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Point Man on Patrol

It is harder to lead a family than to rule a nation. —­Chinese proverb

Albert Einstein was invited to speak at a banquet held in his honor at Swarthmore College. Hundreds of people from all over the country crowded an auditorium to hear what he had to say. 

When it was time for him to speak, he stood up and told the astonished audience, “Ladies and gentlemen, I am very sorry, but I have nothing to say.” And he sat down. A few seconds later, he stood up again and said, “In case I have something to say, I will come back and say it.” Six months later, he wired the president of the college with the message: “Now I have something to say.” Another dinner was held, and Einstein made a speech.

Some thirty-­five years ago, I spoke at a FamilyLife conference in Irvine, California. More than five hundred men filled the auditorium. My subject that morning was “Effective Male Leadership in the Home.” I talked about the importance of being a committed husband and a tuned-­in father. My time with those men was relatively brief—­less than an hour.

When I finished my talk, both the usual and the unusual occurred. The usual thing was that several men made their way to the stage to talk with me. Some had questions, some had comments, and some just wanted clarification on a point. But then the unusual happened. The first man asked me a question that I had never been asked: “What have you written on this?” Then another man came up and asked me the same question. Then another walked up and asked the same thing. In the span of five minutes, fifteen men asked me the identical question. One right after the other.

That was unusual.

I had no answer for these men. Like Einstein, I had nothing to say. At least nothing that would fill a book.

But it started me thinking. Thereafter, whenever I spoke on the subject of effective male leadership in the home—­whether in Phoenix, Boston, Dallas, Minneapolis, or Boise—­I would get the same inquiry: “What have you written on this?” And my answer was always the same: “Nothing.” But at some point I paused and said, “But if I ever do have something to say, I’ll let you know.”

I now have something to say.

This is a book for men. It’s a book that talks about how you can become an effective leader in your home. After many years of research and study, I’ve concluded that effective male leadership in American homes is going the way of the dinosaur. Some people are worried about the extinction of whales, condors, snail darters, or baby seals. Those are legitimate concerns. But let me shoot straight with you. I’m a lot more worried about the extinction of the men who know how to lead a family. And the effective male leader who knows how to lead his family is already on the endangered-­species list.

Dr. James Dobson provided an insightful diagnosis: “The Western world stands at a great crossroads in its history. And it is my opinion that our very survival as a people will depend upon the presence or absence of masculine leadership in millions of homes. . . . I believe, with everything within me, that husbands hold the keys to the preservation of the family.”

Things have not gotten any better in the years since Dobson made that statement. If anything, the crisis has grown even more acute.

That’s why I now have something to say. Three things, to be specific. And I want to say them to men—­men who love their families, who care for their families, and who would die for their families.

War Has Been Declared on the Biblical Family

You are only eighteen—­in the absolute prime of youth. You’ve got a driver’s license, a girlfriend, and plenty of dreams. Your entire life is ahead of you, but your immediate goal is to stay alive.

Welcome to Afghanistan.

On this particular day, you would give anything not to be here. Why? Because on this day you are going out on patrol. You’ve been on patrol before, but today is different, and that’s why there’s a knot in your gut and an icy fear in your heart.

Today is different because the patrol leader has appointed you to be “point man.” In essence, you’re the leader. Everyone else will fall in behind you. And as you move out to encounter the enemy, you realize that the survival of those seven men stepping cautiously behind you will depend on just one thing: your ability to lead. Your judgment may determine whether they live or die. The responsibility hangs over your head.

Your senses have never been so alive, your adrenaline so surging—­you can almost hear it rushing through your veins. You know the enemy is near, maybe just hundreds of yards away. Intelligence reported heavy enemy activity in this area late last night. Your job is to confirm or deny that activity. For all you know, they’re watching you right now. Perhaps they can see you, but you don’t have a clue where they are.

As you gingerly make your way through the meadow thick with poppies, you’ve got one eye out for concealed wires in your path and another scanning the trees for snipers. Entire patrols have been lost because the point man failed to anticipate an ambush. Men have been killed or horribly maimed, all because a point lacked skill and wisdom.

You never saw it coming. The violent shock and utter surprise of gunfire momentarily paralyzes you, despite your “instant reaction” training. Before you can respond, a bullet tears through your flesh and explodes a bone in your leg. A thousand thoughts instantly flood your mind: Am I going to die? Where are those shots coming from? Is there more than one? Will I lose my leg? Where’s the patrol leader?

One glance to your left tells you that the family of the patrol leader is now fatherless. In the chaos of attack, and in spite of your wounds, the other men are looking to you for direction. They know that you are the most experienced man. In panic situations like this, the book goes out the window. Like it or not, you are the leader.

As a medic evaluates your wound, you’re trying to determine what to do next. Just what is the situation? What are we up against? Where are they? Some good news in the midst of confusion brings a ray of hope—­the bleeding has stopped. You’re luckier than most guys on point. Usually they’re dead before they hit the ground. You’re still alive and in control of your thinking.

Two other men beside the patrol leader were hit. One is dead, the other bleeding profusely. You get on the radio and report your situation and position. You request a chopper for the hemorrhaging private. But before you can finish your request, the hidden enemy unleashes all his firepower on your position. You’re surrounded.

In your gut, you know the odds are against you. You’re outnumbered, outgunned, and not in the greatest position to wage a counterattack. You’ve got two men dead, one dying, and four wondering if they’ll make it to lunch. The worst-­case scenario has happened . . . and it’s worse than you ever imagined.

Now is the time your leadership will make the difference. What you say and do will determine whether your men live or die. As automatic weapons blaze around you, you must accurately assess the situation, determine the critical next steps, and formulate a flawless plan. It’s leadership, pure and simple. If your plan works, you and half your men may get out alive. If it doesn’t, someone will be lucky to find your dog tags.

Some reading this account don’t have to use their imagination—­you were actually there. You know what it is to see your buddy disappear forever behind the zipper of a body bag. You know firsthand the white-­hot heat of phosphorous grenades and the adrenaline rush of a firefight. You know what it’s like to be disoriented by the concussion of artillery shells crashing in around you. You don’t have to imagine patrolling in Afghanistan . . . it’s all you can do to get a night’s sleep without reliving it again and again.

Let’s make a critical change in the scenario. You’re still in Afghanistan, on patrol in the same deceptively beautiful meadow. But something about this patrol is different. You’re still the point man, but this time you’re not leading a group of men.

You’re leading your family.