We’re pleased to
announce the publication of the debut inspirational novel by Dave Morris!
Would you change
anything you ever did? Self-help guru Jordan O’Brien gets a second chance to
either kill it in life or be proven a fraud. Fans of Og Mandino, Jon Gordon,
and Andy Andrews will love this inspirational tale! As you follow Jordan along
his journey, you’ll discover the path to redemption is paved with faith, love,
and Mulligans—lots of Mulligans!
The immortal words uttered
at the 1993 ESPY Awards by Jimmy Valvano were these:
“To me there are three things everyone
should do every day. Number one is laugh. Number two is think — spend some
time in thought. Number three, you should have
your emotions move you to tears—could be happiness or joy. But think
about it, you laugh, you think, you cry; that’s a full day; that’s a heck of a
day!”
If you’re looking for a heck of a book, grab yourself a copy The Gift of Mulligans.
You’ll find yourself laughing, thinking, and crying!
Quoting Dr. Edward F. Diener, AKA “Dr. Happiness”: “We are showing that happiness has an influence on health—maybe not quite as big as not smoking, but it’s pretty big and it’s bigger than eating your vegetables.”
That was so big, I included it again!
Of course, you could research the boring details about how religion, education, marriage, love, social capital, blah, blah, blah, impact your happiness quotient (I think this is my term, though I’m sure to have plagiarized it from somewhere). You could try to grow happiness or follow a specific recipe, or you could just jump on the Mulligans bandwagon.
Go on, give yourself a break!
Need a second chance to finish that nagging chore or polish that report for work? Take a Mulligan! After all, you just learned something awesome by do it wrong the first time or not doing it at all. This time you can do it better.
And while you’re at it, give someone else a break today when they do something that annoys you. After all, if you get all grumpy about it, you’ll just have to eat more vegetables!
Seriously? How can someone derive power from mulligans?
Just ask Debbie Baigrie and Ian Manuel of Tampa, Florida. You may have read the story or seen it on the news five months ago when Ian was released from prison with Debbie’s help. Twenty-six years earlier Ian, then barely 13, had shot Debbie in the face as part of a gang initiation.
Ian’s first mulligan was given the following year at Christmas. Small, scared and abused in prison, and facing life without parole, he called Debbie collect to apologize and wish her a Merry Christmas. She accepted the call. Friends called her crazy for doing so.
Then he started writing her from prison. She kept all the letters (mulligans number 2 through who knows?). Eventually, she wrote back.
The next mulligan came when the Supreme Court threw out life-without-parole sentences for juveniles who had not been convicted of murder (http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/18/us/politics/18court.html). Debbie Advocated for his early release and urged mercy at his re-sentencing hearing…to no avail—a 65-year sentence was handed down anyway.
Before his release was finally secured, Ian completed his G.E.D. and wrote poems which Debbie posted on her Facebook page (countless more mulligans). I submit that only a powerful human being could persevere beyond ten-years of surgeries and the emotional shock of her experience and behave in this manner. That power came piece-by-piece as she reached inside to grant mulligan after mulligan to someone most would consider unworthy of forgiveness.
Forever free from a toxic and bitter lifetime of holding a grudge, a powerful Debbie Bairgrie greeted Ian with a warm embrace and took him out for pizza. She may not even be aware of the power she both gained for herself and instilled in Ian Manuel, but this is how she framed it for Today:
“We all make mistakes, we all try our best, and life is so short. And if anybody knows how your life can be gone in one minute, it’s me. I understand that. We have to forgive, because if helps us heal.”
Over pizza they talked about their lives and his plans for the future—a future he now has thanks to the power of mulligans!
What an awesome day to receive a mulligan from Henry Day Ford!
Here’s how it all unfolded:
Arriving a few minutes late to an early morning meeting at a local auto dealership, I parked next door (at a competing auto dealer’s lot – Henry Day Ford) where I had seen others from my group park in the past. Please keep in mind that I had never done this before.
After the meeting I approached my car and noticed one of the sales reps from Henry Day Ford moving a car directly behind mine. He exited the vehicle and walked away. Another colleague’s car and a light pole blocked my forward escape route and I saw right away that a new Ford was also parked directly behind his car. I immediately deduced that this tactic was deliberate and probably deserved.
A few minutes later he walked back out to another part of the lot. I hurried toward him and told him that his message had been received and apologized for my inconsiderate actions.
To which he replied not in soft tones, “We have asked you guys over and over not to park here and we’re sick of it! Every Tuesday morning we get this! The boss is about to start towing cars! This is our staging area and we need to get our work done.”
At this point I smiled and said (now this is the part that will make my wife really, really happy), “You are so right. I screwed up and you have every right to be upset. Please note that this is the first time I have ever parked here and know that it will never happen again.”
Then I repeated, “I totally see how this impacts your work and I am very, very sorry.”
His shoulders relaxed and he almost smiled. “I appreciate the way you’ve handled this. I’ll get someone to move the car immediately.”
The moral of this story is that we all need to be good neighbors. He probably doesn’t even realize that he gave me a mulligan. As I drove away, I rolled the window down and thanked him one more time. He smiled and waved. I should have gotten his name. He could have towed my Jeep. He didn’t. He could have put a boot on it. He didn’t.
In a universe that rewards kindness and virtue, something good will come of this for him and his organization. The very least I can do is to give some recognition to Henry Day Ford and ask my colleagues to respect their space going forward.
It was February 23, 2012. 2:15 p.m. My wife and I sat nervously in the small exam room—waiting.
Dr. Smith (not his real name) opened the door abruptly and rushed into the room, while blurting out, “Well, you have cancer.” After which the door closed behind him.
Since being rejected for a life insurance application some six months earlier, I actually expected this outcome. For what quickly followed, however, I found myself ill prepared.
“You’ll need to have this prostate removed within four weeks! But first, we need to get you a nuclear bone scan and some other tests, just to be sure this hasn’t spread.”
“But, Dr. Smith,” I stammered, “didn’t you just tell me during the biopsy last week that at my age (53) I should be considering radiation rather than surgery?”
“That was before we had a solid diagnosis. Standard protocol is removal no longer than four weeks from diagnosis. If you want the robot, I could sure use the practice.” Translation: I am a surgeon with very limited experience and don’t get compensated if you have radiation.
All I could think was, ‘wow!’
I really did expect this diagnosis—really—and felt quite calm in the face of the big ‘C’, but this sales job was just a little too much to absorb.
My response (and I think I was civil in my delivery): “We’ll need some time to process this before making any rash decisions.”
The coming weeks found me the recipient of abdominal and pelvic CT scans and a whole body bone scan (the nuclear variety). With those results in hand I made appointments with two different Radiation Oncologists. The first one was quite anxious to have me start radiation therapy right away. The second one, from the Huntsman Cancer Institute, smiled and calmly said, “With this pathology (one minute sample of cancer cells out of 12 core samples) and a PSA level barely above 4.0, there is no compelling reason to take drastic measures at all just yet. Has your Urologist mentioned active surveillance as a viable option?”
“No, sir. I learned about that option on the internet.”
“All I ask,” he continued, “is that, if you take my medical advice to watch and wait, then be sure to have quarterly PSA results submitted directly to me.”
By early August, a friend referred me to a different urologist. Dr. Jones (not his real name, either, in fairness to Dr. Smith) and I had much in common (age, ecclesiastical responsibilities, a deep interest in basketball, to name a few) and hit it off quite well. By October of the following year the PSA had eclipsed 10.0 and Dr. Jones figured he’d humored me long enough. So, he called and told me that it was time for action.
Two days later we met face to face in serious consultation. “Doc,” I said, “knowing what you know, if you were sitting in my chair, what would you do?”
Without a moment’s hesitation he replied, “I’d have my partner do it.” Dr. Jones stands six feet five inches tall and can easily palm a basketball. His old school scalpel-via-the-perineum (where the person meets the saddle) method has certain drawbacks. His partner, 15 years our junior, was the top expert in the state in the use of the DaVinci robot and had tremendous results. In a split second while eyeing hands the size of catcher’s mitts and realizing where the perineum actually was, I agreed to meet with Dr. Younger (not his real name, either).
The handoff was complete and my date with DaVinci was set for December 13, 2013. That it was a Friday had not occurred to me. It was simply the first available date on his schedule where I could be the first victim, er, patient. Besides my only real superstition has always been to not step on the baselines while heading from the dugout to the field and vice versa. After all, they were only to be stepped on while actually running the bases.
Other than two bouts of bladder cramps (5-10 times worse than passing a kidney stone) in the days following the surgery, my Mulligan was soon complete. My first half-day back on the job was December 31. By January 2, 2014, I was working full days and attending to all of my ecclesiastical duties (I was serving at the time as the bishop of a Young Single Adult ward in the LDS Church).
It’s hard to pinpoint the exact source of this Mulligan. A highly skilled surgeon, multi-million dollar equipment, 150 or so congregants fasting and praying for my recovery, or perhaps even the patented and clinically proven vitamins that I faithfully consume twice each day. While a likely beneficiary of the aggregate impact of all of the above, in my heart I attribute my full recovery and continued status as cancer-free to the Ultimate Mulligan Giver, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
That is certainly not to imply that others who contract cancer and do not survive are not equally precious and watched over by a loving Heavenly Father. I have been extremely blessed to be given a second chance. And what did I do with this Mulligan to improve my life going forward? The next year I lost almost 50 pounds! But that, my friends, is another Mulligan story for another day…
A Friendly Word of Caution: If you are a male over the age of 40, have a waist line of 37 inches or more, or have a history of prostate cancer in your family (this is a hint for my own sons), please get your PSA tested regularly.
I don’t know about you, but I was a big Elton John fan in the 70’s and 80’s. One song in particular that always gave me chills as I listened—okay, and sang along—was Nikita. The lyrics describe a crush on an East German border guard he can never meet—someone with “eyes that look like ice on fire”. Could it be that a Mulligan was in order?
Reflecting on the disparity in the human condition, I always thought how cool it would be if one day those who lived under the iron fist of communism could get a Mulligan. Who could have predicted that just four short years later, on November 9, 1989, that wall would fall?
A crowd of West German citizens gathers at the newly created opening in the Berlin Wall at Potsdamer Platz.
The year 2010 found me attending a Languages in the Media conference in Berlin. While walking along the grounds of the Brandenburg Gate on the former East Berlin side my Blackberry buzzed. It was an email from a business colleague in Moscow, Russia. Momentarily stunned, I marveled at the significance of what by then had become an everyday occurrence—communicating with another who was born behind the Iron Curtain, yet who now cherished the same freedom and values that I had long held dear. That my location in the very moment was in what had once been the shadow of the ominous Berlin Wall instantly caused me to think of these lyrics that had once haunted me as much as they had given me pause to yearn for the freedom of my brothers and sisters.
Such freedom was realized by humanity taking a Mulligan! A re-boot; a do-over; a second chance to get it right after decades of oppression and corruption on the backs of the average citizen.
To all of the Nikita’s out there, I would love to learn of any way that you were able to take full advantage of that Mulligan and pursue your dreams.
Cheers, to your life well lived!
Ice On Fire by Elton John
Nikita
from the 1985 album Ice on Fire by Elton John.
Lyrics by Elton John and Bernie Taupin
Hey, Nikita, is it cold
In your little corner of the world?
You could roll around the globe
And never find a warmer soul to know.
Oh, I saw you by the wall,
Ten of your tin soldiers in a row,
With eyes that look like ice on fire,
The human heart a captive in the snow.
Oh, Nikita, you will never know, anything about my home;
I’ll never know how good it feels to hold you.
Nikita, I need you so.
Oh, Nikita, is the other side of any given line in time
Counting ten tin soldiers in a row?
Oh, no. Nikita you’ll never know.
Do you ever dream of me?
Do you ever see the letters that I write?
When you look up through the wire,
Nikita, do you count the stars at night?
And if there comes a time,
Guns and gates no longer hold you in.
And if you’re free to make a choice,
Just look towards the west and find a friend.
Oh, Nikita, you will never know, anything about my home;
I’ll never know how good it feels to hold you.
Nikita, I need you so.
Oh, Nikita, is the other side of any given line in time
Counting ten tin soldiers in a row?
Oh, no. Nikita you’ll never know.
So, what’s your story? Send questions or comments to:
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