called him over to the side, and my ears flapped when I heard the name "Jackson." I knew that I was being set up. The young man came onto the bus where I was sitting, stuck out his hand and asked, "Jackson?" 

I replied, "Are you Mr. Browning?" “No, but earlier this afternoon I made reservation for you at the Trident Hotel. Then he went on to tell me, "I knew if I waited for you to get on the Trident bus I would be able to meet you.” 

“But,” I protested, “I didn’t know The Trident Hotel even existed until a few minutes ago when a stranger from Utah, US innocently suggested I might like the Trident Hotel. He could have suggested the Hilton Hotel. And what gave you the idea that you could wait out in the parking lot and watch me get on the bus when you had no clue as to who I was or that I would ever run out, stop that bus and get on? None of that is connected.” He kindly smiled at me, sat down and rode to the Trident Hotel with me. We both got off together and he walked me to the front desk and disappeared. It was after 2:00 a.m. when I settled into my room. On a small table next to the bed was an ornate basket of fresh fruit and biscuits. Even at that late hour, I ordered a fresh pot of hot tea and went over and over the details of the night in my mind. None of the events made logical sense. I fell asleep that night thinking, “I don’t pretend to know just how all these things work, but I am eternally grateful that God knows who I am and enjoys taking care of me.” Experiences touched by divine providence reveal the intimacy of God.

Parker Bros, Poker and the Myth

Parker Brothers made millions of dollars marketing the table game Monopoly. It takes two to three hours to play a round of the game. Its history can be traced back to 1904 where it was developed as a teaching tool to explain the single tax theory.

Poker is a game where betting begins with some form of forced bet by one of the players. Each player is betting that the hand he has will be the highest ranked. Each of the other players must either match the maximum previous bet or fold.

Both games include one striking similarity . . . one player ends up with “more” only as another player ends up with “less.” They are “zero sum games.” The only way one can gain is at the expense of someone else. It is like an apple pie, if one person eats more another person gets less. Over the years many well-intentioned folks have swallowed this analogy as an axiomatic factor of life. If you have something it is because someone else does not. You took it away from someone else or you wouldn’t have more. It becomes very easy to deduce that the reason we have an abundance of poor people in the world is because we have a few other people who have grabbed a huge portion of the pie and left everyone else without. Before careful examination of the issue, I used to swallow that reasoning hook, line and sinker.

One day I was doing some research for a paper I was writing. The material I was reading raised the fact that the “three richest men in the world” control more wealth than all 600 million people living in the world’s poorest countries. I was tempted to embrace the obvious point, that the reason there are 600 million people in the poorest countries was because the three men had snagged all the money before it got to the 600 million. At that point I had to ask myself the realistic question, “How much additional money would those 600 million persons have in their pockets today had Bill Gates and his two other buddies not earned all that money?” I was forced to answer, “Probably not one additional penny,” because wealth is a different myth. It is not a clump of something . . . it is not a zero sum game. The gains of the winners are not simply products of theft. People can grow wealth if they are allowed to do so. People can create successful enterprise and thus create wealth and can enrich all who are associated with the undertaking. Production is the wealth. At the end of my research I was faced with a different question, “Just why have the 600 million people in the poorest countries not been able to produce more than they have?”

I have walked this world’s slums and have become acquainted with the locations of abject poverty. I wasn’t on a luxury tour bus . . . poverty was the location of my work for 25 years. I have been driven by the belief that something positive can be done to reverse poverty. Strong economies cannot be built on sick people. So, for over 25 years Project C.U.R.E. has been dedicated to taking health and hope to over 125 developing countries of the world.

A most delightful and encouraging phenomenon crossed my pathway while trying to deal with ingrained poverty. The United Nations declared 2005 the International Year of Microcredit. And in 2006 The Nobel Peace Prize went to Muhammad Yunus for his work providing microcredit to the poor.

The idea germinated in Bangladesh in 1976 with the Garmeen Bank delivering small loans at low interest rates to rural poor. The program became a popular tool for economic development throughout the third world and sparked a revolution in micro-entrepreneurship. The newly created enterprises generated employment and the efforts began to create and grow real wealth. Today 75 percent of all microcredit recipients worldwide are women who are now given a chance to establish a sustainable means of income. Growing the enterprises increases disposable income. That leads to more economic growth and development.

The new business owners of the micro enterprises don’t have more because someone else in the village has less. Others in the village, in fact, also end up with more. Everyone starts to become “better off.” What a glorious experience it is to see the power of debilitating poverty being reversed, and people who have been held down by governments and tradition being given an opportunity to become part of the solution rather than the problem.

Using “zero sum thinking” is acceptable at the Parker Brother’s Monopoly board or the challenging Poker table, but please, don’t succumb to the temptation of applying zero sum thinking to the economics of real life.

How Much is Enough?

I was born 9 months before the surprise attack on Pearl Harbor that plunged the US into World War II. The development of the war-time industries needed to aggressively defend our nation actually served to pull the US economy out of the devastating depression of the 1930s. My earliest memories and experiences were shaped by the war-time culture and the attitudes of austerity and frugality. There were always shortages. There was never enough. It was much like the reaction of Scarlet O’Hara after the Civil War as she returned to Tara and declared that she would never be without things and money again . . . ever! 

When the war was over we entered some pretty heady times. The economy had rebounded. Industry and commerce were humming, and the girls and moms who had entered the work force while the men were away fighting simply stayed on at their jobs. Many of the returning military men headed to school to take advantage of the G. I. Bill of Rights and free tuition. I heard it repeated over and over by the grownups, “I will see to it that my kids have it better than we did.” 

It shouldn’t be too surprising, I suppose, that the recent generations have never really concerned themselves with the concept of “How much is enough?” That’s not been the issue. The real issue seems to be “How much can I accumulate?” The kids, grandkids and great grandkids, indeed, have ended up with “more.” But I have yet to be convinced that they ended up “better off.” Our culture has tried to arbitrarily establish some guidelines for enough. When the child is eight years old he or she has had enough of the third grade and will move on with the peers whether the subject matter has been mastered or not . . . an eight year old has had enough of third grade. We set tax laws that say that when you work hard and earn a certain amount deemed “enough,” you will be punished and it will be taken away from you. When you eat too much your stomach can give you an acute warning of enough. But in a heartbeat the taste buds can trump the message and you can madly race on into obesity. 

Until I was nearly 30 years old I had never seriously considered, “How much is enough?” My sufficiency was more than adequate. My thoughts during those early years of austerity were that I would be a millionaire someday. By the time I was 30, I was sixteen times over that. It was then I realized that I was addicted to the game of accumulation. My idea of “how much was enough” was simple . . . enough was one dollar more and one more deal completed. It was then that Anna Marie and I decided that we needed to break that addiction, “cold turkey.” We gave away our accumulation of wealth and started over again. We did not take a vow of poverty or pledge to wear a hair shirt. We simply needed to break the addiction to the mindset of accumulation and realistically deal with the question of “How much is enough?” 

I have tried to become an attentive observer while traveling in the 150 countries I have visited over the past twenty-five years. I am intrigued by cultures where the people have historically dealt with the question of “enough.” And some of the sweetest words in the entire world are those words of personal responsibility that I am hearing from the lips of my own friends and the members of my own culture . . .“Yes . . . that’s enough!”

Cost vs. Value

Economic concepts and economic systems matter. We are individually “better off” when we slow down and begin to recognize the subtle signals of the economic structure and learn what they are telling us. A signal from the “pricing system” reveals to us dependable information that will help us make better decisions. Signals tell the producers what the consumer thinks something is worth. Signals tell me where to go to get the best deal. There is always a healthy friction of discontent between the producer who thinks he is receiving too little for the gallon of milk he produced, and the mom who “just knows” the price is too high. That’s good.

While traveling around the world, I am intrigued as I observe various economic signals. I have seen with my own eyes that if you raise the cost of doing something the people will do less of it. There is no behavior that is not affected by cost.Higher income, for example, becomes one of the greatest controllers of the birth rate. When the people become richer they have fewer babies (one of the cardinal factors of the recent occurrence of genocide in Rwanda . . . the Hutus were out birthing the wealthier Tutsis nine to one). 


But there is another set of signals that I have been trying to process lately. There seems to be a direct and positive correlation between “cost” and “value.” Something that comes without cost to you will more than likely be regarded as of little or no value to you. You assign a higher value to something if it has cost you something. There have been studies showing that a college student who has earned the money for his or her tuition will do better than the student who is on a free ride. A bike that is “earned” is treated better than a “freebie.” 

I had an interesting thing happen to me in the early days of Project C.U.R.E. People who were preparing to travel to a foreign country and desired to take some donated medical goods with them to present to a foreign hospital or clinic, or medical groups needing clinical supplies for their mission, would come to our warehouse and ask us to furnish them with the goods. We began to assemble boxes of about $1,500 worth of donated medical goods and just let them walk out the door with our blessing. Later, however, I discovered that should those well-intentioned people run into difficulties getting those boxes on the airplane as luggage, or should they encounter aggressive border or customs people upon entrance into the country, they would simply turn their backs and walk away from the donated goods saying, “Oh, well, they were free to us and when we need more we can go back to Dr. Jackson and Project C.U.R.E. will always give us more." 

When I learned of what was happening I started charging a fee of $100 for the $1,500 worth of donated goods. That simple personal investment changed everything. From that date forward we never lost a box. And now, even when we donate a huge ocean going cargo container of medical goods valued at close to one-half million dollars, we require the recipient country or sponsoring group to pay the cost of shipping and handling of the container as their “buy-in” requirement. That guarantees that the recipients will be at the customs building in order to protect their investment and see to it that the container is received by the hospital or clinic. 

In my mental processing of this positive correlation between “cost” and “value,” I have come to this conclusion: as a rule of thumb, you can determine the true value to you of something by deciding how much of your personal life you would be willing to exchange for that object or service - because there is no behavior that is not affected by cost. 

The Seed of Possibility

In the spring of 1983 I was invited by Rev. Robert Schuller to present a financial seminar at the Crystal Cathedral in Anaheim, CA. As he welcomed the attendees he asked them an interesting question, “What great thing would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?” I still marvel at the uniqueness and subtlety of that question. Over the years I have tried to deal with the question while embracing the phenomenon of “Possibility.” The conclusion I came to was that I wanted to become a “change maker” and help other people in this world become “better off.”

I believe that Project C.U.R.E. became the vehicle that allowed over fifteen thousand of us as volunteers to help tens of thousands of people in at least 123 different countries become better off. People who were attracted to Project C.U.R.E. ended up with their lives changed for the good. I consider myself fortunate because over the years I was able to see the changes in the recipient hospitals, clinics and even entire healthcare systems wherever Project C.U.R.E. was involved. I vividly remember my dear friend, Dr. Vilmar Trombeta, the head of the University in Campinas, Brazil. “Jim,” he said, “you have brought millions of dollars of medical goods and donated them to our University and to our hospital. But, do you know what you brought most to us? You brought ‘hope’ to us.”

Dr. Trombeta went on to explain, “When you first came to visit us all of our people were excited, but they were secretly skeptical. Other Americans had been here and promised things and then never returned.” He continued, “but after the first container arrived and all of us saw that it was for real, our whole University and hospital changed. Even our staff meetings changed. Instead of our department heads and leaders getting together and complaining because we couldn’t do this or that, they started seeing ways that things could be done. Everything miraculously changed. If Project C.U.R.E. has enough faith in us to give us over a million dollars of medical goods, then we can surely figure out how to get things done with what we have.”

Then, of course, Project C.U.R.E. had brought incredible change to sick and dying moms and dads and kids all over the world, like the ten-year-old girl on the Serengeti in Tanzania, Africa, whose life was miraculously saved. Project C.U.R.E. was not the change, but it had become an “Agent of Change.”And change and miracles have not just happened on the other side of oceans. Some of the most dramatic changes associated with Project C.U.R.E. have taken place in the USA . . . in Denver, Houston, Phoenix, Nashville, Chicago, and eleven other operational cities.

Individuals have had a chance to express themselves in love and caring. The compassion that was bottled up inside of them did not have to be physically taken to a foreign country to be expressed and realized. They had the opportunity to do something for a hurting world in a tangible way right near where they lived. Project C.U.R.E. has been the vehicle that has carried those people’s feelings of love and compassion to the other side of the world and effected change. And it all seemed so impossible at the beginning.

The question Robert Schuller asked the people in Anaheim is equally relevant today. I would like to challenge you today with the very same question, “What great thing would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?” It is very possible that the dream could become a reality in your life if you would dare to act upon it.

Writing Your Story

The story of the Soviet Union is one of sadness, greed and tragedy, not only domestic tragedy but exported tragedy as well. Early on, they had burned through the resources and accumulated wealth of the Czars and were forced to pursue a political philosophy of militarism and expansionism. After they had raped and pillaged Central Asia they still needed more tribute. The only economic component of growth known to their system was taking from someone else. Of necessity, they eventually turned their sights on the resources of Africa, but needed a stronghold. In 1974, a Soviet sponsored coup overthrew Haile Salassie of Ethiopia, the second most populated country in Africa. They established a Marxist-Leninist military junta known as the “Dreg.”

In 1977, neighboring Somalia captured part of Ethiopia. Fifteen thousand troops from Russia, Cuba, South Yemen, East Germany and North Korea arrived to support the “Dreg.” Following the border dispute, the USSR just kept pouring in more “advisors” as well as armaments, tanks, jet fighters, rocket launchers and guns until every strategic location was controlled by the Soviets. Then came the genocide and forced deportations of dissidents to neighboring countries. Man-manipulated “famines” forced millions to become refugees as the Soviet leadership explained, “You don’t need to kill all the fish, simply drain the pond and all the fish will die.” 

The “famines” galvanized the resistance groups under the leadership of Seeye Abraha in the northern regions. They, too, were going to write their story. Another story would be written by a young man of royal linage, Daniel Yohannes, from Addis Ababa who was whisked away from Ethiopia to be educated in the US. Daniel became one of Project C.U.R.E.’s first board members.

For over 20 years the freedom fighters desperately tried to overthrow the Soviet-directed regime but no one came to Ethiopia’s aid. The free world simply said. “Well, some day the Ethiopians will realize that the Soviets are a menace and will throw them out.” The only weapons the freedom fighters had to use against the enemy were ones they could take away from the communists. The only show of international help came from organizations shipping food in response to the “famine.” Much of that aid was confiscated by the communists and sent on to Russia to help cover the food shortages there.

In 1996 I met a dignified Ethiopian woman in Denver. Her name was Tadeleah and her home was Addis Ababa. I met her at a fund raising dinner where I was speaking to help raise money for the shipping costs of millions of dollars of donated medical goods from Project C.U.R.E. into Ethiopia. Tadeleah had been a freedom fighter during the Soviet occupation. Twenty years later she was a Cabinet Member in the newly formed government and Minister of Women’s Affairs for Ethiopia.

On my next trip into Ethiopia I was accompanied by Daniel Yohannes. We were welcomed at the Addis Ababa airport by Seeye Abraha, new Minister of Defense for Ethiopia. Also there were the Ambassador to the US, the Governor of the Tigray region, the Minister of Health, and Tadeleah. All had been leaders of the Ethiopian People’s Revolutionary Democratic Front (EPRKF). They were busily engaged in restructuring a new Ethiopia after the miracle victory over the communists. They were now writing their new story.

One of the evenings I was in Addis Ababa Daniel and I were invited to Tadeleah’s home for dinner. We were graciously received by her three daughters. Her lovely home featured wood floors and comfortable furnishings. Tadeleah had prepared a traditional Ethiopian meal where soft, spongy bread made from teff called “injera” was stacked four layers deep. Each slice was about 20 inches in diameter and the stack covered a low round table where we gathered. Placed on top on the injera were food items, such as spinach, squash, corn, fish, lentil beans and rice. As we talked we would tear pieces of injera from the top slice, pinch or scoop up a vegetable or meat and put it into our mouth. As we were finishing our injera one of the girls placed a covering on the wood floor and built an open fire of charcoal in a cast iron pot. She roasted coffee beans by gently shaking them over the fire and then meticulously brewed the coffee over the same fire. The uniqueness of the ceremony was exceeded only by the aroma and taste of the Ethiopian coffee.

During the dinner I commented about a picture close to the table and asked if the man in the picture was her husband. Tadeleah confirmed that it was and hesitatingly she began sharing with us the heart-rending tale of the price of freedom in Ethiopia. Her husband had been an early leader in the resistance fighting. The communists had captured him and forced Tadeleah to watch as they tortured him to death. Tadeleah became one of the fiercest and most respected leaders in the movement. 

When she was captured she was leading a group of women and girls out from a village that had been surrounded by the communists. They were firing mortar shells and grenades into the village killing the inhabitants in the crossfire. Tadeleah had sneaked into the village and tied the women and girls together in a group so they would not get separated as they attempted to escape to safety in the dark of night. The enemy discovered their escape and caught them. Tadeleah, who was dressed like an old pregnant peasant woman, managed to escape again, but as she was leaving, a young girl with tears in her eyes begged her not to leave them because they would then have nothing and no one. Tadeleah then came back to try to help them one more time. That time the enemy rec­ognized her and she was condemned to death. For the next 13 years she cheated the firing squad but remained in solitary confinement until she escaped again. She told us that close to half of the freedom fighters were women and when the com­munists would capture a group of their forces they would nearly always shoot all the women on the spot because they were the fiercest fighters, being the last to ever surrender their weap­ons. The women could absolutely terrorize the enemy and get the advantage in close hand-to-hand fighting. It was because of the important role that the women had played in the war that they now had been given some of the most important jobs in the new government. I listened very carefully as Tadeleah relived her story.

Rogue nations write their stories, insurgency freedom fighters write their stories, and each individual writes his or her story for history. We are the sum total of every moment and every event of our lives on this earth, and we decide how each episode will shape our story.

Gently Shake Your World

It was Gandhi who admonished his generation saying, “In a gentle way you can shake your world.” Gandhi certainly shook his world during his lifetime. While traveling throughout this world I have met my share of passionate persons who have likewise shaken their world in gentle ways.

One of my dearest international friends was Daniel Kalnin. He was born in the mysterious country of Burma. The British had colonized Burma, bordered by China, India, Thailand and a bit of Laos. Burma had become a strategic defense post for the Brits during World War II. But in 1948 Great Britain decided to pull out of Burma and sail home. The vacuum of leadership and stability threw Burma into political, economic and cultural chaos. They had grown to depend on the British rule of law, available health care, and the advantage of international trading. Power struggles, tribal wars and a lot of bloodshed became the rule.

Daniel realized that if he were to see any of his dreams come true he would have to leave Burma. When he was 18 years old he slipped across the Thailand border and became a fugitive. Eventually, some Americans rescued Daniel and brought him to America where he was educated and where he met his Canadian wife, Beverly. Upon graduation the two of them determined to return to Thailand and work with the hill-tribe people who lived on the border of Thailand and northern Burma.

In Thailand Daniel constructed, with the blessing of the King of Thailand, a small housing development. He tested 27 water sources to find an uncontaminated water supply for the village. None could be used. But high in the mountains he discovered a spring of pure water and built a water project of cisterns and pipelines to serve the people. One of the criteria for families to move into his development was to stop cultivating poppies for opium resale, take ownership of some of his land and start growing a cash crop of coffee. Daniel returned briefly to the US and raised money to buy coffee plants. While here he set up distribution outlets to market the new “Hill-Tribe” coffee brand in America. The villagers discovered they could make more money with coffee crops than poppies. Because of the new water system the villagers became dramatically healthier.

I traveled with Daniel on motorbikes over the steep trails of the lower Himalayas along the border of Burma to his new development of Bayasai and the bustling town of Prau. Daniel showed me the large brown church the people had built with a large red cross painted on the front. It was the only place in the insurgency area where the people from five different tribes were living together peacefully.

In the commercial city of Chang Mai, Thailand, Daniel and Beverly had additionally built the “Home of Blessing.” When I first visited the Kalnin’s home in Chang Mai there were 47 “throwaway girls” ages ten through twelve who had been taken from slavery and prostitution and were being housed, loved and educated in that home. But for 30 years Daniel had been estranged from his family and beloved homeland of Burma. Eventually, Project C.U.R.E. was privileged to join Daniel in returning to Burma and seeing his dreams come true in establishing the highly effective “Barefoot Doctors” organization that has saved literally thousands of the lives of the hill-tribe villagers and citizens of Thailand and Burma.

My dear friend Daniel recently died and I am still grieving the loss. This article is written to the honor of Daniel, his family and his never ending life’s work. Today, I salute him as a true champion because in a gentle way Daniel shook his world!

Gratitude

When I was a kid we used the word “dibs” a lot. I had dibs on sitting next to the door in the backseat of the family Buick on the way to church. I had dibs on the classroom’s leather football for the morning recess. When I was playing little league baseball I had dibs on the mahogany stained Louisville slugger bat with the electrical tape on the handle. I presumed that those positions or objects were sort of birthrights to me and I presumed everybody else had that figured out as well. I never really owned them. I never did anything to deserve them, and I was never really thankful for them . . . I just put “dibs” on them. 

Today, my native culture has graduated to a new level of sophistication. I look around and see my fellow travelers speeding down a newly paved freeway that allows for a much higher speed limit of cultural expression. I still sense the same spirit of “I dibs it,” but now I sense a frightening new power of selfish expression from the driver’s seat of the runaway vehicle. Instead of saying, “I dibs it,” I hear it repeated in rapid-fire sequence, “I deserve this . . . I’m entitled to this!” “Do it for me now!” 

If you look closely enough the seeds of tragedy can be found in the “I dibs it” statement. But the unraveling of civility can be found in the concept of “I’m entitled to this.” Recompense from a position of entitlement separates you from the attitude of gratitude. Why would you consider giving thanks for something that was due you and should have been given to you even earlier? But, Oh, how pleasing it is to hear the sincere and simple expression of gratitude from a meek and unassuming source. 

A couple of years ago Project C.U.R.E. teamed up with the Black Lion Hospital in Addis Abba, Ethiopia. Thousands of children in the area were dying each year with cardiac pulmonary problems brought on by a variety of African childhood diseases. We were able to install the very first cardiac catheterization equipment for children in the whole of East Africa, along with all the necessary supplies. The heart surgeons there are now saving the lives of about two thousand little kids each year! 


Recently, NBC Nightly News and Brian Williams dispatched reporter, Michael Okwu and a crew from Burbank, CA to follow up on our project. First, they visited the Denver headquarters of Project C.U.R.E., then the crew traveled to Addis Abba and the Black Lion Hospital. There, they interviewed little Teclemec’s mother. Teclemec was five years old and dying because her pulmonary artery was so narrow it obstructed the normal blood flow. “She didn’t eat or sleep,” her mother said. “She was a very sick little girl.” Then the Ethiopian heart surgeons worked their procedures and gave Teclemec a second chance to live. 

In the news video clip Teclemec, with sparkling eyes and a most engaging smile, speaks through the translators, “Now I can play and now I can run. Now I can do anything I want to do.” It is a perfect picture of a little girl with a million dollar smile and a mother with a heart full of simple appreciation. In the news segment Teclemec shyly dips her head to the cameramen, and with the countenance of an angel she simply says . . . “Thanks!” 

Oh, how refreshing. How beautiful. How rewarding, because, Gratitude is the soul’s expression of non-entitlement. 

To view the NBC News Clip in its entirety please click below:

Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy

The Colonel and Her Children

It wasn’t a sprint . . . it was a full throttle marathon race across the heartland of Vietnam. This race took me from government meetings with the People’s Party leaders in Hanoi, south to Da Nang, further south to Quang Nam Province, then to meeting Ministry of Health officials, hospital directors and Vietnam Charity Directors. I was assessing scores of Vietnam hospitals where surgery rooms were dangerously inadequate, hospital laboratories devoid of either lab equipment or supplies and discouraged doctors literally begging for medical goods.

When I reached Qn Du Province, the conversations were periodically punctuated with the name “Colonel Thuong Tuong Vi.” I presumed the person to be a Vietnamese military man until I heard someone say “Madame Vi.” Madame Vi was a respected icon and at the same time a mystery woman. When we reached the city of Tam Ky I was informed that we had been extended a special invitation to meet Colonel Thuong Tuong Vi at the “Mercy Center for Performing Arts.”

Thuong Tuong Vi was a full Colonel in the Vietnamese Army, a past member of the Central Committee of the People’s Party and a high profile citizen of the Hanoi cultural society. But, additionally, she was one of Vietnam’s most renowned artistic performers. She was a professional singer and dancer, and had received countless awards for her talents, especially for her entertaining of the military and the People’s Party members.

Madame Vi, however, had become a devout Christian. The change in her life intrigued the Communist Party elite as her comrades watched her go out and collect disadvantaged children from the streets and bring them into her “Mercy Centers for Performing Arts. “I no longer wanted fame and attention,” she told me. “I only had a burning desire to help other people, especially young, disadvantaged children.” Her Center in Tam Ky housed 72 children, in Da Nang she was housing and training 120, and in Hanoi 180 orphans were being housed and trained in the performing arts.

Anna Marie and I were met at the door of the Tam Ky Center by Madame Vi. She was elegant, dignified and graceful. She ushered us into a well-appointed conference room. While we were getting acquainted, Madame Vi shared with us that it was her dream to have Project C.U.R.E. establish and equip a small clinic for the children in each of her Centers. “I want to provide the best for my children, because one day they will be our new leaders. I want them to see and feel what is possible.”

Madame Vi then escorted us upstairs to a small performing theater. When seated, she leaned over and whispered, “God showed me that one day I would no longer have my talents and my beautiful voice, and that I should take those talents now and transfer them into orphans, homeless children, and crippled children who otherwise would have no hope of a good future.” A handsome young Vietnamese boy stepped forward on the stage and welcomed us in flawless English.

The first songs were traditional Vietnamese folk songs, performed beautifully with graceful choreography and hand signing. The mini-concert continued with the words, “In a moment like this, I think of a song, I think of a song about Jesus.” I looked around in amazement. The sound, quality and harmonies were overwhelming. Each word was phonetically sung in perfect English. There was not a smidgeon of doubt that the famed performer had poured her life and talents into the previous urchins. The meticulously trained young singers communicated with warm smiles, direct and sparkling eye contact, vibrant body language and stage presence. They ended the presentation with two familiar Christmas carols and the song, “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands!” I took my eyes off the kids and looked around again. Everyone in the room was crying! It was a performance I shall never forget.

When the performance was over we were once again directed to the conference room where they had prepared lovely dishes of hot Vietnamese snack foods and tea for us. There, I promised Madame Vi that I would help her get her clinics for the Centers. I also asked her about what her People’s Party friends thought about her selection of songs.

“I teach diversity of culture,” she said. “I teach the underprivileged children perfect English. The officials love it. I first teach the children to sing the songs phonetically. While learning the lyrics they begin to ask questions about what the song writer was saying. I just simply answer all their questions so that they can sing the songs with understanding and feeling. Strangely, they all fall in love.”

“You see,” Colonel Thuong Tuong Vi confided to me, “I can’t go back and start a new beginning, but I can start today and make a new ending!”

You Can't Do That!

Indeed, you would be a wealthy person today if you would have received $20 for every time somebody hollered in your ear, “You can’t do that!” I’ve never figured out who it is that appoints and empowers all those guardians of the culture who are so intent on policing your possibilities. But there certainly is no shortage of volunteers who are eager to tell you not only that “you can’t,” but also give you “viable” reasons why you can’t. 

I have discovered, however, that one of the greatest joys in life is accomplishing something that other people adamantly declare cannot be accomplished. There seems to be within the nature of mankind a spirit that resists the declaration of the impossible. We want to keep turning the tumblers of the combination lock until we hear that magical “click” that opens the hasp. 

The intriguing history of Project C.U.R.E. is a simple sequence of happenings and miracles that people declared up and down would not and could not take place. I recall the prodigious occasion of my receiving a personal invitation from Great Leader Kim IL Sung to travel to North Korea and join him in celebrating his 81st birthday. I would be required to obtain a visa to be able to travel to Pyongyang. 

Let your imagination run as to the reaction of the staff persons in charge of the “Korea Desk” at the Department of State Building in Washington D.C. when we informed them of the personal invitation and the simple request for help in securing a visa to Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. “No, you don’t have a personal invitation from North Korea. We can’t get anybody into Pyongyang. You will be held hostage there. It is a Hermit Country and you can’t go there! We are here to keep people like you from creating an international incident.” 

Well, it’s been about 19 years since my first trip to DPRK. I have returned eight times and, believe it or not, the US State Department even entrusted some of the top DPRK decision makers to me and allowed them to come to Colorado and stay in our guest house. We have taken millions of dollars worth of medical goods to the needy people of that country. I was there when the dam broke on the Yalu River and tens of millions of dollars worth of damage occurred. We were the only ones to go to their aid. And there is a certain sense of pleasure that comes when I hold in my hand the first shipping license issued to Project C.U.R.E. by the U.S. Commerce Department and Department of State to deliver ocean going cargo containers of donated medical goods directly into the North Korean port of Nampo. 

I believe that one day in the not-too-distant future there will be a grand reunification of the two Koreas. I have even presented to the United Nations a paper encouraging those possibilities. But always in my ears I hear people saying, “That can’t be done . . . you simply can’t be a part of that!” And traditional logic and perceived reality would robustly second that motion . . . “That can’t happen!” 

But I have a word of encouragement for you today. If you cradle a dream in your heart and you desperately believe that dream can take wings and fly like an eagle, and you have dedicated yourself and your creative energies to seeing that dream become reality, then, pick up that combination lock again, embrace it and begin turning the tumblers with gentle passion until you hear that God-sent “click” resound in your heart. Can you imagine the joy and excitement of seeing the hasp of that lock fall open and with your own eyes, what others had declared, “That can’t happen, ”. . . you actually see become reality?