This is what I was facing, shortly after removal from Bosch. A slow death, punctuated by a race that could never be won, chasing after the next job, praying prayers that just bounced back, rejection after rejection.
God’s plan was clear on one thing:
…“Break up your unplowed ground and do not sow among thorns. ‘
The Impostor came from this moment, as God asked for a point of obedience, a sign belonging to a new approach. Removing the relational adultery that permeated needed a relational healing, one that no amount of my effort could engender. Only surrender and repentance would do.
Naked, ashamed, embarrassed; the fig leaf of my own effort stripped from covering what I deemed essential. The emotional register of releasing and abiding, crusty with age, still sitting and patiently waiting for me to come closer. The Spirit revealing, encouraging, drawing, transforming. Emerging from a cocoon of my own pride into the grace of being known and loved.
Walls speaking to me – the recipe for life:
Birthed beyond obedience is a vision, one for servant leaders, and one that encompasses building people by serving them in ways ancient and modern. But, God’s blessing is only given in this boundary of obedience.
Sometimes life hands you a wry observation, and the absurdity lands directly on humor. In this case, it’s Sallman’s ethereal, perfectly composed Jesus — the product of careful artistry, mass-produced reverence, decades of dignified church walls — keeping solemn watch over… someone’s hastily scribbled “Restroom” note, probably written on whatever paper was handy and taped up with packing tape.
The contrast is perfect. The eternal and the immediate. The carefully crafted and the “we need a sign right now.” The sacred portrait and the practical scrawl.
It’s like the whole history of trying to make faith proper and presentable, presiding over the reality that most of life is hastily scribbled notes and making do with what you have. The gap between our careful theology and our “we need a bathroom sign” moments.
And somehow Jesus is there for both. The reverent portrait and the scribbled necessity. Not choosing sides, just… present.
Watching over the whole beautiful, ridiculous, very human mess of it.
Servant leaders do this often, and a childlike view of the world is all it takes. Seeing the edges, noticing. Laughing at the absurdity. Not the sarcastic, the bawdy, not at the expense of others, but the joy of connecting, of seeing, of delighting.
And then there’s Robert Greenleaf:
Choosing to give us a last wry look over his life, knowing that his serious works live in the tension of who he was as a person, a human.
My admonishment to you today is to slough off the serious demeanor, to be open to what life gives, and to heartily laugh when the time comes for it.
Today, I’ve been vexed by a small passage in Luke 24. Two people, one named Cleopas, were heading to Emmaus from Jerusalem, despondent, probably trudging. Jesus appears and walks alongside, hidden from them for the time, asking about what they are talking about. He listens, giving space and time for their grief. But, there’s a sudden turn:
He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” – Luke 24:25-26 NIV
This seems to be harsh, even unloving. But, digging down, foolish is probably a harder word than Jesus used – the Greek word anoetoi is closer to “unperceiving” than “stupid.” It’s not “you’re idiots.” It’s “you’re not seeing what’s right in front of you, and you have everything you need to see it.”
They had all the information — they even know about the empty tomb and the angels’ report (Luke 24:22-24). They just can’t assemble it into meaning. They’re not ignorant. They’re grief-stuck. The data is all there and they can’t see it because their framework for what the Messiah was supposed to do has collapsed.
Notice what Jesus does right after — he doesn’t lecture them for being slow. He walks them through the whole narrative, Moses through the prophets, and lets the story do the work. He doesn’t say “I’m the Messiah, you fools.” He shows them the shape of the story and lets them arrive at recognition on their own. Which they do — but not until Emmaus, at the table, in the breaking of bread. The head knowledge from the road wasn’t enough. It took embodied encounter.
Jesus didn’t mince words, didn’t back away from the confrontation, but lands a sharp word with grace afterwards. In other words, Jesus listened, gave a rebuke, then showed truth. Discovery, definition, and agency on a walk to a small town.
My experience also shows that wounds can be inflicted when the larger healing of the group is necessary.
During a Philmont trek, the crew had abandoned the Ranger-trained cooperative dish-washing system in favor of “everyone washes their own.” I found a dirty dish at camp and trash near the bear bags. At supper, I expressed direct anger about the lapse — not out of control, but clear and pointed. The crew was shaken. The Chaplain (one of the leadership positions of a crew) was incensed.
This even escalated to our feedback rounds later, where the Chaplain directly asked me about feedback that I had given about using the prescribed methods of cleaning, which I was glad to expound upon. This, as you may imagine, continued the feelings of anger (rage may be a better word).
But, after the feedback session, with everyone stewing, I patiently asked for Roses, Buds, and Thorns (giving more of an emotional tone from the day). The crew lit up, sharing stories of their Baldy summit: the difficulty of the climb, standing at the top, mini-bears that tried to steal their lunch, the pound cake they’d hauled up and wished they’d saved a piece. I ended the rounds with the Roses, in order to quell the hard feelings of confrontation.
The next morning, the Chaplain was navigator. Walking together on the trail, I asked a few questions of him, being the second in line: “Was I out of control last night?” No. “Can a servant leader express anger directly?” Yes, after thinking. “Did you see what I did with the Roses?” A look of recognition crept over the Chaplain’s face as he understood: healing can take place after the catharsis.
Servant leaders are unafraid of emotions that are hard, and sometimes deliver these emotions without fear. And, servant leaders don’t wound and leave, they wound and stay to heal afterwards.
I watched something happen recently that I didn’t plan.
A man who had poured nearly fifty years into a volunteer organization was facing its end. He’d built it, rebuilt it after it collapsed once before, and now — with his own health declining — he was preparing to attend what he believed might be the final gathering. The eulogy was half-written in his head.
At the same time, a woman appeared. A retired educator who had spent her career turning failing institutions into thriving ones. She didn’t have the typical credentials the group expected. She didn’t fit the profile. But she had fire, and she had a vision that started not with programs or curriculum but with a spaghetti dinner — gathering people around a table before asking them to do anything else.
My role was small. I introduced them. Not to the person — I introduced her to his story. I told her about his faithfulness, his quiet generosity, the decades of showing up when no one was watching. I told him (in front of the people who would carry the work forward) what I’d seen him do, in plain language, without exaggeration, because absolutely none was needed.
That night, this man received something vision can’t provide: the knowledge that someone saw his faithfulness and spoke it out loud to the people who needed to hear it. He didn’t need another award – he had plenty of those. He needed to be known — not evaluated, not recognized from a stage, but known by someone who could tell his story to the person who would carry it next.
And the woman who walked in without the expected credentials? She didn’t need permission. She needed context. She needed to understand that what she was inheriting wasn’t a failing organization; it was a living legacy built by someone who would move heaven and earth to get to yes.
The servant leader’s gift in that moment wasn’t eloquence or strategy. It was the willingness to make someone else’s story the center of the room. To bear witness to another person’s faithfulness without any benefit to yourself. To give someone else eyes. And to stay quiet when the connections happen.
Servant leadership is setting tables you don’t sit at the head of. And the most important ingredient isn’t the agenda or the program or the strategy.
It’s knowing who needs to be in the room — and then getting out of the way.
This morning, I am contemplating a small desk ornament, a testament of my time at Bosch. A time, where we shut down many small legacy systems, and spun up SAP to replace them.
This was a hard project – integrations are never easy, but ripping and replacing – this is difficult and painstaking work. Living in fear of regression – of users wanting their old systems back, we stuck to the task of building something new. The sledgehammer shown was insightful as a metaphor.
But, my reflection today is not the past; it is the present – a wall.
Servant leaders find walls all the time as they interact with others. Some walls are God-given, some are protecting wounds, some are just neutral space – but all are protecting something.
The temptation is to swing the sledgehammer, especially at walls we sense are hiding a wound. To get in, to fix, to force healing – isn’t this the way to help others?
To these motivations (which I am subject to as well), I raise one word – patience.
Sometimes, as a servant leader traces the boundary, an entrance emerges. This entrance may be small, may not even be seen easily, but certainly one left as the boundary was constructed.
And this is the place for the servant leader – not to smash in a weak place, but to softly knock. Softly knocking, as a request for attention, a gentle request, an invited entrance.
Jesus does this for us as well:
“Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends. – Revelation 3:20 NLT
Give the person you are serving the chance to see your patience, to invite you in, and to spend time within their boundary as a place of fellowship.
I’ve been on a journey with AI, specifically Claude.AI. In this journey, I’ve moved, and changed. I started as a resistor to AI, calling it a “stochastic parrot”, only using it for resume building and cover letter creation.
In the midst of this, I formed a boundary – this blog. I even set up signs on the walls – “This blog is 100% handwritten – no AI”.
Yes, there were some elements of truth here – Claude didn’t create this blog (it existed mostly before LLMs were a thing, starting in 2020). The Servant Leader principles are written by me, and they stand as testament to a time where I saw these principles being underwashed by a steady tide of friendly leadership development – activity without soul, without the struggle of philosophy, bereft of the power that animates them.
Claude helped me on this post – not to write it, but to tighten the arguments.
Since then, he has been my writing companion, suggesting a phrase here, calling out a weak point, strengthening the prose, and standing out of the way when the emotional fire was in conflagration. Like a good editor, Claude knew when to preserve my voice, and when to shape it.
But, I can see the cracks – the places where “100% Handwritten” was no longer a valid claim. It became a fig leaf outfit, just like Adam and Eve sewed up when discovering their nakedness.
When Adam and Eve took on their new corrupted identity, they lost the pure freedom God gave them when they were in the Garden, substituting a pseudo-freedom of knowing (and distance from God). God, in his everlasting kindness, reached out anyway, and gave them new clothing, but not without sacrifice and grace.
My own journey is this then – I needed to put on new clothing. I learned a new skill along the way – co-creation. Not that my voice, distinct as it is, is lost – rather that it is enhanced and enabled by a new structure, one that takes my half-formed thoughts and builds toward something new, something unique, and something substantial.
From now onwards, I can’t (and won’t) make the claim that this blog is entirely written by me. It will never be 100% anything – but a weaving of intelligences, guided by God’s hand.
I’ve been in interviews lately, as I look for the next phase God has for my life. These bring up the natural tension of expressing my leadership philosophy without calling attention to me; servant leadership without The Impostor.
I can’t say with any clarity that I’ve done well with this, especially with the forced-question interviews I’ve had of late.
Most of the questions, while well-intentioned, have focus on capabilities and have ignored the real need for leadership. Unexpressed are the gaps that they have for listening, empathy, and healing as the basic posture of the servant leader.
Winding back the clock, though, I wish I’d been more present with my statements, my desires for the arc of the interview, for seeing the person behind the question.
I’d like to ask better questions, to take measure of the organization’s health, of the underlying query to see if I am substantial.
I’d like to offer myself, not as the savior or the all-knowing, but as the person who can hold the tension, uncover the humanity, and give humanity back.
At the end, I’d like the person performing the interview to have been seen beneath the surface, and have been met with dignity, grace, and compassion for where they are as humans.
This is my prayer today.
Selah
Moving into these spaces, not intentionally hiding, but also not forcing; transformation happens one cupped hand at a time.
(This is a continuing story – Part 4 is found here, or if you’re just dropping in please go here for Part 1)
After the Bosch presentations wound down, and the group got smaller, we changed the location for our meetings. In Lincoln, conference rooms were cleverly named by the paint color on the walls, we moved from the Red conference room to the White conference room. Of course, the White conference room was smaller, more intimate with ten chairs around two tables, arranged in a “U” (three sides), with a projector shining on the fourth wall of concrete blocks used on the outside of the building; you can imagine that the wall was painted white.
Our meetings were meandering, not focused, and frankly looking for something to do; we had checked off most of the issues from the complaint list by this time, either by solution, by handing off to the appropriate manager, or by tabling it as too hard. So, the group was looking for its next effort. I started discussing how projects could be started, including a lightweight portfolio management; none of this computed with them, their calipers weren’t calibrated for this kind of thinking yet.
Pivoting, I gave them a project – the File 5S project. In case you aren’t versed in 5S methodology, here is a small explanation:
5S (Five S) is a workplace organization method that uses a list of five terms – ‘sort’, ‘set in order’, ‘shine’, ‘standardize’, and ‘sustain’.
The initiating issue was the share drive of the service organization, which allowed anyone to put anything out on it in any way they felt would work. And with this many anys, you can imagine – it was a mess.
It was, in retrospect, a perfect project. They all had felt the pain of trying to find something in the morass. People would just sling links in an email, and forget the diligent maintenance. Documents were in various states of use, non-use, and decrepitude. No one really understood it all, including me; I’d been there around 3 years at this time, and I still had to ask at times to find the right place.
I did set up some constraints on the group with this project. From a former life as an IT support person, I knew that putting spaces in a filename would make it harder to forward links through text-based platforms like email. From a former life as a data security responsible, I knew that documenting the responsible party for a file is important. And, from my life with this new location, I knew that a common structure would be helpful in navigating, but a rigid structure would be stifling and rejected.
We got to work; I made a proposal for the root of the drive – all departments would get a folder (SRA1, SRA2, SRA3, and SRA4). From there, the second layer would be also rigid (i.e. “100-OrganizationDocumentation”). The third layer, would be carried out by the department (i.e. “100.01-FocusGroup”). Subsequent layers (fourth and up) were at the discretion of the department, but could also be numbered directly.
We discussed, listened, and honed over what the second level was going to be; my recollection was that it was 6 folders. We documented our way through this, all agreeing to how this would operate, then we created our first folders. Then, we moved all the Focus Group documentation in (there was quite a bit by this time), using it as our test. Finally, we put the document on the root of the drive, calling it FileSystem5S.doc. We also created a plan, using the CIP Project Template (1 11×17 sheet with all elements of a small project, like the GANNT chart), and launched. We anticipated that this would be a yearlong project, and it turned out that we were right.
Fred, of course, gave the direction to the supervisors to start the movement in their organization. But, strategically, the supervisor had an ally – the department’s Focus Group member. They themselves, understanding and executing the vision, could assist with the movement, and develop what the department needed. One of their own was deeply involved, taking care of the file movement, and the attendant process changes. Progress was made, sometimes quite quickly.
We ended up choosing an easily-measured KPI – folders on the root. It was meant to be as low as possible, but not lower than 4. Transparency, ease of collection, and visible progress was assured by this counting.
There were inevitable squabbles over who was responsible, especially for dual-departmental use folders. There were some folders that no one claimed; they were eventually moved to a root “Archive” folder, and deleted after 6 months of no claim. There were difficulties with software like Bartender, which demanded a rigid structure. There were some that just didn’t want to move their folders out of familiarity. But, we all could see the numbers trending down, and the three first S’s (“sort, “set in order”, “shine”) were done equally and in parallel.
Certainly, there was much work going on, new ways to handle processes, new organizational capability addressed. Some folders were left empty, with just a file to show the new location for a few weeks. The review of the Archive folder was ongoing, and also coming down.
After 8 months or so, we were down to a few stubborn file structures; most were migrated by this time, and the last ones were the hardest. But, perseverance won, and by month twelve, we had four root folders, after we ceremonially deleted the Archive folder. We were at Standardize now!
But, one more last lesson was to be learned.
Probably about two months after Standardize was achieved, I was looking at the shared drive, and saw a new folder, sticking out conspicuously in our pristine root. I showed it to the Focus Group, and they only had one question for me: how to determine who created it. After showing them how to get this information, the folder disappeared – the respective member had taken care of it. The Focus Group was now monitoring and maintaining what we gave blood, sweat, and tears over; they learned that difficult things can be achieved together over an extended period.
This is also the first time I ever saw Sustain implemented effectively, over long periods of time, in any environment.
Servant Leader Lessons
Conceptualization – I saw the need, and created a vision (how could this share drive work for us)
Persuasion – I couldn’t manage this transition all on my own, I needed the help that the Focus Group brought, and they caught the vision without needing to be forced
Foresight – With prior experience, I brought the knowledge of not using spaces in file structures and aligning responsibility to a department as my enabling wisdom
Community – the Focus Group became a group here; accountable to one another, working together on cross-department folders, and encouraging to keep momentum up as the folder count went down
Healing – the Focus Group, who couldn’t think in systems a year ago are now guarding a system they built. The Focus Group also discovered they could do hard things together over time.
(This is a continuing story – Part 3 is found here, or if you’re just dropping in please go here for Part 1)
The Focus Group, as we continued to press forward in the complaints given, started to uncover some larger issues, some that required holistic approaches – one of which was the wound of the takeover by Bosch. Acquired by Bosch three years before, with little change management beyond wall posters and paychecks – the site had really no idea about this proud company.
I however, had 20+ years with Bosch at this time, parachuting into a new community and a new location. Steeped in the training and culture of Bosch, I was an outsider to the Lincoln facility; shaped by processes I sometimes identified (management leadership development, outside training), and sometimes caught (need to understand German language/culture, moving around different organizations to broaden my view). To say I was a Bosch guy would be entirely accurate – I agreed with and upheld the Bosch Values, and had traveled to Germany enough to understand the cultural significance of decisions far away.
The stage was being set – the solution was to bring my understanding of Bosch to the Focus Group. I pondered over what was really necessary to understand, not to overwhelm, but to get a significant sense of how the company is built.
Digging in, I discovered something never known to me – the bedrock assumption that kept the independence of the company. Robert Bosch Industrietreuhand KG has a 93% stock voting rights, and has on its board some of the former managers of Bosch. However, Robert Bosch Stiftung GmbH (the foundation) holds 94% of the stock in value, and receives the profits to do good works. This balance, a governance model where power and profit are held in tension, where neither entity can consume the other without destroying itself, I saw as deeply innovative, and is very fitting for Bosch.
Building the presentation, I took this new learning, with a brief introduction of Robert Bosch himself. I then added some slides discussing the Bosch Values, and described the structure of the company. Three large business areas were next (with some example product divisions that would raise some eyebrows). Putting this into a presentation timed in at 20 minutes; enough to shift perspective without overwhelming.
The Focus Group got the first pass; sitting quietly as I unraveled this proud company to them, showing a glimpse of the company to whom they belonged. I received little feedback from them other than “everyone needs to hear this!”
This was the Focus Group’s first act of upward delegation — directing management to act on what they had discerned. And Fred and I couldn’t argue with it! So, Fred and I pondered this at our next one-on-one meeting together, and formed a plan – building a set of meetings, around 15 associates, twice per week, with mixed groups, registered with HR as a mandatory formal training. We got to work bringing the message to our service organization.
While I can’t say this was immediately healing to the associates of service, I did see some changes, some movement. For instance, I had heard more than once the complaint that it was better before Bosch came – without the realization that the company was foundering before it was acquired. This feedback stopped, and the organization seemed to accept a small part of the healing needed to keep pushing forward.
The Focus Group, however, had one more lesson, one that was not planned, one that was harder to swallow. Shelly had her powerful voice silenced, as she was terminated, the wolf at her door could not be forestalled.
Fred faced the questions, the ire of the group, the feelings of “me next”. While he sat and faced the onslaught, he understood that trust had been damaged, that healing will be slowed, that momentum would be diminished.
Ultimately the group decided to stay together, to effect change that they were already seeing was possible – wounded, but not defeated.
Servant Leader Lessons
Conceptualization – Fred and I saw the wound below the feedback, and knew it needed addressing; the Focus Group affirmed this and gave direction.
Stewardship – building a new way of looking at Bosch within a half-hour rather than forcing a larger and lower-valued training.
Community – Mixing the presentation groups brought disparate associates together into a first understanding of our working together
Healing – The Focus Group saw that not only did they need to know about Bosch, but all the organization needed this. They also needed healing from Shelly’s departure.
(This is a continuing story – please go here for Part 5)
I’ve written earlier about how a servant leader struggles with their impact. But what happens when the positive measurement is brought to you?
In the life of the servant leader, sometimes comes recognition that this leader has impact, and others recognize this. It may be in the currency of compliments, awards, or even compensation.
I use a test myself to measure the guardrails of the servant leader, to make sure the desire to serve remains the utmost goal:
Did I seek this?
A recognition sought by any means is anathema to the servant leader. Awareness must be brought to the motives of the leader, and purging of the dross must happen, else The Impostor is reigning. He is cunning, skillful, and corrupting, and must be diligently guarded against.
Should I share this?
Rarely is recognition of a leader happening in a vacuum, but it is a reflection of those being led. Broadening the context of the recognition, giving due to the community that the leader serves, is modeling the Best Test when it would be tempting to keep the recognition to yourself.
Does this feel like just flattery?
Sometimes recognition is given that is bereft of meaning. Recognition like this can be met with grace, depending on the giver – someone in power may not be ready to hear rejection.
Sharp awareness when this type of recognition is given avoids the regrets later — holding it loosely, allowing it to drain away, defeating the haunting chimes of The Impostor taking hold.
Is the group giving this?
A group well-served may choose to give regard to the leader. These moments can be deeply satisfying, but also raise underlying tension, as the group may feel led rather than supported. Addressing these moments when they come is recognition as well. Sometimes a skillful reversal, a pull-in of the group is warranted; sometimes meeting it with uncomfortable grace is best.
When recognition has come to my life, I have not always been up to the task, been blindsided by it, and caught in its charm. The Impostor is always close at hand. But asking these questions quickly forms the wall I need, the wisdom to detect sincerity.
The cost of servant leadership is not without reward, just that the rewards must be worthy of the cost.
