I was away this weekend at my nephew's wedding in Highlands, North Carolina. It's a pretty spectacular place and the wedding itself kept pace with its surroundings.

But when I checked back in to church on Sunday night, I noticed that some of the blinds in the Worship Center had been fixed. They had been askew for several weeks and because of their height and placement you need a hydraulic lift to get to them.

It would have been easy to say, "We can wait. It's just the blinds. They're small. No one notices anyway."

But no. I got back and they'd been dealt with and repaired. And it looked better in there.

I'm glad we have people who are looking out for those items some folks might consider to be small or minor. Because in ministry and in leadership you can be trusted with the "much" only when you have first been faithful with the "little."

Didn't someone else say that first?

One of my favorite people once said in a sermon, "Sarcasm is a spiritual gift and I have it."

I do, too.

It's been part of the way I talk and the way I laugh for years. I vividly remember a whole group of us in middle school who used "opposite talk" for everything.

But through the years in ministry, there have been several occasions in which my sarcasm has wounded people. What I have thought was light-hearted or funny others have interpreted as painful or insulting. Sarcasm quickly becomes a weapon . . . even when it's not meant that way.

So I have been trying to live out a principle: if there is any question of how someone will take a comment I think is funny, I probably shouldn't say anything at all.

Because in the big picture, I want my words to heal and not to hurt.

As part of our KCI vacation (see yesterday's post), Julie and I went jet skiing on Saturday. It's only the second time I've ever been.

The most interesting thing about jet skiing is managing the wake left by other watercraft. Jet skiing is fine as long as the water is smooth -- you can go as fast as you like.

But if you get caught behind another jet ski or-- even worse -- a boat, the water becomes choppy and difficult to navigate. The action of that craft leaves a wake of turbulent water. Now the person on the jet ski in front of you has no idea of the problems he is causing you; he's simply using the machine as it's meant to be used. But as the trailer ski, you pay the price.

I've been learning that decisions are much the same way. Every decision you make has consequences that you don't anticipate -- and often those consequences impact people you aren't even aware of. This is true in your families, at your work places, and especially in spiritual leadership. The quality of decision-making, I guess, has to do with the amount of turbulence it leaves behind.

What kind of wake are you creating for those coming behind you? Maybe more to the point, are you looking around to see your own impact?

I have an Encouragement File that I keep in the drawer closest to my chair at the office. That's where I put all the attaboys I receive: cards, letters, and emails from people who have taken the time to tell me I'm doing a good job at one facet of ministry or another.

But just on top of that drawer is another drawer. That's where I keep some correspondence that, to put it mildly, is not so encouraging. The kind of correspondence that questions my intelligence, spirituality, and motivations.

Why keep some of both?

Because I believe that leaders in general and pastors in particular are never quite as good as their fans want to think . . . nor quite as inept as their critics claim. Those two kinds of correspondence that I keep around are subtle reminders not to believe all my headlines -- for good or for ill.

I suspect that there is both "wheat" and "chaff" in my encouragement file and my criticism pile. As a leader, I have to be bold enough to believe the wheat and honest enough to admit to the chaff.

So that in the end, when it comes to leadership, I'll be able to read the one headline that really matters: "Well done, my good and faithful . . . "

By the way, one of the best leadership blogs comes from Tim Stevens of Granger Church in Granger, Indiana. You can read it here.