8d • General discussion
Principle of the Week: Presence Over Presents
My intent in sharing these weekly principles is simple—to offer hope and encouragement as we navigate the daily pressures of business and life. Staying principled isn’t always easy. The world around us constantly pushes self-promotion, winning at all costs, and putting ourselves first. But over time, I’ve found there is a better way. A more fulfilling way. A way that puts others first, adds real value, and allows us to be a light in a dark world.
This week, we celebrate one of the most meaningful holidays of the year—Christmas. It’s a season meant to slow us down, to pull us out of the rush of deadlines and demands, and to remind us of what truly matters: family, relationships, and the small moments that too often slip by unnoticed.
The principle I want you to carry with you this week is simple but powerful:
Your presence is more important than any present.
Your kids don’t really care about the newest toy. They care about Dad getting on the floor to play with them.
They may love the new kitchen set, but what they’ll remember is making cookies with Mom.
That new basketball is great—but what they really want is Dad stepping outside to play a game of HORSE.
Your time is more valuable, more precious, and more sacred than anything you could place under the Christmas tree.
As we enter this holiday season, give the best gift you can give—not something wrapped in paper, but something invested with intention. Give your time. Give your attention. Give your presence.
Below is a short story shared by Dale Carnegie that captures this truth better than I ever could. Take a moment and read it. I promise—you won’t regret it.
Father Forgets
W. Livingston Larned
Listen, son: I am saying this as you lie asleep, one little paw crumpled under your cheek and the blond curls stickily wet on your damp forehead. I have stolen into your room alone. Just a few minutes ago, as I sat reading my paper in the library, a stifling wave of remorse swept over me. Guiltily I came to your bedside.
There are the things I was thinking, son: I had been cross to you. I scolded you as you were dressing for school because you gave your face merely a dab with a towel. I took you to task for not cleaning your shoes. I called out angrily when you threw some of your things on the floor.
At breakfast I found fault, too. You spilled things. You gulped down your food. You put your elbows on the table. You spread butter too thick on your bread. And as you started off to play and I made for my train, you turned and waved a hand and called, “Goodbye, Daddy!” and I frowned, and said in reply, “Hold your shoulders back!”
Then it began all over again in the late afternoon. As I came up the road I spied you, down on your knees, playing marbles. There were holes in your stockings. I humiliated you before your friends by marching you ahead of me to the house. Stockings were expensive—and if you had to buy them you would be more careful! Imagine that, son, from a father!
Do you remember, later, when I was reading in the library, how you came in timidly, with a sort of hurt look in your eyes? When I glanced up over my paper, impatient at the interruption, you hesitated at the door. “What is it you want?” I snapped.
You said nothing, but ran across in one tempestuous plunge, and threw your arms around my neck and kissed me, and your small arms tightened with an affection that God had set blooming in your heart and which even neglect could not wither. And then you were gone, pattering up the stairs.
Well, son, it was shortly afterward that my paper slipped from my hands and a terrible sickening fear came over me. What has habit been doing to me? The habit of finding fault, of reprimanding—this was my reward to you for being a boy. It was not that I did not love you; it was that I expected too much of youth. I was measuring you by the yardstick of my own years.
And there was so much that was good and fine and true in your character. The little heart of you was as big as the dawn itself over the wide hills. This was shown by your spontaneous impulse to rush in and kiss me good night. Nothing else matters tonight, son.
I have come to your bedside in the darkness, and I have knelt there, ashamed.
It is a feeble atonement; I know you would not understand these things if I told them to you during your waking hours. But tomorrow I will be a real daddy! I will chum with you, and suffer when you suffer, and laugh when you laugh. I will bite my tongue when impatient words come. I will keep saying as if it were a ritual: “He is nothing but a boy—a little boy!”
I am afraid I have visualized you as a man. Yet as I see you now, son, crumpled and weary in your cot, I see that you are still a baby. Yesterday you were in your mother’s arms, your head on her shoulder. I have asked too much, too much.
Be Present
Be Principled,
Caleb
1
0 comments
Principle of the Week: Presence Over Presents
skool.com/the-principled-entrepreneur-2834
Entrepreneurship with Integrity
Leaderboard (30-day)
1
+1
Powered by