Today, I would like us to consider the phenomenon of influence and its amazing effect on what we call “forever.” The waves of “goodness” that we set into motion while we are alive and dwell on this earth, will be lapping up against the beautiful shoreline of eternity even when the designation of what we call “time” is no more.
My parents taught me that doing well in business and doing good deeds in the world should be inseparable. They instilled in me an entrepreneurial spirit that looked forward to philanthropic ends. I was taught how to create wealth in order to enthusiastically practice virtue. If you have read my books, you have already been introduced to our Dad, who taught his three young boys the art of countertrade and barter (“don’t get hung up on the price tag – learn to deal with value for value”). He used to tell us, “Don’t sit around complaining that you don’t have something – take what you have and make it into what you want or need.”
He also used to remind us that if you put a business deal together and want to keep it together, you must make sure that everyone in the deal ends up better-off. Those ideas greatly influenced my life.
Now, let me tell you about the long-lasting influence of my Mom. I loved the evenings at our house where Josie Jackson, our Mom, would come home from a hectic day at work, sit down at the piano, while her kids took care of their assigned chores, and she would create a soothing, calm, and stabilizing atmosphere by playing and singing some of her favorite songs for about a half an hour.
My Mom was a dedicated public-school teacher, principal, and sometimes school superintendent. She had grown up on a dairy farm in Idaho and helped in the delivery and sales of the products. When she was twelve years old, her church’s regular piano player died suddenly, so Josie started playing the piano for the church services. In the 1930s, my Mom and Dad met at a Christian college located in the Boise valley in Idaho.
Our home was always full of books and in the evenings after dinner, and with all the dishes washed, dried, and put away, Mom and the four kids would head for the sofa where we would snuggle in around her as she would apprehend our little minds by reading to us until our eyes drooped with sleep. It was in that setting that I first began to hear about young boys who had overcome incredible obstacles to become great successes.
I still have in my possession some of those old books. In “Boy’s Stories of Great Men” I learned about the adventures of Andy Carnegie, the little Highlander boy who had come to America from Scotland when he was thirteen years old. I learned of Henry Ford, Dwight L. Moody William Carey, John D. Rockefeller, and James J. Hill and the railroads. In another book, “Boys Who Made Good,” I learned about such young men as Charles Schwab, and Cecil Rhodes, and many others.
My Mom had just introduced me to the power of story! Also, as just a little kid, I had decided that I would be a “millionaire” by the time I was 25! Our parents were close by as they watched their three young men become abundantly wealthy entrepreneurs on their own.
There was not a single day in my life that I did not know that my Mom was believing in me, cheering for me, and always praying for me. She was nether a “meddler” in my private life, nor a “drama queen” regarding circumstances. Rather, she teamed up with the God of the Universe in her prayer life for her family, and depended heroically on divine intervention as the ultimate influence for goodness.
It was my Mom who became a loyal friend and mentor to my bride, Anna Marie. She prayed for her and encouraged her in her educational pursuits. Mom taught just down the hall from Anna Marie during her first year of teaching, mentoring her through such things as lesson plans and parent-teacher conferences. She continued her prayer vigil for Anna Marie during her graduate studies for her Master’s Degree from University of Colorado, Boulder, and her PhD. Degree from University of Denver. They were both Master Teachers. Thousands of young minds were introduced to the ideas of “goodness” by each of them.
When my Mom retired from the education world, she became a staff member at a Denver area church in charge of visiting retired couples in their homes. For about another ten years she would go into the homes, visit with them, pray with them and if they had access to a piano, Mom Jackson would sit down “tickle the ivory keys” and sing with them some of the old hymns.
When I founded the work of Project C.U.R.E. in 1987, Mom Jackson took it upon herself to become the faithful “prayer warrior” for the whole endeavor. While I was traveling in over 150 different countries of this world, Mom Jackson was bombarding the gates of heaven with prayers for the needy people who would be receiving the millions of dollars-worth of medical supplies and pieces of medical equipment – and also for my personal protection and the well-being of all the staff people and the thousands of volunteers of Project C.U.R.E.
I don’t know for certain just how my Mom stayed up with my international travel schedule, but even if I had been gone to several different countries over a period of weeks, it seemed that just as I would step back inside my house with my suitcase, our phone would be ringing. It would be my Mom. She would say, “I don’t want to talk to you now . . . you just go to bed and get some rest . . . we will talk later, or you can send me a copy of your travel journal so I can catch up. I just wanted to know that you were home again – safe.”
I was in a hotel in Beijing, China, waiting to board an Air Koryo flight into Pyongyang, North Korea, when I received word that Mom Jackson had peacefully slipped away to heaven in her sleep. I was so sad, and the night was so long, as I cried and thanked God for giving me Josie Jackson as my Mom. The family delayed the memorial service until I returned to Colorado.
The very next week, I was off to the intriguing country of Burma – known now as Myanmar. In the city of Yangon (formerly known as Rangoon) I met up with my wonderful Burmese friend, Daniel Kalnin, who had worked tirelessly with me to not only ship donated medical goods into Thailand but also into the highly restricted northern areas of Burma. We were able to fly on small government military troop planes into Myitkyina and the northern town of Putao close to the border of China and Thailand.
There are no designated roads or formal transportation systems in the northern restricted areas of Burma. Years before, Daniel Kalnin had formed a group called “The Barefoot Doctors” who were sneaked out of Burma into Thailand to be hastily trained in rudimentary medical services and sent back, put on bicycles, and commissioned to go out from village to village to serve as best they could. Now, Project C.U.R.E. had found ways to ship medical supplies and simple medical instruments into those areas to assist with the overwhelming medical needs.
While in Putao Tuesday night, a group of Barefoot Doctors came to visit us. They had traveled long distances on their bicycles to reach Putao while we were there. Along with them had come ruling elders of the village church congregations from nearby. We sat out under the beautiful night sky. The rain had stopped, the clouds had floated away and the stars were brightly twinkling. The fires were crackling within our compound and the ladies had lit candles outside and had served hot tea and sticky-rice pieces of fried bread.
A large portion of the population in and around Putao were Christians as a result of the heritage left by the British missionaries who had come during the Colonization era.
One Barefoot Doctor wanted me to know that the word of our large donations of medical goods to the people of Burma had reached even the most remote villages on the China border high in the Himalayan Mountains. “I am here to tell you how much we love you and appreciate all that you are doing for Barefoot Doctors and for the people.” He went on, “From village to village they want you to know that every day they pray for your safety and for your good work and ask God to protect you and love you.”
I felt the tears forming around my eyes. “These people had come all this way to tell me this,” I thought, “what a sacrifice of love.” They told me more stories of their work in the villages and I asked them specifically what they needed most in their work with the people, then suggested that we make Putao a depot in the future for medical supplies. Project C.U.R.E. could ship them in and they would only need to come as far as Putao to collect needed supplies for their work on the borders of China, India and Thailand. They beamed and asked if I could also help in getting eight new bicycles for them. We all laughed about what we would call them on the inventory list in order to get them through Burma customs as medical goods.
Before the evening was over, they asked that I speak to them about our hopes and plans for Burma. Indeed, I took the time to share with them and encourage them explaining that we could do nothing of significance without them traveling the many miles on foot and bicycle to meet the needs of the thousands of villagers in the remote areas. “In my opinion,” I told them, “you are the heroes and together we are changing the healthcare delivery system of a whole country here in Asia. And we are doing it all for the glory of God.”
Then, the Barefoot Doctors, and the church elders asked if there was anything that they could do to help me in our endeavors. Since I was still hurting, and grieving the loss of my Mom, I decided to share with them about the life and death of my saintly mother, and how I feared that one of the things I would never be able to replace in my life after her death was her constant praying for me and for the great ministry of Project C.U.R.E.
One of the church elders quickly stood and spoke out. “Dr. Jackson, we join you in your heartache and grief. Nothing can replace your precious mother – but we will become the ones to pick up her prayer mantel and faithfully pray for you and for Project C.U.R.E. Please count on us.” Then, they all gathered around the chair where I was sitting and in the beauty of the jungle night and the aroma of the wood fires and wild flowers, they placed their hands on me and began praying aloud and creating a heavenly chorus of ascending prayers that broke through the night sky of the Burmese jungle, straight to the gates of heaven and to the very throne of the Almighty with their simple prayers of petition and praise.
I was crying openly as they prayed aloud. As my eyes were closed, I experienced the most beautiful picture of my Mom with her kind and cute little sense of humor, having arrived in heaven, smiling broadly with almost a chuckle in her voice, saying, “And you thought that just because I died there would be no one left to pray for you. Oh, my son! Just look at you – Just look at you!
For sure, my Mom never knew the full results of her incredible influence for goodness while she was alive. Those results of goodness, however, had powerful and lasting impact on the mainstream of civilization. Those results will still be lapping up against the beautiful shoreline of eternity even when the designation of what we call “time” is no more.
Next Week: Goodness Demands Nothing in Return