I’m Prescribing A Corrective Transplant

I know it’s the diet time of year, but…

I love my son, but… You’re doing a great job, but… I’m thrilled being married to you, but… I’m happy in life, but… As soon as you utter that one little three-letter word, you’ve negated whatever statement came previously.

I recently had a conversation with a man who told me, “Misty, that contract I’ve been working on for a year and a half finally came through! I nearly busted out crying when I got the email, I was SO happy!” We talked about the contract for a few minutes and then I asked him about his son.

His son is a good young man. Emphasis on he’s a young man. Young men often make mistakes, so do young women, right? The man hardened right away. Gone was the enthusiasm, the energy, the happy emotion he held for the contract – replaced with a cold, reluctant, almost begrudging, “You know, I love my son, but…” and he continued to his litany.

His son had had a DUI, in fact, he had two. He had a child out of wedlock. He wouldn’t call or come over, or, conversely he would show up unannounced. The man didn’t like the way the son spent his money, he had a whole list of things his son had done wrong. The fact his son was young and obviously needing leadership, love and guidance escaped the man.

I countered the list with some of the many things his son was doing that were good: He had attended a vocational tech school, graduated with honors and had landed an exceptional job with a national firm. He had found a very nice young woman, asked her to marry him and was being a father figure for her young son, almost the same age as his own. He had cut down on partying. He was regularly going to a worship service. He was trying, making the effort.

I asked the man, “What if the email you got today said, ‘your son had died?’ How would you feel? You’ve been estranged from him, on purpose, intentionally avoiding him, keeping yourself separated from him, your grandson, his fiancé and her son. In your stubbornness you’re missing out on his life and the opportunity to help him, to be of service to him. I prescribed corrective surgery.

“You could do this little corrective surgery, three little letters, one word, very different meaning, replace the three-letter word BUT with AND.

What if you said, ‘I love my son, and…’ then you added some of the ways you could help, encourage, support and nurture him to grow and become responsible and more accountable? He practiced saying a couple new phrases. ‘I love my son, and I’m glad he graduated with honors. I love my son and I’m sure I can set a better example for him…’ He slipped, ‘I love my son, but I hate that he’s had two DUI’s,’ and we discussed how a leader might rephrase it. ‘I love my son and I want to encourage his growth and development in all areas.’

It’s true in so many situations. If we make an effort to get rid of our buts, to surgically insert AND into our minds, instead of negating our statements, we add value to our words and to those hearing them.

I love to write for the John Maxwell Blog, and, even though it takes time, it’s time I’m happy to spend in an intentional way to help grow myself and others.

About the Author

Misty Young, known as The Restaurant Lady, is board chair of Squeeze In Franchising, LLC.