The Traveler's Gift: Seven Decisions that Determine Personal Success - Softcover

Andy Andrews

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0785273220 ISBN 13: 9780785273226

Publisher: Thomas Nelson, 2005

Synopsis

What makes the difference between failure and success? 

Join David Ponder on his incredible journey to discover the Seven Decisions for Success that can turn any life around, no matter how hopeless a situation may seem. A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, USA Today, and Publisher’s Weekly bestseller, The Traveler’s Gift is the continuation of David Ponder’s story in The Traveler’s Summit. 

About this title

About the Author:

Hailed by a New York Times reporter as "someone who has quietly become one of the most influential people in America," Andy Andrews is a bestselling novelist, speaker, and consultant for the world's largest corporations and organizations. He has spoken at the request of four different U.S. presidents. Andy is the author of the New York Times bestsellers The Traveler's Gift, The Noticer, and How Do You Kill 11 Million People? He lives in Orange Beach, Alabama, with his wife, Polly, and their two sons.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

“please get off the floor and sit in this chair.”

 

Slowly, David opened his eyes and looked directly into the face of a man who seemed vaguely familiar. A small, older gentleman, his short almost-white hair was neatly combed, contrasting with the slightly disheveled appearance of his clothes. The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up at the elbows, and his red-and-black-striped tie was loosened at the collar. Atop his sharp nose sat a pair of round spectacles that were thick enough to make his clear blue eyes seem huge.

 

“This is a very inconvenient time for me,” the man said. “Just sit right there and be very quiet.” Turning quickly, he walked toward a huge hand-carved desk. Settling himself behind it and picking up a stack of papers, he grumbled, “As if I don’t have enough happening right now.”

 

Confused, David glanced around. He was sitting on a large Persian rug, his back against the wall of an ornate, high-ceilinged room. Directly to his left was the hard-backed mahogany chair that had been indicated by the man who was now intently sorting papers across the room. To his right, a globe stood on a pedestal in front of an unlit fireplace.

 

Easing up and into the chair, David said, “I’m thirsty.”

 

Without looking up, the man replied, “I’ll get you something in a bit. For now, please be quiet.”

 

“Where am I?” David asked.

 

“Look here now.” The man cursed as he slammed the stack of papers down on the desk and pointed a finger at David. “I politely asked you to be quiet, and I’m expecting you to do it. You are in Potsdam, Germany, a suburb of Berlin in a free zone presently controlled by the Red army. It is Tuesday, July 24, 1945.” Taking a deep breath and appearing to calm down, he reached for his work again.

Separating the papers, he said, “There now, sit and chew on that for a while.”

David wrinkled his brow. I must be in a hospital, he thought. This is a creepy old place. And if this guy is my doctor, he has a horrible bedside manner. Sitting absolutely still, trying to collect himself, David watched the man at the desk. Why would he tell me I’m in Germany? he wondered. And the Red army thing? I must have a head injury. Is this some kind of psychiatric exam?

 

He tugged at the collar of his dark blue sweatshirt. Uncomfortably warm, David noticed a water pitcher and some glasses on a small table near a window directly across the room. He stood up and walked slowly to the water. From the corner of his eye, David saw the man behind the desk briefly glance up, frown, and go back to his work.

 

David quietly poured a glass of water and, drinking it, looked out the window. He was obviously in a second-floor room of this building or house or whatever it was. Below him, no more than fifty feet away, was the bank of a slow-moving river. There were no people boating, no children playing—in fact, he didn’t see anyone at all. “Something isn’t right here,” David muttered as a breeze crossed his face and rustled the drapes beside him.

 

Reaching his arm through the open window, David was almost startled to find that the air was warm and humid. Then he realized what had been bothering him. It was the air itself. The air was warm. Every tree within sight was full of leaves, and the grass in the yard below him was green. In the dead of winter?

 

Putting his glass down on the table, David placed his hands on the windowsill and pushed his whole upper body through the opening. Yes, it was hot, he decided, and pulled himself back inside. What kind of place is this? David wondered. Why are the windows open in the first place? As hot as it is, the air conditioning should be running full blast.

 

As he moved back toward his seat, David looked around for a thermostat. There wasn’t one that he could see. The only temperature-controlling device was an old heater that someone had put in the fireplace. Not that that heater would do anyone any good, he thought. It’s so old, it looks like it could have been made in . . . , David stopped in midstride. In a soft voice, he said aloud, “. . . 1945.”

Wheeling suddenly, David faced the man behind the desk. The white-haired gentleman looked up and slowly pushed his work to the side. A slight smile on his thin lips, he leaned back into his chair, crossed his arms, and peered curiously at David.

 

David’s mind raced furiously. Potsdam . . . Potsdam . . . , he thought. Why is that name so familiar? Then, like a thunderbolt, it came to him. Potsdam, Germany, he remembered from a television documentary, was the site of the famous war conference after which the decision had been made to drop the atomic bomb on Japan during World War II.

 

A shudder passed through his body as David put his hands to his head. Think, think, he commanded himself. Who attended the war conference in Potsdam? It was Churchill, Stalin, and . . . All the breath seemed to go out of David at once as he groped for the chair behind him. Sitting down heavily, he stared at the man in front of him. “You’re Harry Truman,” he said in a shocked tone.

 

“Yes,” the man said, “I am. Though at the moment I would give anything to be almost anyone else.”

 

Swallowing audibly, David said, “They call you ‘Give Em Hell Harry.’”

 

Truman grimaced. “I never give anybody hell,” he snorted. “I just tell the truth, and they think it’s hell.”

 

Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes and said, “Obviously, I’ll not be getting any peace from this point on, so we might as well go ahead and talk.” Putting his glasses back on, he rose and came out from behind the desk. “By the way,” he said, “why not you?”

 

“Excuse me?” David asked.

 

“Why . . . not . . . you?” Looking directly into David’s eyes, he enunciated the words carefully, separating them as if he were speaking to a child. “I believe that is the answer to the last question you asked before you arrived.”

 

David frowned. Trying to remember, he said, “I was in an accident, I think.”

 

“Yes,” Truman said, “that’s sometimes how this happens. And the last question a person asks is often, ‘Why me?’ Of course, ‘Why me?’ is a question great men and women have been asking themselves since time began. I know the thought has occurred to me more than once during the past few days. It’s hard for me to believe that twenty-five years ago, I was a clerk in a clothing store!” Truman extended his hand and pulled David to his feet. “What’s your name, son?”

 

“David Ponder. Am I okay?”

 

“Well, David Ponder, if you mean ‘Am I dead?’ the answer is no. If you simply mean ‘Am I okay?’” Truman shrugged, “I’m not sure. I’ve never been given any information on how these things turn out.”

 

Suddenly, David relaxed. Smiling, he said, “I understand. I’m dreaming, right?”

“Maybe you are,” the president said, “but, David, I’m not. And even if you are dreaming, that’s not a problem. For centuries, dreams have been used to communicate instruction and direction to people of purpose—great men and women. God used dreams to prepare Joseph for his future as a leader of nations. He gave battle plans to Gideon in a dream. Joan of Arc, Jacob, George Washington, Marie Curie, and the apostle Paul were all guided by their dreams.”

“But I’m an ordinary guy,” David said. “I’m nothing like any of the people you’ve mentioned—great, I mean—and I’m certainly no apostle Paul. I’m not even sure I believe in God anymore.”

 

Truman smiled as he put a hand on David’s shoulder. “That’s all right, son,” he said. “He believes in you.”

 

“How can you be certain of that?” David asked.

 

“Because,” Truman responded, “you wouldn’t be here if He didn’t. Occasionally, someone is chosen to travel the ages, gathering wisdom for future generations. It’s as if the Almighty literally reaches down and places His hand on a shoulder, and in this particular case,” the president peered over his glasses, “it was your shoulder.”

A sharp knock at the door drew their attention. Without waiting for a response, a large, stocky man strode into the room. It was Fred Canfil, Truman’s special bodyguard. Formerly the U.S. marshal from Kansas City, Fred was temporarily attached to the Secret Service and had become a favorite of the president and his family. “I’m sorry to barge in like this, sir,” he said as his eyes surveyed the room. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

 

“No, Fred,” Truman said as he looked directly at David, “no one here.” Then motioning toward the door with his hand, he said, “If you’ll see that I’m not disturbed?”

 

“Of course, Mr. President,” Canfil said as he slowly backed out, a concerned look on his face. Still glancing about, he added, “I’ll be escorting you to the conference room within the hour, but if you need me before then . . .”

 

“You’ll be right outside,” Truman said as he ushered his bewildered friend from the room, “and I won’t hesitate to call for you. Thank you, Fred.”

 

As the president closed the door, David asked, “He can’t see me?”

 

“Apparently no one can,” Truman replied. “No one, that is, except the person you came to visit. Of course, that makes me look a little crazy,” he said with a grin, “in here, all alone, talking to myself.” Quickly, he wiped the grin off his face and continued, “But I shouldn’t think anyone would find it strange. I have ample reason to be talking to myself, what with everything that’s going on here.” Truman cocked his head and looked at David from the corner of his eye. “It is curious how you people always seem to show up during critical points in my life.”

 

“So this has happened to you before?” David asked.

 

“Yes,” Truman said, “three times now since I became president, you being the third. The first time was the night Roosevelt died. I was all alone in the Oval Office, and this kid just appeared out of nowhere. Fred came busting through the door—almost gave me a heart attack. It was strange that no one could see him but me.”

 

“The kid?”

 

“Yeah, the kid.” Truman paused. “I say ‘kid.’ He was a teenager actually. He was having trouble deciding whether or not to finish college.”

 

David was incredulous. “That doesn’t seem to be a problem big enough for the president.”

 

“What are you here for?” Truman asked.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Well,” the president said as he moved across the room, “at least the kid had a question.” Leaning against the desk, he motioned for David to sit in a chair near the globe. “Anyway, there was a lot of pressure for him to stay in school.”

“What did you tell him to do?” David asked.

 

“I didn’t tell him to do anything,” Truman replied. “That’s not my part in all this. I offer perspective. The ultimate outcome of anyone’s life is a matter of personal choice.” The president continued, “I was evidently his second visit. He had just spent an hour or so with Albert Einstein.”

 

David shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Will I be going somewhere after this?”

“Yes, you will,” Truman said. “Several different places actually, but don’t worry. They will be expecting you.”

 

“So you knew I was coming?”

 

“I was informed as you might expect—in a dream—the other evening,” Truman said. Walking around behind his desk, Truman opened the right top drawer. Removing a folded piece of paper, he handed it to David and said, “I was instructed to prepare this for you. This is the essence of why you are here. It is one of the Decisions for Success. This is the first of seven you will receive. You are to keep it with you, reading it twice daily until it is committed to your heart. For only by committing this principle to your heart will you be able to share its value with others.”

 

David started to unfold the page. “No, no,” the president said as he put his hands over David’s. “Don’t read it now. You must wait until our meeting is finished. As soon as you read these words, you will immediately travel to your next destination. Amazing, actually. You read the last word and—bang!—you’re gone!”

 

David reached over and touched the globe, unconsciously turning it to the United States. “Do you know my future?” he asked.

 

“Nope,” Truman said. “Can’t help you there. And wouldn’t if I could. Your future is what you decide it will be. Now you, on the other hand, could probably tell me mine.” As David opened his mouth to speak, the president held out his hands as if to ward off the words. “Thanks, but no thanks. God knows, there are enough influences coming to bear without you telling me what I already did!”

 

“You say my future is what I decide it to be,” David ventured. “I’m not sure I agree with that. My present is certainly not of my making. I worked for years to finally end up with no job, no money, and no prospects.”

 

“David, we are all in situations of our own choosing. Our thinking creates a pathway to success or failure. By disclaiming responsibility for our present, we crush the prospect of an incredible future that might have been ours.”

 

“I don’t understand,” David said.

 

“I am saying that outside influences are not responsible for where you are mentally, physically, spiritually, emotionally, or financially. You have chosen the pathway to your present destination. The responsibility for your situation is yours.”

 

David stood up. “That’s not true,” he cried angrily. “I did a good job at the plant. I could’ve taken early retirement, but I stayed. I stayed to help the company remain afloat, and I was fired. It was not . . . my . . . fault!”

 

“Sit down,” Truman said softly. Drawing a chair around to face David, who was trembling with anger and confusion, he said, “Look here, son. It is not my desire to upset you, but with the limited time we have been given together, truth will have to stand before tact.”

 

Placing his elbows on his knees, the president leaned forward and took a deep breath. “Listen to me now. You are where you are because of your thinking. Your thinking dictates your decisions. Decisions are choices. Years ago, you chose where you would attend college. You chose your course of study. When you graduated with the degree you chose to pursue, you chose the companies to which you would send a résumé. After interviewing with the companies that responded, you chose the one for which you would work. Somewhere during that time, you chose to go to a party or a play or a ball game. There, you met a girl whom you chose to marry. Together, you chose to have a family and how large that family would be.

 

“When you chose the house in which you would live and the cars you would ...

About this edition

• Publisher: Thomas Nelson
• Publication date: 2005
• ISBN 10: 0785273220
• ISBN 13: 9780785273226
• Binding: Paperback
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 240