By: Steven Andrew Schultz

I’m Batman! And so are you.

One of the things I admire most about the Batman character is he is the only superhero without superpowers. Batman is just Bruce Wayne with a cape and the courage to fight for what’s right. It’s not vengeance that drives him, but virtue.

Here’s a guy with all the wealth in the world and could easily just be consumed with himself and his lavish cocktail parties, but what does Bruce do every time the bat signal breaks through the clouds of Gotham? He excuses himself from the wealthy elite of the city and sacrifices himself in service to strangers.

You don’t need a cape to be a hero. You just need empathy to notice a problem and the temerity to provide a solution. One of the reasons Gotham is so dark and dangerous is not solely because of the corrupt politicians covertly working with the criminals they allow to run amok, it’s all the everyday folk of Gotham who when they see the Bat Signal, wait on one man to solve their problems. Imagine what Gotham would be if every time the people of Gotham saw the Bat Signal, they said the two most infamous words from the franchise: I’m Batman!

In class, I dressed up as Batman to give a lesson on characterization, and one of my students in my Honors class asked me to say those two words in my best Batman voice and I acquiesced and belted out in my most intense voice: “I’m Batman!” The class laughed and I asked this student to give us his impression and he responded, “Nah, I’m good.” And encapsulated in those three words are why so many cities like Gotham, aren’t good.

We all must be less Bruce and be more Batman. Meaning, we must shift from a self-absorbed, scared, apathetic “Nah, I’m good” attitude and elevate to a “Now, I’m going to do good” service to others courageous mindset. Batman is brave. Be brave…be Batman!

My grandpa Hill used to say to me, “When you see something wrong, see to it that it’s made right.” And the first step to being Batman is seeing what’s wrong, who’s hurting and needs help. Batman is looking for the Bat Signal, are you?

The second step to being Batman after noticing the Bat Signal is looking in the mirror and saying, I’m Batman! I tell my writing students they must see something before they can say something, so start paying attention and notice what’s happening around you and inside of you…get in touch with your core, your “magma” and then let your “lava” out. As leaders, you must let your lava out and do something when you see something. My grandpa was right, and right now you must make a decision that your life will be about elevating the lives of others without any expectation of a reward in return.

What does Batman get for his troubles spending his nights serving the people of Gotham? Besides all the villains coming after him, many elected officials, media, and other powerful people blame him and make him the scapegoat for their failures. Sadly, being attacked is part of being the solution. Like a teeter-totter, you will have to lower your ego to the bottom in order to elevate others up in love and just stay down there, as most people you help will not give you the bounce back.

Now, you may get action figures and movies made about you, but most of being Batman involves rebuilding what others broke and no one ever knowing who you really are.

Case in point, the other day some students were goofing around on their way out of class and one boy bumped another into my desk and he broke this custom Lego teeter-totter a former student made for me. As my prized piece of art was wrecked in pieces on the floor, those that broke it just fled the scene. But a Batman did emerge as a student who had nothing to do with its wreckage, picked up the pieces and put it back together for me.

All around you are pieces that are waiting for you to put back together. Are you noticing the Bat Signal and are you doing something about it? You don’t have to answer every call, but you must find a call to answer.  

Maybe you notice the Bat Signal for all the hungry people, and you don’t feel equipped to answer the call like my former neighbor did who is a chef and started a non-profit business called Bracken’s Kitchen where they drive food trucks around and feed the hungry hearty, healthy meals for free. But you can answer it like I do where I buy food and feed at least one student every single day.

Maybe you notice the Bat Signal for corrupt politicians but don’t feel confident to run for public office yourself, but you can volunteer for someone’s campaign and get people registered to vote, informed to vote properly, and gain donations so this good person can defeat the corrupt ones.

Maybe you notice the Bat Signal for the homeless but don’t have the capacity to house someone, but you can be like the people of King of Glory church who through their King’s Kitchen program provide meals, temporary shelter, clothing and company for those in need.

The truth is, you might not be a billionaire like Bruce Wayne and so maybe you don’t have the capacity for a butler, and a bat cave, batmobile, and bat suit with special gadgets in your arsenal, but you can do something more than what you have been doing to make your community less Gotham-like.  

Most people never love outside of themselves and their family, some don’t even take care of their family, but being Batman requires you to love outside of yourself, to reclaim the virtue you knew naturally as a small child, that villains must be met by heroes, as goodness has a responsibility to show itself in the face of Jokers and Penguins. There is no riddle to it, love doesn’t always work, but love is the only thing that defeats the heels that create heartache in our lives. Behind the mask is a boy named Bruce, whose love for his slain parents propels him to take flight each night to ameliorate suffering in Gotham and stand for a cause greater than life itself: the one thing that outlasts our life when we give enough of it away to others: love.  

Indifference never made a difference. No longer can you ignore the suffering of others or notice the Bat Signal but wait for someone else to take care of it. You must look in the mirror and realize you’re someone; and, in a gravelly voice, speak with full intensity and courage:

 I’m Batman! 

Steve Andrew Schultz

LeadLoveElevate.com

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By: Steven Andrew Schultz

When revenge is present, God is absent.

It all started with a question. One of those “what if?” hypotheticals that’s supposed to grant you the social simulation that forecasts your truth. It was meant to be virtual reality to discover how real are your virtues. My high school English class was about to begin William Shakespeare’s play Julius Caesar: a twisted tale of betrayal and revenge that leads to destruction and death through the slashing of the sword and the rhetorical reach of your tongue. What really makes it a tragedy is how prevalent that wicked behavior is seen across our landscape still.

To build the anticipation by making the reading relevant and the lessons come to life, they were given a scenario (one based off the life of Nelson Mandela of which we were about to read a 10-page exposé about before exploring Caesar’s Rome)

Moral Scenario:

If You Were Wrongly Put in Prison on Purpose in the Prime of Your Life For 27 Years, and then were freed and became the president of the country with full power, would you imprison those who wrongly imprisoned you or let them free?

After they spent time in small groups imagining how they were doing hard time and they were put there for false reasons so their jailers could have power of them, exploit their labor, and silence their voice by taking away everything they loved, and now they had all the power, they all said revenge would be immediate and gave their justifications.

After they enthusiastically regaled us with their detailed retribution plots, some brutal, I asked if anyone said they wouldn’t retaliate in any way. One hand rose, ascending without hesitation and a ruckus ringed off the walls of the classroom. They hollered at him like he was full of it. I asked him why? He gave his answers and the crowd’s hostility increased, unbeknownst to them, they were behaving like the mob (masses of common Romans that Shakespeare makes a character in the play to showcase how fickle, hypocritical, and easily manipulated the majority of people are in any society) in the play they were about to begin.

As dozens of darts were heaved in Devin’s direction, he sat there, resolute, staid, unwavering in his principles, immune to the peer pressure to bend, appearing to have a moral force field shielding him from the verbal attacks of the group. It was astonishing to witness; inspiring once you understood the power of this young man’s moral fortitude.

When the masses give their morals no meaning, where our ethics are treated like a lifeboat being towed from the stern of the ship rather the navigational GPS guiding our sight through the glass of the captain’s windshield, ice bergs will sink you. So, Devin Payne is here to be our rescuer, by living out the teachings of the redeemer.   

When his lone hand reach for the heavens to contest the group-think smorgasbord of self-righteousness, a bright neon bracelet with the letters WWJD embroidered across it caught my eye, as Devin caught the mob’s ire. Devin and I attend the same church, as did a few more in the classroom who were chastising Devin as crazy for turning the other cheek. In fact, many others in the room attended other churches, synagogues, mosques, and temples around the community; and today, what they all shared in common, was their hate for the hypothetical person who had harmed them.

Except for Devin, who professed this radical idea that someone wronging you is not permission for you to do wrong. Devin spoke about loving your enemy, forgiving those that hurt you, praying for those who seek to harm you, and the mob acted as if they had never heard such blasphemy before. To them it was so absurd it was comical, as they literally laughed out loud and mocked Devin for decrying you should bless those that curse you and love your enemy and love your neighbor as God loves you. Just as Jesus was mocked by the mob when he first spoke the same words that this young man wearing his bracelet was speaking now, over two thousand years later.

With a theme of Shakespeare’s play being appearance vs reality and with the current wide-spread pandemic of hypocrisy of people failing to place principles before profits and have their everyday behavior match the religious beliefs they expose, Devin Payne’s practice was in such alignment with his print, if Jesus walked on water, Devin Payne scooted through the surface of the room like he was wearing those shoes with the wheels hidden in the soles. And when you are soul-driven like Devin, you glide through the guile like a Tesla on autopilot.

I was so moved that he didn’t move. They yelled jeers of ridicule and Devin sat there in my executive chair, in front of the room, with people staring through him. Like a rock in a rocking chair, he was still, stoic, and steadfast in refusing to recoil or bend to their pressure for him to succumb to their stance of an eye for an eye. But like the great carpenter referenced on his wrist that spoke of removing the plank in your eye before you judge the speck on eyes of others, the same carpenter that many in the room claim is the God of the print they follow, treated Devin’s stance of pardoning those who imprisoned him like a splinter that must be tweezed out of the finger they were pointing their condemnation with.

Their aim was off, though, as Devin was already taking cover beneath their line of fire because he was kneeling down, washing their feet. Oblivious to the divine love Devin was demonstrating and how similar their behavior was to the mob we were about to see in the play, and how opposite their behavior is to what many claim they believe in, I was in awe of the lesson in virtue this young man was teaching us all. We weren’t just momentarily going to read about a Mandela, we were witnessing a Mandela-level leader arriving in real-time, possessing the temerity to get in some “good trouble” and endure the pain of lived principles in the face of a mob of people who were playing pretend.

When I pointed out the connection of Devin to Mandela, and theirs to the mob of the play, I mentioned how Devin reminded me of Winston Churchill, the former prime minister of England whose uncompromising principles prevented the world from speaking German. After class, I grabbed my copy of Long Walk to Freedom (President Mandela’s autobiography) off my bookshelf, told Devin to look at the cover of the book which Mandela’s face adorns, and asked him what he saw. Devin said, “Mandela.” I retorted, “Look again. This time more closely. I see your future. You will have a Mandela-level impact because your behavior is in alignment with your beliefs. You are going to elevate humanity.” Then I gave Devin the book to keep and wrote a handwritten message inside for him.

The key word in Long Walk to Freedom is long, as the book is thick, heavy, and not a page turner, at least not in the beginning, but the job of every leader is to give their people a greater vision for their life, to help them see higher purpose of service and how when their life is led by love, they make visible the One from above.

I don’t know how many students were forever altered from the lesson that Devin gave that day, as there is no Amazon Prime to leadership; however, I do know Mr. Payne inspired me that day, which is something he does most days. Devin will sometimes leave me a Bible verse on my desk or show notes he took from class on words I said that resonated with him.

The most recent Bible verse Mr. Payne left on my desk are the words of Jesus (Letters in Red) “When you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins.”

One of Devin’s favorite quotes of mine is:

“Don’t let those who aren’t like you, make you not like you.”

Steven Andrew Schultz

It’s, what Jay Z calls, a “Triple Entendre”

1. Don’t let haters make you not like who you are

2. Don’t let haters make you change who you are

3. Don’t let hateful people make you hate them

So, why, out of hundreds of people, many who claim Jesus as Savior, did only one live out Jesus’ teachings of loving your enemies? It’s a conundrum The Church can no longer ignore.

With “Karen” videos going viral, what we need to really address is the elephant in the room: all the “Ians” wreaking havoc.  A “Karen” is a lady gone mad usually screaming for the manager while she throws a tantrum, but an “Ian” is a Christian that’s missing Christ. The three letters left when you remove the word “Christ” from “Christian” is “Ian” which is someone who has removed the words of Jesus from their daily behavior. Ian is a phrase I have coined to represent those who love to talk about Jesus but fail to be the love Jesus talked about.

With an Ian, the larger the cross they wear around their neck the smaller the Christ is in their heart. We have tens of millions of Ians in America selectively choosing Old Testament text to control the life-choices of others while simultaneously seeming to have never read the words in red.

A prime example was this most recent Christmas Eve (2022), the holiday where baby Jesus (a non-white, non-English speaking, non-Christian, non-American, foreign immigrant refugee who sought refuge after his unwed teen mother was turned away and told there was no room for Him and so He was born in a vile of pig slop, and the irony and utter hypocrisy seems to be lost as millions of Ians cheered on and celebrated an Ian-Governor who flew a bunch of non-white, non-English speaking, non-Christian, non-American, foreign immigrant refugees to the Vice-President of the United States neighborhood in the frigid cold as a political stunt. Now, there is nothing wrong with wanting strict security at the border, but to celebrate treating a bunch of God’s children (whose appearance resembles more closely to that of Jesus than most white Americans do) with such distain for political gain, hours before you celebrate Christmas, shows just how absent the love of Jesus is in those about to unwrap presents. If your politics come before your principles then you don’t have principles, only principle-less politics. 

Today, as I was driving, a new worship song by Jon Reddick came on the radio with lyrics that state, “It’s not just a story. I believe in the life of Jesus.” While listening to it I wondered how so many could listen to these lyrics but not live them? It reminds me of what my uncle Mark Roskam, who was a pastor before he died, wrote to me once, “Words are worth living. Our culture demands a shift in our heart attitude…and often times the deeper question is: just who is your God?”

I think of Devin’s wrist: two neon friendships bracelets I had given him, and a WWJD wrap too.

It is obvious by Devin’s actions he is aware who his God is. Rather than WWJD (What Would Jesus Do) bracelets, I think the “shift” as my uncle referenced, should become DWJD (Do What Jesus Did). And what was Jesus’ final act as he was held in agony on the cross? He forgave those who crucified him. If you don’t want to be an Ian, but want to be a Devin, you must forgive everything and love everyone.

On my letterhead are the numbers 70X7. It reminds me of when someone came to me for counsel because they were furious with a former friend who had betrayed them a second time after he forgave him the first time. I asked, “Why haven’t you forgiven him again yet?”

My friend’s anger now turned towards me. “Why would I forgive that scoundrel after I already showed him grace and he stabbed me again?”

I answered: “Because of that cross you’re wearing on your neck.”

He shouted in disgust at my correction: “Jesus never said you had to forgive twice!”

“You are right.” I replied. “Jesus said to forgive 70×7 times…or, infinitely. If our savior can forgive the people who murdered him, slandered him, and betrayed him, then you and I must forgive everyone too if we truly are followers. To love Jesus, we must love like Jesus.”

He walked away from me, and, in a huff, said, “I came to you for help. You were supposed to tell me how they were wrong, not that I am wrong for not forgiving.”

Four years later, after not speaking to me or returning any of my calls or texts, I got a phone call from my old friend. After a four-year absence he called for four reasons: 1. To say sorry. 2. To say thank you. 3.To say he forgave that person who wounded him. 4. To ask for my forgiveness.  He realized that when he came to me for healing and I asked him to forgive, I was offering him healing. He talked about how his anger prevented his receiving of my love and while he thought he knew Jesus, it took him years to admit to himself he didn’t because those that knew him didn’t know unconditional love.

When we are teaching others how to love, they might get angry with us because most people have never experienced unconditional love, only manipulation wearing a Love costume. And so, we must have patience and hope we can have the Woody Woodpecker effect. Years after they leave you, like Woody the Woodpecker, that laugh (the teachings) stay with them. For many of you, just hearing the name of Woody brings forth that annoying laugh of his. But teachers of Jesus must be like Woody and patiently peck away at the ego of others until we have a breakthrough where they remember you. I wasn’t physically with my friend, but for four years my teachings of Christ-like love were pecking away at ego’s lie that you can only love people who love you too.

“The Only Way To Truly Know If You Love Jesus Is If You Also Love Judas.”

Steven Andrew Schultz

Any place you hold a grudge is a place you’re not holding the hand of God. In fact, the only true way to know if you love Jesus is if you also love Judas. I congratulated my friend for forgiving the one who wounded him and for having the strength to admit where he was weak and the fortitude to give and seek forgiveness to get stronger. I told him he was already forgiven by me and invited him over. The next day he was at my house, and we had the best hug. I thought of Woody’s laugh and my soul sang.

If you were a child of the 1980s and 1990s like me, you’re aware of that catchy theme song to Ghostbusters that asked the question: “Who you gonna call?” The ghosts that haunt our spirit are the people we haven’t forgiven and the people we haven’t said sorry to. So, who are you going to call? Like my friend did to me. Whether it’s been four years or forty, pick up the phone, defeat the ghosts of your past by letting someone hear the voice of Jesus today.

Who are you going to call to say: You are forgiven?

Who are you going to call to say: I am sorry. Please forgive me.

And don’t just be sorry, be better.

Sometimes the person you need to forgive the most is yourself. We spend too much of life beating ourselves up like we’re playing the game Rock’em Sock’em Robots where our present is the red robot and our past the blue robot, and we keep popping up our head with punches instead of propping up our heart with grace.

 As Mister Rogers said, “The toughest thing is to love somebody who has done something mean to you. Especially when that somebody has been yourself. It’s very important to look inside yourself and find that loving part of you. That’s the part that you must take good care of and never be mean to. Because that’s the part of you that allows you to love your neighbor. And your neighbor is anyone you happen to be with at any time of your life. Respecting and loving your neighbor can give everybody a good feeling.”

Maybe we have such a difficult time loving our neighbors as ourselves because we live in a society that’s tells us not to love ourselves. If you truly love the man with holes in His hands, there can’t be any holes in your heart. I often wear a baseball cap that has these words on the front: Love Thy Enemy. It has started so many wonderful conversations. One time that stands out is when I was paying for my dinner and the worker is looking at my hat and he says to me, “I have never heard that saying before Love Thy Enemy.” I noticed the cross necklace he was wearing and explained how they were the words of Jesus and how he can apply them.

This stranger started crying and fell into my arms. I held him up for a bit and I told him, “I love you.” He asked how I could love him when I don’t know him. I said, “I don’t need to know you to love you. I only need to know who God is and who I am. And God is Love, and so, I am someone who loves everyone. Just like God loves me when I’m not loving, I must love those who don’t love me or even like me. It’s those who don’t love you at all that teach you how to love all. It’s easy to love those who are loving; it’s difficult to love those who are difficult. Do what’s difficult.”

This man smiled and gave me a hug. He told me I was the only person to say the words “I love you” to him in a really long time and he really needed to hear those words because it helped him heal some wounds. I said, “I love you” once again and left the restaurant. As I walked to my car and looked at the piece of bread in my bag, I thought of Jesus and his lesson on giving living bread.

The world is parched for genuine love and it’s you and I who must answer the call to provide it. I had a parent of one of my students email me once to say, “I was speaking with my daughter about all her teachers and she said something that moved me. She said, “Even though Mr. Schultz has never talked about religion or ever even said the word God, I know he loves God by how loving he is to all the students, especially the difficult ones.”

Just as the man was grateful for my words of love, I am grateful for this parent’s words of love. It’s been a decade since I received them but they have stayed serving me, helping to remind me what Jesus taught: your love for Jesus will be known by how you love the difficult ones.

Right now, I want you to think about the worst thing that has ever happened to you. The best thing you can do about it is to love the person who did it. Picture them and feel any emotions of anger and resentment that starts to build and rebuke it all. Replace anger for what was done to you with compassion for what they couldn’t do for you. It’s not your fault; it’s theirs. It’s not your weakness; it’s theirs. Picture them as a fragile child who has never experienced the loving hug of Jesus and figuratively give it to them. By virtually hugging them, you start to heal yourself. The love we give away is the way. Practice empathy for their lack of strength to give you the love you deserved.

The Love We Give Away Is The Way!

Think of your emotional wound like a physical wound. After you have been cut the wound starts to scab. But if you touch a scab, it still hurts. Press on the scab enough and it will re-open and bleed. But a scar is different. When you see a scar, you remember how you got the wound but no matter how many times you touch it, you no longer feel pain.  Love yourself enough to love those that hurt you, so you no longer hurt. Forgiving doesn’t necessarily mean I will be your friend; forgiving means I won’t be your enemy. It’s probably wise not to go around the snakes who bit you because they most likely will bite again. Snakes shed their skin, not their sin. Forgiving them is how you remove the venom from their bite. In honor of the man with holes in his hands, turn your scabs into scars. Forgiveness and grace are how you do it.

I’ve never been good at Algebra but here is one equation I created that I ponder daily. I call it the Schultz Grace Equation. What’s true in math is true in life.

Schultz Grace Equation

Negative One Plus Negative One Does Not Equal Zero. It Equals Negative Two.

Negative One Plus Two Equals One. You have to be twice as loving to negative people to keep the world a positive place. That’s grace.

Forgiving is for giving yourself peace and healing. Don’t confuse forgiveness with friendship. Everything is forgivable but not everything is repairable. I can forgive you and never want to see you or speak to you ever again. You must make that decision. Loving your enemy doesn’t mean to have to like them, loving them means you don’t act like them. Someone doing you wrong is God in disguise giving you the opportunity to do right.

As Jesus said, “You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ ²² But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother^[a] will be liable to judgment.

³⁸ “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ ³⁹ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. ⁴⁰ And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic,^[f] let him have your cloak as well. ⁴¹ And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. ⁴² Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you.

Love Your Enemies

⁴³ “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.

 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? ⁴⁷ And if you greet only your brothers,^[g] what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? ⁴⁸ You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”

Back in the classroom as the mob incredulously questioned Devin to the limits of his love, someone asked him: what about murder? Are you telling me you would forgive someone if they killed your brother?

Devin replied, “I love both my brothers and want nothing bad to happen to them, but if something did, the best way to love my brother is to not do anything bad back to someone else. Their bad behavior doesn’t control my good behavior.”

The mob screamed “No way!” There is no way you could forgive someone for murdering your brother.” And then I played the video. It is from a recent court case of a woman who shot a killed an innocent man for no reason. Many of the family condemned her to death. But the younger brother went up to speak at her sentencing trial and brought Jesus with him. His older brother was a Devin, not an Ian. Jesus was the leader of his life and so his little brother honored him by loving the person who murdered the person he loved the most.

Do You Bring Jesus With You Everywhere You Go?

This disciple of Jesus sat before the judge, looked right at the murderer of his big brother, and made Jesus visible in the courtroom by saying these words to the woman who murdered his big brother:

“I forgive you. I know if you go to God and ask Him, He will forgive you. I love you just like anyone else. I personally want the best for you. And I know this is what my brother would want for you: give your life to Christ. Again, I love you. I don’t wish anything bad on you.” He then turns to the judge and asks, “I don’t know if this is possible, but can I give her a hug, please? Please!”

And when most of us would have been strangling the person who took away the person we loved the most, this Devin was being Jesus by loving the most. As he hugged her, the judge started crying, the cops started crying, and the murderer cried uncontrollably. As I watched, I saw Jesus on the cross, “Father, forgive them. They know not what they do.”

This follower of Christ spoke more love to the murderer of his brother than most of us speak to the ones we love on a daily basis.

I write this not to edify the reader, but to remind the writer, too. Many times I fall short of loving on Jesus’ level, but people like Devin help me walk back home. And thanks to Jesus, the walk is not long. Re-reading the red letters (Words of Jesus) helps me get in realignment. Just like you need to routinely realign the wheels of your car or otherwise you will slowly start to move crooked and veer off the road and crash into others, you must realign your practice with your print. I don’t pretend to be pious. I am a sinner myself, full of flaws, who is trying to love as much as I can today and top it tomorrow.

As Devin’s bracelet asks, WWJD What Would Jesus Do?

Jesus said: Be me. Love like I love. Do what I’ve done and even greater things. Only by the love you give to others, especially the least among you and those that wrong you, will you be known as a follower of mine.

The only way to know if your truly love Jesus, is if you also love Judas. Love people who disagree with you, love people who look differently than you, love people who don’t love you. You can’t hate someone into loving, but you can love someone out of hating. Love doesn’t always work, but love is the only thing that ever has.

2,000 years later and speaking the teachings of love that Jesus spoke still riles up the religious crowds, but like with Devin, let’s not crucify them, but emulate them. What’s most valuable is invisible until you see to it that Love is seen by how you lead your life. Speak love, show love, teach love, be love. To be the love you come from, only love can come from you, no matter how unloving a person comes at you.

The question the Church must recon with is why Ians are so prevalent and Devins are so rare? The emptiness of the words of those who claim The Word are why pews aren’t full. I saw a sign recently that said: There Is No Hate Like A Christians Love. When those that claim to follow Jesus who taught all about love, who only showed anger when dealing with religious hypocrites (Ians), who spoke of the sins of being rich and commanded us to help the poor, yet tens of millions of those who claim Christ vote for politicians who seek revenge and name-call, worship the wealthy and despise the poor, and tout the same religious hypocrisy that caused Jesus to turn over tables, the Church has major soul searching to do. Do the red hats align with the red letters?

But the responsibility also lies with the student. What makes Devin different is he one of the few students who takes notes when the teacher talks and then goes and talks to the teacher about what he wrote down and asks follow up questions. A pastor can only reach those who want to learn, put into practice, reflect, and pursue the highest purpose of service. Too many people use church like a Monopoly Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card. They attend on Sunday just in case, but they don’t behave like Christ. They see church as the building they enter one day a week instead of a ministry they are building in the lives of others every day of the week.

If you go inside a church to receive Jesus but your neighbors don’t receive Jesus when you are outside of church, then Jesus isn’t in you. Loving others won’t always make people better, but loving others will always make you better.

If you want people to see Jesus when they see you, then you must see Jesus when you interact with them…especially with the difficult ones. Make God visible by how you love. You do this by rejecting ego’s number one lie: that you can only love someone who loves you too. Jesus requires you to love at first sight regardless of what you see and to love even more even after you’ve been wronged.

These teachings aren’t just for the readers but a reminder for the writer, too. I don’t claim any superiority or mastery. If you had to be perfect to preach about love we’d have no preachers. All I know is I’m not as loving as I should be, but I’m better than I used to be. When it comes to being a Devin, not an Ian, I can say about myself, what a true follower of Jesus, John Wooden, said as his last words before he died. His pastor asked him, “Coach Wooden, are you the man God wants you to be?” And John Wooden, the writer, high school English teacher, and UCLA basketball coach whispered, “I’m working on it.” Even at the age of 99, hours before death, John Wooden was still working on being more Christ-like.

May you and I keep working on it. There is no higher purpose. Forgive yourself and all others.

WWDD What would Devin do?

What would Jesus do?

What will you do?

When you know who you are it doesn’t matter what others say you aren’t. When you know who you are, you know what to do. 

The truth of Love states: you don’t have to know someone to love them, you just have to know you’re someone who loves like Jesus loves. 

To show the highest love to those who are hardest to love, is how we show we love God. 

Be Christlike those who fail to be Christlike. 

Don’t be an Ian, be a Devin.

Be Jesus!

I love you.

Steve Andrew Schultz

LeadLoveElevate.com

The post The Payne of Living Your Principles appeared first on Lead Love Elevate.

By: Steven Andrew Schultz

Through love you can live forever. He died when I was in 5^th grade, where I learned that even heroes fall, but don’t fade.  I saw my grandpa, Richard Hill, every day before and after school from kindergarten to 5^th grade. I attended Gisler (a FVSD school) and each day after school we would go on walks around the neighborhood. To my little feet the walks seemed exhausting, but to my older soul, those walks were edifying.  Experience doesn’t make you better; reflection on experience does. Even though I couldn’t see it then, those strolls through my neighborhood my grandpa was teaching me life lessons on how to be successful. 

Here is the wisdom from the walks:

First, break your goals down into smaller markers. There were a few fire hydrants along the path and instead of thinking about how far away the end of the walk was, he had me just focus on reaching the next fire hydrant. Then the bigger goals became easier. Don’t worry about how far away the end is, focus on what is the thing you need to do next. Excellence is a combination of what you’re doing now and next. Every time my impatience self would bemoan: how much farther? My grandpa would point and say, “Find the fire hydrant. Always find the next fire hydrant.”

As we went on our walk there were some houses where scary dogs would start barking and rush the gates of the yard. In the beginning, whenever barking dogs rushed the gates I would stop, frozen in fear, so my grandpa would nudge me to keep walking because he said if you stop for every barking dog on your walk you’ll never get to where you’re going. And anyone who has any kind of leadership position is going to have people barking at them. Dogs bark because they are intimidated and feel threatened you are coming into their territory and some dogs are just nuts and will bite you. While it’s important to listen to substantiated criticism, learn to keep walking when you encounter haters who tell you why you can’t or why you won’t get to where you’re going. When you know who you are, it doesn’t matter what others claim you are. Keep walking and don’t bark back. Say “bless you” to every “screw-you!” Love is more powerful than fear or hate. Let Love lead you.

While you walk past the dogs, you stop and share time with the birds. On our walk there were a few homes that had the plant Bird of Paradise in their yards, and we would stop there each time. Grandpa Hill taught me that it’s vital that every day while you’re in pursuit of your goals, to stop and breathe in what’s beautiful around you and in you. Don’t be so focused on arriving that you miss out on the beauty of the walk. Take time each day to stop and listen to the birds of paradise.

And when we reached the end, on our way home we would stop in Ellis Park and go play on the playground. There I learned the secrets of the sandbox. The swings taught me that you go much higher in life when someone is behind you pushing you up then on your own kicking your feet up. The slide taught me that you’re going to fall, but every time you slide down you have one job: dust yourself off and climb back up. You always climb back up every time you slide down. The taught me that even the most magnificent sandcastles get destroyed by the person who comes next, so nothing physical lasts. What’s most valuable is invisible. See to it that Love is seen. And my favorite was the Teeter-Totter, because my grandpa used it differently than anyone I ever saw. Instead of the normal give and take, my grandpa would stay at the bottom and elevate me to the top of the teeter-totter and make me feel like I was flying. He would shake it sometimes too and make me giggle. While most adults lead transactional lives, only giving when given, my grandpa taught me on the teeter-totter how to lead a transformational life, where you lower your ego to the dirt and elevate the other to the sun by giving love with no receipt because you never expect it to be returned. You just stay down there elevating others, giving your love and light away never needing them to boost you back up (although some will). I had never seen a stand-still teeter-totter before as a child on a playground and rarely in adult life. The seesaw give only to get mentality most live won’t make your successful. Like the sandcastle, those superficial, selfish lives blow away. Lives of love are what last. Being a teeter-totter leader where you minimize your ego and elevate others in love, is how you create impact. And impact creates immortality. 

On your walk of life, may you help people find the fire hydrants, keep walking when rushed by the barking dogs, stop and enjoy the Birds of Paradise, and be teeter-totter leaders who sacrifice self in service to others, elevating them to the sky through feeling loved. It’s been over twenty-five years since my grandpa left me, but he still leads me. The love given in life continues when your life can’t. He’s dead, but not done. He walks with me still.

Steve Andrew Schultz

LeadLoveElevate.com

The post The Walk of Life appeared first on Lead Love Elevate.

SPORTS

Harris’ legacy goes beyond banners

BY STEVE SCHULTZ

NOV. 2, 2011 12 AM PT

Jim Harris’ reach goes well beyond the Seahawk uniform. Coach Harris mentored students who were never in his math classes and young coaches like me who never attended his school or played on his team.

While Ocean View High School’s gymnasium is lined with championships banners from rafter to rafter, what’s really important can’t be hung on the walls.

Over the past nine years, Harris became one of the most impactful mentors in my life. I was 19 years old and had just started coaching the freshman basketball team at Fountain Valley High School, a team Harris coached back in the ‘70s. On the fourth day of coaching at the Pacific Coast Basketball Camp that Harris and Craig Impelman put on at Ocean View, Harris pulled me aside and started pouring his guidance into me.

Harris must have seen I needed a lot of help, so he invited me into his classroom and spent more than an hour with me diagraming fast-break patterns and talking coaching philosophy. Mike Krzyzewski said, “Leaders show respect for people by giving them time.” No coach has ever given me as much time as Harris did.

The next year, I became the head JV coach at Fountain Valley High, and Harris called and invited me to come to his varsity practices. Although Ocean View and Fountain Valley aren’t in the same league, I was shocked he would allow a coach from an opposing school into his sanctum.

Harris spent 90% of the practice by my side, explaining to me why they did what they were doing. There was a philosophy behind every detail. As Pat Williams said, “The greatest teachers not only explain the how, but the why.” When it comes to greatness, Harris is a giant.

And for the next five years, Harris let my basketball teams come for free every summer to his and Impelman’s camp and meet the greatest of them all, John Wooden. How kind and what a life-altering gift he gave to my boys to be able to meet and learn from Wooden about success. It was always my favorite day of the year. Wooden said, “You cannot live a perfect day without doing something for another who can never repay you.” Harris made every day perfect, or as Wooden would say, “a masterpiece.”

In 2009, Harris led his team to another CIF championship game. My younger brother Stuart and I attended to show our support for Coach. We were five or six rows back from the court of Mater Dei’s gym. About 30 minutes before game time, Ocean View came out from the locker room, dressed in unison, so disciplined and focused.

Harris walked past and then started walking up the bleachers, and before I knew it, I heard, “Hi, Steve, how are you?” I couldn’t believe it. Harris was sitting next to me. We spent about 10 minutes together. Here was this great coach, about to be on the grand stage of high school basketball, and he was taking time to sit with me. He was so calm, confident and caring.

I thought back to all those summers he let me spend with Wooden and how Wooden used to say, “A coach’s most important work happens in practice. I should be able to sit up in the bleachers during games, and if I did my job, my players should know what to do.” Harris had truly mastered the art of coaching.

It was a blowout. The Ocean View Seahawks were victorious once again. As I watched Harris hoist up the CIF championship plaque and saw his players look up to him with awe, I wished they could have witnessed their coach’s kindness before the game, for it was there that Harris showed me what a champion looks like.

Last year, I moved on to be the head JV coach at Los Alamitos High School. So in the spring, Harris called me and said he wouldn’t have any assistants at Ocean View’s game one Saturday and he asked me to join him on the bench.

I sat next to the man I admired so much. He not only coached his team to another win, but during the game, kept talking to me, showing me what he was looking for and why he would say one thing to this player and that to another player. Harris was devoted to his team, loyal to his school, committed to his craft and an ambassador of his profession.

The center court of Ocean View’s gym is inked with these words: character, integrity, sacrifice, courage, loyalty, unity, spirit, tradition, commitment and love. It’s time they add the words Coach Harris Court, and before the 2011-12 basketball season begins, the gym that Harris built should be adorned with his name.

This past July, on the last day of the Gahr summer league, my JV team finished our final game of the summer season. As our game ended, Ocean View’s varsity team started theirs on the center court. I stayed and watched my mentor do what he loved, thinking about the time the master let me share his bench. Ocean View ran over their opponent by 40 points.

I didn’t talk to Coach that day; he was with some people, so I waved goodbye to him in the parking lot, thinking I would see him soon, back in his gym for the Ocean View fall league. I did not know then that the Gahr parking lot would be the last time I would see Harris. And Coach did not know then that was the last game he would coach.

Harris guided me through college, talked to me about what I needed to do to become a teacher and showed me what the true role of a coach is.

I sent Harris a few handwritten letters over the years, expressing how grateful I am and how much I looked up to him. So I have some peace in knowing he knew how I felt about him.

But what I realized tonight, as I stood in his gym, just trying to find a way to be close to him, is that I love him. Harris did what all great leaders do: He influenced people to do more and become more. He made you change the way you saw yourself.

As much as I wish I could go back to that Gahr parking lot and run up to him and hug him and tell him I love him, I can’t. But as is the mark of all great teachers, I still can hear Harris’ words.

I’m reminded of when all the gyms in our district were shut down for remodeling a few years back. When they were finished, there were a lot of malfunctions and problems. Harris was spending some time with me in Fountain Valley’s gym and someone came up to me and said, “The gym looks so nice.” And I responded by pointing out different spots where they had messed up.

After, Coach turned to me and said, “Steve, when someone gives you a compliment, learn to just say thank you.” And he did his patented little laugh and smiled.

Coach Jim Harris, your life mattered in the biggest way. I love you, Coach. When it comes to being the caliber of coach you are, I know duplication is not possible, but emulation will be the goal. I don’t know why you took an interest in me, but I’ve learned well from you, so I’ll leave you with the two words people in our profession rarely get to hear: Thank you.

Steve Andrew Schultz

LeadLoveElevate.com

The post LA Times Article: The Look of a Champion appeared first on Lead Love Elevate.

We entered at noon and we left after midnight. Never before had twelve hours felt so short; seemingly mere seconds that I wanted to stretch to eternity. The truth is, I didn’t want to leave that place that night, because it meant the final end to our last bastion of Bunting Circle. It was two doors down from the house I grew up in and had moved away from seventeen years earlier. Now, the Olmsted’s, the last remaining family from the block, was moving away too, and the last get-together was scheduled to begin on a Saturday at noon for one final BBQ.  

I have vague memories of being in that house as a small boy sipping hot cocoa at Christmas with the family that lived there before the Olmsted’s moved in, but possess vivid memories that dance around my heart from all the time I would spend there once the Olmsted’s arrived when I was eight years old. During the nearly thirty years Steve, Bernie, and Andrew occupied that space, it was my favorite place to be. My dad would become best friends with Steve and Bernie and my little brother Stuart would become best friends with their son, Andrew, and I just kind of third-wheeled them all. 

There was never a time with the Olmsted’s that was a bad time. There was more light in their home than in my own. Two doors down was a friendlier place. Magic seemed to come to life there. From the literal train track that hung from the ceiling, to the game room with slot machines, pool and foosball tables, vintage cinema regalia adorned the walls, large windows letting the light in from the front patio and French doors that opened up to the backyard pool, jacuzzi, and outdoor fireplace. This place was a child’s paradise. 

Even in paradise, pain can creep in, but true love weeds the wounds out. Not long after the Olmsted’s moved in, Steve’s first wife, Amy, moved out. She was friends with my mom and that would cause a chasm which would rattle both houses in ways we couldn’t yet fathom. In the beginning, my dad was there for Steve. In the end, Steve would be there for my dad. Steve was determined to be a good role model and create the right upbringing for his son Andrew, and the rest of the boys on the block who lacked his last name. Soon, in the midst of his despair, a meteorite from Michigan flew in and would light up all our lives. Her name was Bernie. She was this hip, Bacardi and Diet Coke drinking, Eminem listening, Nascar watching, cig smoker, swearing bundle of fire, whose glow all us kids wanted to be around and soak in. 

Bernie was different from the rest. She was funny and more importantly to a kid, she was fun. She spoke to us, she listened to us, she played with us…and most of all, she loved us, and we knew it. She made us silver dollar pancakes and French toast. She let us build stuff and break stuff. Together, we tore up the old tile floor and helped put in a wooden one. We painted the walls and we built forts. We had water balloon fights and pillow fights, we went to the local arcade and road trips to Vegas, and we went camping in Catalina and had camp outs in their front yard. At Halloween we craved pumpkins there and built haunted houses. Christmas was celebratory, too. And during the Superbowl, it was at the Olmsted’s house where we joined people from all over for their annual party. Steve and Bernie were great hosts, but even better, they were great neighbors. The kind of neighbors that would make Mister Rogers weep with pride.  

Not long after Bernie’s arrival would be the departure of my dad. Following in the footsteps of  a few of her friends, my mom wanted to experience the single life too. But, unlike Andrew’s mom who went and got her own place, my mom told my dad he had to get his own. The only problem with this, is my mom wasn’t motherly. It was my dad who always did stuff with us and took us places. It was my dad who made us dinner each night and made sure our homework was done. It was my dad who attended our games and tucked us in at night and got us ready for school in the morning. When she was home, my mom would be on the phone for hours every night chatting with her friends. I used to wish I could become a phone and grow an antenna so I could get some of my mother’s attention. I didn’t have a whole lot of interaction with my mom and so my dad was everything stable, and now life felt like a never-ending earthquake.

So, one morning, my brother and I were woken up for school by my dad like always, but this time was different, this time my father was crying, and my dad grew up in an era where men weren’t allowed to show hurt. It was only the second time I had ever seen my father cry. The first was a couple years earlier where I came home from school and my mom in one of her rage episodes had given away our dog and my dad had to tell me Coconut would no longer be part of our family. Now, he told us that when we came home from school that day he was not going to be there. Something about him and my mother were going to separate for a while but hopefully he would be back home soon.

I had just begun my freshmen year of high school, had watched my grandparents, aunts and uncle die the last four years, and seen my mom stumble into a deep dark depression where she rarely left her room, so to hear the one stable person in my and my little brother’s life was about to be gone from it, I had to grow up quick. I wouldn’t be afforded the care-free teenage years where you get to explore and find yourself. I now had a little brother to look after, and that responsibility would weigh heavily on my young soul. For the next two and half years, my grades would plummet and so would my happiness, as I spent every day at school secretly praying that today would be the day my dad returned home. I just wanted to know what it felt like again to go to sleep and hear the calming sounds of my father downstairs watching television and the reassurance of waking up and my dad is home. That wish would not be granted and never again would I be able to fall asleep with my father home and from that point on I’ve always had trouble falling asleep and over twenty five years later and my insomnia has only worsened.

At first, I think my father stayed at a hotel for a while, but soon, we would be told that my dad was moving into the guest room of Steve and Bernie Olmsted’s house. Being a fourteen-year-old boy there were two actions I couldn’t really comprehend at the time. First, the amount of love shown from one neighbor to another with Steve and Bernie letting my dad live with them. The second, the amount of pride my dad had to burry to be sleeping two doors down from the home he bought just so he could be close to his children. My dad would end up living with the Olmsted’s for nearly two years and he never returned home. 

The best kind of person you can be is a kind one. The highest achievement you can obtain is to be a loving neighbor who gives with no receipts because you never expect a return. Steve and Bernie Olmsted meet both markers of success. And here we were, after all these events together, reunited for one final evening. My father had moved to Michigan so he could not come, but for twelve hours, we reminisced on twenty plus years of kindness and giving. It was Andrew and his wife Janine, Steve and Bernie, Steve’s father and step-mother, my brother and his wife and two daughters, and me, still third-wheeling it. 

I was last in the home about five years ago. Covid took away years together as did my father moving to Michigan years before that. There were boxes everywhere, old photographs and mementos to gather over, and love abound. Andrew found a handwritten letter I had given him twelve years earlier when I ran for city council. Andrew was the first person to donate money to my campaign. Steve and Bernie also contributed in so many ways. We filmed our campaign video inside Steve and Bernie’s boardroom to give it a business-like vibe. Andrew was also one of the first to encourage me in my writing when I was in college as did Steve when my first poem was published in a local magazine where he was a college professor and still serves on the Board of Golden West College today. Steve continued to pull out relics from out past like a magician pulling a rabbit out of his hat leaving us all enthralled with each new item. He found pinewood derby cars from when we were in Indian Guides together. Old toys, costumes, and jerseys from Andrew’s youth.  Numerous photographs that sparked unlimited joy and stories that would erupt us into laughter.

My brother’s youngest daughter, Avery, played in the pool. A pool I remember the mounds of dirt when Steve had it built. I got to meet Don Olmsted’s new bride. Don is Steve’s father and he tutored me through Algebra both in high school and college, for free. Don’s wife Sandy, Steve’s mother, had passed away a few years earlier and Mr. Olmsted’s new wife seemed full of love and life. Everywhere I looked was the familiar but also all new.

Andrew’s wife Janine is remarkable. Full of kindness, strength, and a true passion for wanting to help people. I was impressed with how gracefully she interacted with my two nieces. I know both hers and Andrew’s parents are nudging them for grandchildren, and I have full confidence her and Andrew will be stellar parents who raise up kids who know how to do what’s right. As we all mingled, the new children and new neighbors of Bunting Circle came into the Olmsted’s home multiple times to get candy and chat with Steve and Bernie. Each time I met a new neighbor, I learned who they were based off the neighbors I once knew. This is so and so and they now live in the Edmunds house, they live in the Stanley’s, they live where the Luther’s used to, and they the Ferraro’s. After some years of silent streets, Bunting Circle is bristling with the noise of children at play once more. 

Steve made the most delicious cheeseburger I have ever had. He was aways good on the grill. We all hugged, we all laughed, and, well, at least me, hid back tears. I felt like a kid again, at the place where I felt safe and happy. Sadly, their house, was the only house I ever felt completely safe in. As we chatted, and they learned I lived nearby, they wondered why I never came over. I was waiting to be invited over. They mentioned how they see themselves as old people and didn’t think we wanted to be around them. We still saw ourselves as children, waiting for them to make the plans like they always did in our youth. We let them know we always enjoy being with them. All I wanted to do, was slow down time because I knew once this party ended, the last part of my childhood did too. 

There have been so many times where I have driven by and walked around Bunting Circle. Each time I wanted to open up those white gates of their courtyard and ring the doorbell, but I was always too shy to do it. For some reason, I felt like I was intruding and didn’t want to be a burden. A few times, however, I actually mustered up the courage and knocked on their door but no one ever answered. I would find out last night that for the last couple years they had been spending most of their time at their place in Palm Springs. The place they were fully moving to now. And in true Olmsted fashion, had been letting a friend live their as she and her daughter were transitioning through a divorce like they did for my dad.

We continued to look through photographs, actual printed ones on paper, not swiping through someone’s phone, and all the faded memories once more were illuminated in full color. There was the team photo where Steve and I coached Stuart, Andrew, Mike, and Matt’s basketball team. I was a junior in high school and wanted to coach and so Steve who had coached the boys before, signed up again so I could be his assistant.

It was never lost on me that we shared the same name. Two Steve’s. I wasn’t sure if he ever realized how much I looked up to him. One of my mentors, Pat Williams, told me: “be careful of what you do because people are always taking notes whether you know it, or they know it.” I knew it then, but I wanted to make sure Steve knew it now. I had given him a John Wooden book when I was younger and a handwritten letter explaining I admired him years ago and wrote a story about him for my monthly magazine column that the publishers never printed, but the thing is people need to be reminded. At one point Steve mentioned how much it mattered to him to be a good role model for Andrew. I said to Steve, “I hope you know this, but you were a good role model for both my brother and I as well.” 

Someone needs to see someone do it first so they realize they can do it too. So much of what I do is because I saw my dad and or Steve do it first. Steve helped me when I wanted to coach. Steve helped me when I wanted to write. Steve helped me when I wanted to lead. Steve helped me when I wanted to serve. In my early twenties, I started interning at City Hall and then became part of the planning committee for something called Summerfest. It was the city of Fountain Valley’s first carnival. It continues to this day. The first year I was responsible for getting sponsors. Steve and Bernie’s accounting firm Olmsted And Associates were the first sponsor I got. The second year I was in charge of securing entrainment for the stage and Steve and Bernie were there rocking out to the music.  

I always liked going to Steve and Bernie’s office. It was cool to me as a kid that they owned their own business. Last night, I got to have some in-depth conversation with Steve and learn the courage it took for him to take the risk and branch off and start his own firm. There were issues he delt with in leadership dealing with people and coaching dealing with parents that I would deal with later, some of which by the very same people he experienced it with. I felt even closer to him on my final night in his home and my admiration grew deeper.

As the night grew closer to tomorrow, someone brought up my dear dog Kramer. The Olmsted’s always had dogs. Whenever they would go on vacation, they always paid me to house sit and play with the dogs. From middle school all the way through college, for a couple weeks a year, I was solely responsible for the Olmsted’s house. They gave me my first glimpse at independence and always paid me well. They also showed they trusted me at a young age and gave me an escape from my own home which was always a needed reprieve. To be in high school and college and have your own house a couple times a year was a thrill. I brought some of my former players over at times to play in the game room. I brought a girlfriend over too. As I looked around the room, I realized I was the only person here not named Olmsted that used to have his own key to this house I was spending one last night in. I pictured Zack, Mindy, Echo, and Abby (their dogs), and of course, my Kramer.  

I was there the day they brought Echo home. A baby German Shepard they got from our neighbors the Nolan’s. Echo laid in my lap that day and wouldn’t move for hours. For years, I loved coming over and playing with Echo. She was such a good girl. A few years after they got Echo, we got Kramer. A male German Shepard who was part wolf. We thought Echo was big until Kramer became fully grown.

One day when I was about twenty-one years old, my mom told me she was selling our house and that Kramer had to go. At this point, my mom had already given away my first two dogs without notice, and the pain of their loss made me adamant that she wasn’t going to do this crime to Kramer too. But where could I keep Kramer until I found my own place? The only place that came to mind was the Olmsted’s. They took my dad in once; would they take my dog in now too? 

I explained to them it was a chance for Echo to have a husband and I would come over every day and feed him, pick up after him, and walk both Kramer and Echo. Once I found an apartment of my own, I would take Kramer with me. The hearts of Steve and Bernie always have vacancy.  Miraculously they agreed. Kramer and Echo quickly became sweethearts, both being German Shepard’s and all. Walking both of them at the same time became a challenge as these were big dogs. Once again, as I, a young man, trying to find my way in the world, Steve and Bernie where there to assist me. Each evening as I closed their gate behind me and said goodbye to Kramer, I could feel a sadness in him as he didn’t understand why he wasn’t coming home with me anymore and sleeping in my bed like he used to. I knew how he felt when I used to leave that very house saying goodbye to my father at night wondering why he wouldn’t come home with me. 

Some months went by, and I got a call from Steve as I was driving home from class that day at college. I was on the 405 and had just passed the Boeing building where my dad used to work in Seal Beach. Steve was always very stoic but this time his voice was riddled with concern. He told me I needed to come to his veterinarian office right away. He was there because something happened to Kramer. When I arrived, Bernie was already there too as she left work to support me. They explained to me that they noticed blood coming out of Kramer and took him to the vet and a large tumor was found inside Kramer.

I was too naïve to know what that meant. I remember I asked Steve, “Okay, so when can I take him home?” And then, for the first time in my life, just like my father when my mom gave away our first dog, I saw my surrogate father cry. Steve said, “Um, Kramer isn’t coming home buddy. We offered to pay for any surgery that could help but the doctor said there is noting they can do. They have been waiting so you had a chance to say goodbye.” 

It was in that moment that it all hit me. It hit me so hard I literally fell to my knees and started crying. Both Steve and Bernie picked me up off the floor and held me. The place closed at 5:00pm and it was already past that. They were staying late so a boy could say goodbye to his dog. I walked to the back on my own and was greeted by my best friend for the last time. He was frantic. I held him and pet him while blood leaked out of him onto me. Twice the worker came in and said, “it’s time.” And twice I begged for more. Kramer licked my face for the final time and I told him I loved him and thanked him for always being there for me. I felt like Wyatt Earp saying goodbye to the dying Doc Holliday in the movie Tombstone (a movie I first watched and The Olmsted’s house). I walked out of there with Kramer’s hair and blood all over my pants and drove to practice to coach my JV basketball team I was the head coach of. Both of those moments only possible because of the other Steve in my life. It would be the first time I would cry in front of my players. 

And now the clock stroke midnight and the evening was at its end. It felt like Cinderella, and the magic of childhood was about to disappear, and the horse and carriage was about to become a pumpkin. Jennifer had taken her daughters home hours earlier and then came back. And now, it was my brother and his wife, his two childhood friends Andrew and Jon and their wife and girlfriend, Bernie and Steve, and me stretching out our goodbyes, trying to soak in a few more seconds if possible. Earlier, Bernie had walked around my brother’s eldest daughter Lily filling up bags with free stuff to take home making her young eyes sparkle with wonder and excitement the way only a child’s eyes can beam. And now Steve took me to the game room where this signed Michael Jordan jersey had ben resting on the wall since I was a kid. I remember the day he got it and hung it up there some twenty years earlier and I was in awe of it every time I came over. There was a little Post-It Note on it with Steven S handwritten. 

I said, “You’re giving this to me? Are you sure? This is very generous of you.” In a place, unlike any other place, a palace in the eyes of a child, where so much had been given to me and my family from this family, Steve’s final act in the final minute I would be in the house I spent millions of minutes in both in-person and in-memories, just like the name of the jersey, Jordan, Steve Olmsted was taking and hitting the game-winning shot and making me feel like a champion. What a way to end an evening, to end an era. Where the greatest neighbor I have ever known gave me the jersey of the greatest player I have ever seen. Bernie then gave me a framed poster off the wall that had a note on it that said Pete and told me it was for my dad and then gave me this pocket watch clock that had always been on their wall and I always was enamored with as I’ve always been a watch aficionado.

We all walked outside to the front patio. My feet never moved so slowly. I could see in my brother’s eyes he didn’t want it to end either. I asked for some more photos to stall. I felt like the college kid in the vet’s office holding my dying dog begging for more time. Both my brother and I mentioned to each other that morning that we were fearful this could be the last time we ever see Steve and Bernie. I didn’t want to leave…I didn’t want them to leave either. I thought of a comment my eleven-year-old niece, Lily made earlier that this was her “dream house” and that “they should just sell it to her because she had been saving her birthday money.” 

If only she knew how many dreams of her dad’s and mine came true or were created in this house. The little boy in my brain hoped that all these twelve hours of nostalgia would suddenly make Bernie shout out, “Okay, we are not going to move. We are going to stay!” But then I glanced down to one of the moving boxes and on top were those orange pumpkin carving knives used to make Jack-o-lanterns for Halloween. Then I looked at my watch and it was now past twelve and I realized the spell of childlike wonder was over. It truly was a Cinderella story with this omen of a pumpkin carver saying, “Time’s up.”

It’s about fifteen minutes past midnight now. I mentioned to them how grateful I was for this day and evening and all the years that preceded it. I gave each a hug. We took a photo together in front of this magical house. Andrew thanked me for being a good role model for him and I thanked him for all his encouragement to me and for being one of the best human beings I have ever known. His wife mentioned she has a friend who is also a teacher who might be a good fit for me, but she lives in northern California, and we all had a nice laugh, but I said, “I’m willing to move.” Before I walked to my car, I turned around and yelled, “I love you all.” I got in and drove away from the last piece of Heaven left on beautiful Bunting Circle. I thought of my comment of “I’m willing to move” and realized as sad as I was, I was happy for their move. Movement is the maker of life. Had Steve Olmsted not made the decision to move here to Bunting Circle when my brother was five and I was eight, think how different our lives would be and every life we have interacted with. Think how many new lives will be elevated and transformed because of their willingness to move. I’m happy for the new family that gets to move in, and I will be forever grateful for the family that moved out and all the love they gave to my family. On behalf of my dad, my dog, my brother, and myself, thank you Steve, Bernie, Andrew, Don, Sandy, and Amy, for all the moves you made that made my family and I move closer to knowing Love.

Steve Andrew Schultz

LeadLoveElevate.com

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