Mom's Kitchen

I can still see the orange rays streaming through the picture window that morning. I was 12. It was the summer between sixth and seventh grade, and Dad and I were in the finishing stages of a total rehab of our house. It was around 5 a.m., and he and I were sitting alone at the kitchen table surveying our handiwork with pride and anticipation.
Mom's kitchen was old-school. Room as big as a small house. Kitchen cabinets and appliances lining three walls. Doors leading to every other area of our home. Solid-oak table -- strategically centered, of course -- capable of seating 16 for a fine Thanksgiving meal, or standing 25 for arts and crafts.
This room was the epicenter of family life at the Wagner's, so it was perfectly natural that Mom was beyond anxious for us to finish her kitchen -- she had been cooking out back on a camping stove (not to mention using a sheet of plywood set on construction horses as a dinner table) for more than a week.
About 9 o'clock the night before, we had finished painting the kitchen walls, and the family was winding down for the night. That's when Dad pulled me aside and whispered, "If we bust our butts all night, we can finish this and surprise Mom in the morning."
"Finish it in one night?" I thought. "You must be kidding."
We still had to install the electrical outlets and plates, lay the tile floor, set the kitchen cabinets and appliances, cut and install the baseboard, and, most importantly, set up Mom's table and chairs.
And we had to do all that without waking up Mom.
I truly figured there was no way we could do it, but at the same time, I was really excited about the reaction we'd get from her if we pulled it off.
So as soon as she hit the sack and Dad made his excuses for staying up "another hour or so," we tackled that kitchen like madmen on a crusade.
20 electrical outlets installed with plates ... Done!
352 square feet of tile laid ... Done!
Dozens of kitchen cabinets leveled and secured, countertops installed and jointed, plumbing hooked up and tested, cabinet knobs screwed in ... Done!
55 feet of baseboard measured, cut, stained and installed ... Done!
Stove and fridge installed and leveled ... Done!
And finally, Mom's kitchen table and chairs lovingly arranged ... Done!
Feeling that cocky pride that comes only after an impossible job is done, and done well, we were darn sure not going to miss the look in Mom's eyes as she walked into her new kitchen that morning. So I popped Dad another Falstaff (taking my "I popped it, I'm starting it" sip off the top, of course), and we sat down to wait.
After sitting silently for a while as we surveyed our work and patted ourselves on the back, Dad calmly but deliberately took a swig of beer, leaned toward me slightly, gave me one of his "I'm serious now, so listen up" looks, and said:

"When people sit back and gaze at what they've built, they aren't smiling because what they've built is beautiful. They're smiling because they're remembering every measurement, every cut, every grand idea and every stupid mistake that went into taking raw material and turning it into something wonderful.
"They're smiling because they're looking at what love can create.
"Mom is going to love her kitchen, because we loved building it."

Since that summer morning, I've built six companies. And while every one of those companies has achieved success, the times I remember and cherish most are times like being $250,000 in debt with no receivables, no clients, no money to pay bills six months old, phones about to be turned off, and attorneys and collection agencies threatening to take my home.
The things I remember and cherish most happened during the building, not when I finished what I had started.
What is your task today? To overcome insurmountable debt? To make 100 phone calls? To close a deal? To wow an audience?
Tackle that task with the love of a child trying to put a smile on his mother's face, and you'll not only greatly increase your chances of success, you'll be guaranteed to have something on which you can look back and smile.
--
Gill E. Wagner, Sage of Selling
President of Honest Selling
Founder of the Yellow-Tie International Business Development Association