Today is the birthday of one of my dear friends. Special to me for many reasons, I have come to rely on her carefulness. This friend is never glib, reckless or impetuous. Instead, she is thorough. Conscientious. Wise. She takes time to think, and when she does share her advice, it is rock-solid and takes into account potential risk that I and others may not see.
My friend's way of being reminds me of my father, a man who embodied caution and carefulness, who was simultaneously risk-aware and conscientious.
There were times when my father's caution annoyed me, such as the day he first handed me the keys to our family station wagon. With a new drivers license tucked into my wallet, I was high as a kite, ready to navigate the streets of my hometown of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, to claim some independence and no longer depend on my parents to drive me. What did my father say to me as he handed me the keys? I'm handing you the keys to a death machine. You have the capacity to kill with the car you will drive. You are responsible for every life you carry in the car, and you are responsible not to take the lives of other people on the road. I kid you not. That's what he said. Whoa! There I was, ready to accelerate into independence, and my father, like a brake, slowed me down to contemplate the risks associated with my new freedom.
Even at the time I heard his little speech, though, I knew that my father's goal was not to be a killjoy; instead, underneath that speech was love and care. My dad's selfless service to me and to everyone with whom he interacted gave me a foundation to know those words were shared in love. He cared deeply that I would be safe in my car, that I would guard the safety of those who rode in it, that I would never hurt someone else and that I would never experience the excruciating tragedy of having done so.
In his university career, my father's thoroughness was valued highly. He could be depended upon to be conscientious. His words, carefully chosen, were highly regarded. Yes, he had a sparkle and wit as well, a mind brimming with curiosity and a humility that endeared him to others. My dad supported my mother in her career, as she took choir after choir of 7th through 12th grade students on performing tours across the United States in caravans of buses and vans. My father felt acutely the responsibility for the lives of those young people on tour. In a conversation in the year before his death, he remarked quietly, We brought them all back. Their lives mattered deeply to him, and he had carried the weight of responsibility for their safety, quietly, in the core of his being. His caution, though, was by no means his only defining characteristic: students remembered much more his pick-up games of basketball with them, his taking photographs and videos that captured their growing-up years and their journeys into adulthood, his teasing and humor.
In the language of Strengths, the particular talent my dad shared with my friend is the Deliberative talent, which can contribute to our families, work groups and community that brake and caution we need. At a time when speed has become a high-order value in our culture, when we're pressured for instant action and instant response, we at times find ourselves plunging into rushed, ill-considered plans, failing to anticipate downstream consequences, failing to anticipate what can go wrong. Those who embody the Deliberative talent can contribute mightily to our lives and work, helping us slow down, anticipate what can go wrong and prevent wreckage that in our rush we might otherwise cause.
After my father's death at the end of 2012, our home church was packed with hundreds of his colleagues, friends, nieces, nephews and former university students as well as those who had been on those cross country tours. In the eulogy, the minister captured many dimensions of my father's nature, the full spectrum of which could never be captured in a single word or label. As he wrapped the eulogy to a close, though, the minister shared that my dad's last two words in every conversation with his family were Be careful. The minister then turned that word careful around, suggesting that it meant, in my dad's life, full of care.
Oh, how I appreciate my Deliberative friend. And I celebrate my Deliberative father, whose care was shared not with glee and glib, but with a deep wisdom and from deep love.
Happy birthday, dear friend. And I love you, my dear father.
For more information on Gallup's approach to Strengths, or to take the Clifton StrengthsFinder™ online, go to https://www.gallupstrengthscenter.com/
