To Him Who Restores
On a hidden plaque, a stone tower, and the question every leader must ask
One of the last places I expected to find insight was a farmers market on Orcas Island.
It was the Summer Solstice and the market in Eastsound was especially vibrant. I enjoy grabbing a freshly brewed coffee and walking through the market. On that morning, sipping a cardamom latte from Olga’s Rising, I was intentionally trying to slow down and let the day breathe.
Among the handmade goods, jewelry, beef tallow skincare, and local vegetables, I came upon an author selling his book on the history of the stone tower on nearby Mount Constitution. We had visited the mountain the day before, and it had been one of the highlights of the trip. The tower sits at the summit and offers a stunning view of the surrounding islands, Mount Baker across the water, and into Vancouver Island and British Columbia.
What I did not know was how close the tower had come to disappearing.
The author told me it had fallen into serious disrepair. There were proposals to restore it or demolish it entirely and replace it with a Space Needle. After considerable debate, they chose to restore it. And during the restoration, they discovered something nobody knew was there. A plaque, hidden by the original architect, placed there in 1936.
When he told me about the plaque I immediately knew the words. I had photographed them the day before because I thought they were a powerful quote. But knowing the story changed everything.
The plaque reads:
To him who restores, my sincere commendation.
On one who would alter, eternal damnation.
Ellsworth Storey
AIA Architect, 1936
Read it again slowly.
An architect placed those words in stone in 1936 and trusted that someday the right people would find them. Nearly ninety years later, during a restoration that almost did not happen, they did.
The wisdom of these words landed with me on several levels.
I appreciated the foresight that Storey brought to his work. His loving hands were part of the designing of the tower, which carried more than just an emotional investment for him. He wanted it to survive, to thrive, and to continue. And if there was ever a time when the structure was to be eliminated, he wished the most powerful condemnation that he could think of, hidden in stone, waiting.
More than anything else, I kept returning to the first line of the plaque.
To him who restores, my sincere commendation.
Storey saw it coming. He knew that a moment would arrive when a decision had to be made. Restore what is already there or remove it altogether. Let it come down into a pile of rubble.
That decision is not unique to stone towers.
There are structures in each of our lives in various states of health. As I stood there, I thought about the culture of a workplace, the state of a friendship, the health of a person’s body, the condition of a marriage. In each of these we do not need a prophet to know that a moment will come when a decision must be made. Restore it to something better. Or allow it to tumble into debris.
Storey encouraged restoration.
So do I.
And I find myself asking a simple question as I consider my own life.
Am I building or destroying?
For leaders this is an essential question that needs to be asked regularly. The force of this question is that it provides a compass for how we approach the structures in our lives.
The quality of our leadership will be greatly enhanced by the intentional decision to restore and build, whether that means the way we engage with our team, the attitude we carry into a meeting, or the culture we are quietly creating by how we show up each day.
An underrated leadership practice is simply taking a dedicated five to ten minutes during your day, on a walk, over a morning coffee, or in a quiet moment before the day begins, to step back and honestly evaluate where you are. Are you restoring or destroying?
The answer will tell you everything you need to know about what to do next.
I came back from Orcas Island with decisions I had made during the time away. The island gave my mind space to unwind and be at ease for a while. And I was particularly inspired by the plaque to ask that question about so many areas of my life.
I came back with the determination to build. To restore. To matter.
What would happen if we as leaders, fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, whatever role we carry, chose to be restorers? If we used our energy and our gifts to strengthen the structures we are attached to?
After the farmers market that morning the Summer Solstice parade wound through the streets of Eastsound. It was joyful and unhurried and entirely human. And it ended with something I was not expecting. A group of children, laughing and straining on their tiptoes, holding up a large globe together. The whole earth carried on the shoulders of the next generation.
I thought of Ellsworth Storey. I thought of what he hid in that tower. And I thought about what we are handing to the ones who come after us. Not just buildings. Not just institutions. But the culture, the relationships, the habits of care that either hold together or fall apart depending on the choices we make right now.
They were holding the world up. The least we can do is not tear it down.
Orcas Island came home with me. It returned with the determination to restore.
On the deck of the ferry, with Mount Baker rising across the water, I made a quiet decision. I was going to be one who restores. And in that moment I felt the commendation of an old architect who hid his blessing in the stone of a tower nearly lost to disrepair.
Storey’s warning was severe. But his commendation was clear.
Why not restore?
Steady.