Preston Gillham

Changes. There are adjustment changes in life, like adjusting the picnic due to rain, or adjusting to a new position at work, etc.

There are also disruptive changes, changes that fundamentally alter our lives. Our world is full of disruptive change right now—economic, technology, climate, balance of power.

The spiritual rhythm of life is in flux also, just like everything else around us, and it is disruptive. While this feels dark, it isn’t bad.

In fact, I think God is behind the disruption. Status quo spirituality is not cutting it—not for God, and not for us. We need a transformation, a reformation, a redefining of what it means to be sons and daughters of a passionate, engaged God.

I wrote No Mercy to fuel disruption. I wrote to illuminate a path in the midst of disruption. I wrote to cast a vision of how to embrace disruptive change—especially spiritual change—turn it to your advantage, and emerge transformed.

In disruptive times, it helps if we have someone to follow, to emulate. We need a guide, someone who discovers the path through disruptive darkness into the light of reformation. The life and story of Hank Henderson, the main character in No Mercy, offers us such a man for consideration.

We will never return to business as usual on any major front, including spiritually. Given this, I wrote No Mercy.

A true revolution changes the way people fundamentally behave.

People say we have had a technology revolution. I disagree. There has not been a technology revolution because the way we fundamentally do what we do has not changed—it has only gotten faster.

Google is a glorified card catalog. Accounting is still double entry. Documents continue to be stored in files. Social networks are not fundamentally different from the social networks of forty years ago, and so forth.

One of my mentors, Peter Drucker, argued that the next revolution would be a knowledge revolution. I agree. And this conviction has formed much of what I wrote about in my book, No Mercy.

How do we manage what we know and how will our lives be revolutionized?

In the book, the main character, Hank, wants to live his life like he’s always lived. But the crux of Hank’s story hinges on a true revolution within him and the concerted battle to thwart transformation.

It takes a lot of courage to do what Hank does in No Mercy. This is one reason I wrote the book. We need a pattern, a mentor, a guide along the way to show us what a revolution really looks like. A trusted colleague, even if fictional like Hank, bolsters our courage.

It is not good enough to have knowledge. It is not good enough to say you know God, or you know the Bible, or you know what’s right. A revolution will fundamentally change the way you behave and do what you do.

Until this revolution occurs, we will continue doing what we have always done. And sadly, what we know will stagnate and mold inside our souls.

A revolution like Hank’s awaits us all.

I want to introduce you to my new novel, “No Mercy,” and offer you this free copy to read, review, and share. The story is a sweeping adventure of life, love, trust, and desire.

Why are you receiving this link to the free e-book?

First, because I want to share my latest creation with you. And, I want to give you the freedom to share it with others.

I began writing No Mercy in 2003 to express some of the wisdom and insights that Father God has etched into my heart. Like “Hank,” the story’s main character, I doubted God. But over time, through persistence and care, God reached into the dark place where I lived and led me from darkness into light.

In 2008, I left my job and a certain future to write No Mercy and put on paper what I have discovered about living in the light.

Second, if you like what you read in the excerpt, a complete download of No Mercy is also available on my website–free.

If you prefer a hard copy, you can purchase a book here.

Third, if you like what you read, share it–share it until your heart is content. Please. Please forward this to an interested friend .

The option to live in the light—to walk in it and run in it—is only a step away. But the path needs some illumination. My best effort, in story form, is here, in “No Mercy.”

Again: Feel free to download No Mercy and share it generously. This is my gift—the dream of my life—to you and those surrounding you.

Enjoy reading, and like the main character “Hank” comes to understand, always remember!

Thank you for praying for me this week. The death of my friend—our friend—Kevin Walker, Walkit.org, is a monstrous loss. I told a friend today after lunch that there is no way to process Kevin’s life or death with our intellects.

If there was a recipe for greatness then we could bottle it and sell it. If greatness could be defined then we could study it. If greatness could be apprehended then we all could possess it. But there is no recipe, no definition, and no hand hold. Thinking about greatness is illusive. However, greatness can be recognized with the heart.

What made Kevin a great man? His intellect was an aspect of him. I knew him well, but he surprised me regularly with his incisive ability to assemble disparate pieces of information into keen wisdom.

He wasn’t short on emotion and didn’t hesitate to demonstrate what he was feeling. He cried, laughed, loved, touched, and talked readily. Having worked in Eastern Europe for years, I’m somewhat accustomed to being kissed on each cheek by men when they greet me there. But I never quite got over Kevin kissing me on the head and blessing me. The only other person who kisses me on the head and blesses me is God, and I haven’t gotten over that either, but Kevin helped me not resist Him.

Kevin was a good musician, a skillful player, a fine composer, and a gifted lyricist. He and Bobby Price won a Grammy, after all. He led worship like no one else I’ve ever encountered—and I’ve encountered a lot in my profession.

No. Kevin was all of these things, but he was—is—more. He was a man of heart who walked with God, whom he called Papa. This composite, this integration, this blending of all that was in him into an expression of his heart and God’s heart is a decent definition of Kevin. Add a streak of courage, a fiery tenacity, a resilient frame, and the description is closer.

The trouble with great men is that when they pass it catches us off guard. We are left with hard questions that roil inside us in a tumult.

One of the beauties in the passing of a great man is that it holds us accountable to manage what is in our soul versus going about our business as we are prone to do when other men pass from us. If we are not aware, denial of our loss can drown us in their wake. But riding the wave of their loss can wash us with what made them great and transport us to a new place.

Like you if you knew Kevin, I’m suffering my loss. In time, I will stabilize, but I don’t want to cling to a reef of expedient stability–like work, for example, or trite dismissals–in fear of engaging the grieving process.

No. It is not time to drop anchor or search the horizon for a safe harbor. Now is the time to cry for no apparent reason. To recall and laugh. To be quiet. To cling to my friends and bury my face in their necks. Now it is time to celebrate that my Father, in His wisdom, equipped me—and you—with the capacity to grieve and remember tenaciously that He promised to never leave me destitute.

As I do this, then I pay tribute to a great man, who in death created a current to transport me through life. My final words to Kevin were, “I love you. I’ll see you soon.” I thought that meant I would see him on Wednesday. Now, of course, I understand it meant I will see him shortly.

I received an email update today from my editor. Here’s what he wrote:

“I’m still working away here. It’s been a challenge – not because of the manuscript (it’s in great shape), but because of life stuff and illness. I’m guessing some spiritual warfare thing might be at play, too. Would make sense.”

One of the misconceptions we have about warfare, especially in the West, is that war is civil—sort of a gentleman’s sport. If your opponent drops his sword, you allow him time to pick it up again. If he stumbles and falls, you give him a chance to get up and gather his wits.

The civility of not kicking a man when he’s down is a fair rule, and it is, in sanctioned matches. In the ring, the referee monitors the fight. If a fighter is cut, the ref examines him to see if he can safely continue. If he falls, the ref counts to ten while his opponent waits in his corner.

Warrior, you and I face a real enemy, on a real battlefield, but there is no referee, and it is not civil. To believe that your enemy will not kick you while you are down is a delusion. If you hold to that belief you will become disillusioned.

This is one of themes in “No Mercy.” Don’t expect mercy from your enemy. He is hell-bent on no mercy for you. Spiritual warfare is not a sanctioned fight. It is not civil. It is not fair.

Our brother, Steve, my editor, is in the thick of things. He is sick, and has been for a few weeks. His family is stressed. Life has closed in much tighter than normal, and he has associated these battles with the spiritual subject matter in, “No Mercy.” That is a noteworthy observation for us in the Prayer Tribe.

I think he is correct: Steve is under spiritual attack. Who wouldn’t be, given the content of “No Mercy?”

Tribe, would you intercede for Steve? He needs health, focus, and protection. He needs courageous souls to stand in the gap. He needs for you to intercede—now, tomorrow, and the next day. He anticipates returning the manuscript to me early next week.

Reny or I will be in touch in a few days with an update from my front.

Preston

It’s Thursday night—probably Friday morning by the time you read this post. I was just sitting by the fire and thinking backward when it occurred to me that I should let you know what’s on my mind.

I fought a brutal battle against feeling insignificant for years–and have now written a book about it called, “No Mercy.” The battle over significance culminated on another cold night a few years ago while I was sitting on a curb, in my neighborhood, with my dog. It’s a story for another day, but I came to realize that evening that I was significant because my Heavenly Father chooses to spend time with me.

The victory came from space. Not outer space, but realizing that since no one else—not the dog that was sitting between my legs, nor my dear wife with whom I sleep—can occupy the same time and space that I do, I’m singular. These can be close, but they can’t be completely integrated into where I am.

Therefore, no one occupies the same place in time and space that I do…except for my Father, who lives in me. That makes me significant. Singular. Important. Noticed and valuable by virtue of the fact that God spends time alone with me.

He could be anywhere. Everywhere. And He is. But most importantly, He is in me, where I am, and no one else is there—can’t be—and that makes me singularly significant.

Like I said, it’s a story for another day.

Significance and recognition—the subject of my thoughts this cold night—are not synonyms. Father resolves my need to be significant by connecting with me, and with me alone, in my space and time and place.

But recognition is different. Of course, He recognizes, e.g. “Well done, good and faithful servant,” but I believe He intends for those around us to play a part in our recognition.

Herein is the problem. God is dependable and absolutely faithful, and I wish the same could be said for me. But I am human, fatally flawed, and undependable. When humanity is introduced into your equation, you should expect disappointment. Drag.

I need to be recognized. To be sure, I won’t die without it, but I will suffer without it. Analogously, I need to be touched, but I won’t die without it. Like my need to be touched, I need to be recognized, and while Father is sufficient to carry me forward with/without touch, He is sufficient to carry me forward with/without recognition. I believe this. I believe Him. So, I’m OK in the long run, but I feel vulnerable sitting snuggly by my fire.

It is tricky to manage this battle against recognition—to be noticed. It is not as clearly defined as the battle with significance. It comes down to what a friend of mine calls “keeping your own counsel.” From my experience, keeping my own counsel is like balancing the ingredients in a complex recipe. Get it right, it’s good. Get it wrong, you feed it to Fred (that’s our garbage disposal’s name). Fred lives large at our house.

There are those aspects of life that Father deems so important that He singularly takes care of them, e.g. significance. There are those aspects of life that Father partners with us to achieve, e.g. recognition.

Seth Godin writes in his blog today that he wants to hear my opinion. Based upon my reading of Godin, I imagine if he were my boss, he would want to hear my opinion—or my comment.

But leaders like Godin are not as common as they could be. Dianne and I have been reading through the book of Acts in the Bible. It is one leadership failure after another thus far.

Acts 5:17-18 says, “But the high priest rose up, along with all his associates (that is the sect of the Sadducees), and they were filled with jealousy; and they laid hands on the apostles, and put them in a public jail.”

Why did these leaders do this? They felt their job was in jeopardy and their authority in question. They were threatened, so they reacted. Poorly. Even after they hear wise counsel from a colleague toward the end of the chapter, they release the apostles, but not before flogging them.

Threatened folks threaten. An insecure individual is not a safe person. Leaders, like the rest of us, are prone to believe that maintaining is job one. However, this belief is rooted in insecurity and promotes threat.

Jesus taught that we are secure in Him—secure enough to accept opinion, receive counsel, consider alternatives, and that we are secure enough to lay our lives down on behalf of another.

As you read my posts from the last few days, you can practically hear frustration oozing from the lines. The technical glitch was ridiculous. Getting it resolved bordered on insane. But I persisted. The glitch is gone (I think).

I am persistent. Persistence has carried me up and over Paradise Divide on my bicycle—and back down in ensuing darkness, sleet, and cold. Persistence has guided me through multitudinous failure—and successful innovation. It coaches me through the constant, relentless, physical pain I suffer.

Not enough persistence—you’re beaten. Too much persistence—you are abrasive.

“What demarcates persistence from abrasiveness?” I prayed one evening as I walked the hood. Thoughts came that sounded like His voice.

Abrasiveness has embedded in it self-reliance, desperation, and demand—all driven by the fear that if I’m unsuccessful, I will be conquered. I will be a failure. I will be less than the glitch, system, or person that defeated me. I will be defined by loss. Or, defined by success, if by abrasiveness I win.

Abrasiveness believes I am defined by outcome. Persistence believes I am untouched by outcome—that I am declared accepted by my Father in heaven and that this identity is secured in/by Christ Jesus.

Given this, I am free to bring every resource—physical, intellectual, emotional, willful—to the task at hand. There is no cause to leverage myself upward with fear or self-reliance—believing I’ll be a better man if I win.

Persistence is bringing all I am and possess into life’s arena—all the time—confident I am secure in Christ.

When do I become abrasive? When I leverage and overstate and posture from the belief I will be better or worse dependent upon the outcome.

Dianne (my wife) and I want to introduce you to a dear friend, Reny Madjarska, and ask you to join her in forming a Prayer Tribe to pray for us and my nearly-completed book, “No Mercy.”

Reny and I worked together for eleven years at Lifetime Guarantee Ministries. She is talented, trustworthy, and has a vibrant relationship with God.

Reny came to college at TCU from her home, Bulgaria, in 1994. She was an atheist, a card-carrying communist, and on a full scholarship in Economics. Our Heavenly Father pursued her, won her heart, and she became a follower of Jesus Christ. She has since earned a MATh, a MBA, and is currently the CFO of a financial services company in California.

“No Mercy” is a work of fiction. It’s about connecting with God, what goes wrong in the process, and how to remedy the relationship.

As Dianne and I discussed with Reny some of our challenges, she offered to assemble a tribe of people to pray. This is where I hope you enter the picture. Would you join the Prayer Tribe and pray?

As I share with Reny, she is going to write to you and post to my website, PrestonGillham.com, under the “Life” column. If you sign up by clicking this link, you’ll see “Join the Prayer Tribe” in the right column. Reny will keep you focused.

Reny has expressed concern that she, whose third language is English, is posting to a writer’s website. I have encouraged her that you are meeting to pray, not judge her writing.

So you’ll know, as Reny writes she will sign her name to her posts. If my name is on a post, it’s from me.

Thanks in advance for joining us. If you want, please pass this invitation along to others.

You will see “Join the Prayer Tribe” in the right column of PrestonGillham.com.

Bless you,

Preston

A lot of folks figure that if you are a follower of Christ and lead people that you are a Christian leader. That’s trite. Too simplistic, and therefore contributes to abetting the enemy’s tactic of rendering Christianity and Christian leadership irrelevant, distant, and out of touch.

One aspect of leadership is leading the way. You know, “Follow me.”

To split hairs, “follow me” doesn’t quite capture the proximity of leading people effectively. A person can follow from some distance. But if you say, “Join me,” or “Come with me,” the proximity implied in the invitation changes.

Leadership is not so much showing the way as it is taking people on the journey with you. Leadership is not only by example—follow me—but by affinity and by close proximity. You know: show, don’t tell.

I’ve been reluctant in my leadership-by-proximity because of the verses of Scripture that talk about not letting the left hand know what the right hand is up to, about doing your deeds in secret, about loss of reward, etc. Proximity of leadership and followership implies that the leader lets the follower into his leader’s heart and motivation and contribution.

Leadership can be abused by using its platform to garner praise and recognition. But, leadership can also have as its motivation taking others to new heights—new places—by example, and proximity, and sacrifice, and personal risk, and transparency, and by inclusion in the heart’s motive.

Showing the way with an inclusive, arm-around-the-shoulder proximity is the embracing of leadership by inclusion. I like that image.

Leadership by example alone is too distant. I can’t imagine Jesus calling to his disciples from a distance up the trail-of-life and saying, “Follow me.”

I think what he really meant was, “Come with me.”