The drive from the East Texas Crisis Center office to the family emergency shelter took about fifteen minutes. I made that drive often in the early years, usually thinking about the responsibilities waiting for me and wondering how I would manage them all.
I had been hired as executive director in 1980, at age 24. I didn’t bring much experience to the job. At first, ignorance was bliss. I had plenty of energy and a willingness to work.
Then, almost immediately, critical funding we depended on disappeared. Thanks to a donor who stepped in, we kept the office open. Within two years, we had opened an emergency shelter. Before long, we were establishing outreach offices in surrounding counties.
The work grew quickly. So did the responsibilities.
On those drives, I sometimes comforted myself with the thought that I had as many hours in a day as President Ronald Reagan. Of course, he had one luxury I didn’t have: staff to help him manage those hours.
What I didn’t fully appreciate then was that I had something just as important: people who were helping me learn to lead.
Someone who saw more in me
One of those people was Bob Geffner, our board chair. Bob was a university professor, a visionary, and a teacher. He saw possibilities in me long before I had much confidence in my own abilities.
He knew how to coach without taking over.
As I gained experience and developed my own ideas, he gave me room to challenge him and argue my point of view. Our relationship changed as I grew, but he continued to walk alongside me, offering guidance without insisting that I follow his every suggestion.
Looking back, I realize how much that mattered.
Bob didn’t simply help me make decisions. He helped me develop the confidence to make them myself.
Years later, I would discover how important it was to give that same freedom to others.
Learning to let go
For the first half of my time at the Crisis Center, I carried much of the grant-writing responsibility myself. I identified funding opportunities, made the case for our work, and wrote proposals.
It was important work, and I knew how to do it.
But as the organization grew, I began to recognize a limitation in my approach. If every grant had to pass through me, our growth would always be limited by my time, my knowledge, and my capacity.
We could accomplish more if I shared what I had learned and helped program leaders take responsibility for securing funding for their own programs.
That sounded sensible. Putting it into practice required something more difficult.
I had to trust their judgment.
One opportunity involved seeking funding for a new children’s program at the shelter. I asked the staff responsible for the program to develop the grant request.
When they returned with their proposal, they wanted to ask for twice what I would have requested.
Twice.
I thought it was too ambitious. I doubted the request would be approved. But the staff made their case, and they believed the amount was justified.
I had a choice. I could insist on the amount I thought was reasonable, or I could trust the people closest to the work.
Since the program was new, I reasoned, we had little to lose by asking for more.
We submitted the proposal.
The result? Three years of funding at twice the amount I would have requested.
Had I written that grant myself, we would have settled for less.
The staff saw possibilities I hadn’t seen. They understood the needs of their program and had the confidence to make the case.
I had trusted their judgment, and they had expanded my own.
The lessons come full circle
When I think about those early years, I recognize how much my understanding of leadership changed.
At 24, I measured my contribution largely by what I could personally accomplish. There was always another problem to solve, another proposal to write, another responsibility demanding my attention.
Over time, I began to understand that leadership wasn’t simply about getting the work done. It was about helping other people develop the confidence, knowledge, and freedom to do work I might never have imagined.
That doesn’t mean abandoning responsibility. Leaders still need to make difficult decisions, establish direction, and keep the organization focused on its mission.
But they also need to listen. To recognize that the people closest to a program may understand its possibilities better than anyone else. And sometimes, to trust an idea that stretches beyond their own expectations.
Bob had taught me the value of trusting my own judgment. My staff taught me the value of trusting theirs.
And perhaps that’s where these October reflections come together.
In my October Reflections Part One blog earlier this month, I wrote about a young girl who went to a Halloween party knowing no one and instinctively found a way to help. Looking back, I recognized an early expression of generosity that would follow me throughout my life.
But generosity takes different forms as we grow.
Sometimes it means offering our time or resources. Sometimes it means sharing what we’ve learned. And sometimes it means giving someone else the opportunity to discover what they’re capable of accomplishing.
I began my leadership journey believing I needed to find a way to do more. I gradually learned that I could accomplish more by helping others grow.
We all need someone who sees our potential before we can fully see it ourselves. And perhaps one of the greatest gifts of leadership is becoming that person for someone else.
Read it. Share it. Pass it on.
If you have a question or a topic you would like to see explored in future posts, please reach out to me.
The Gift of Giving by Dawn Franks is a practical, inspiring guide to living with purpose through generosity. Filled with real-world wisdom, it encourages readers to make a meaningful difference and leave a lasting legacy. Click to learn more about The Gift of Giving.
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