The 13 Steps To Riches: Faith with Sharon Lechter

By Erik Swanson

• Are you a student of Napoleon Hill's classic from 1937 Think and Grow Rich?
• Has your life or business benefited from the timeless truths of this global classic?
• Experience these foundational principles of success that carry on from generation to generation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BEYOND PUBLISHING
• Release date: Jul 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781637925553

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

by Don Green

FOREWORD

by Larry Wilcox

The term Riches has so many synonyms and one hopes that we embrace all of them as we read this wonderful book concerning Faith as faith provides so many keys to so many padlocks in life while rewarding us with a very personal and subtle gift of richness and freedom. Faith is a choice!

I have a humble opinion that faith was always available to all of us as a provocative truth that is served early in life but often blocked by the maturation process of emotions that vacillate in the extremes during the adolescent spectrum of life and often shield one from critical thinking and it’s foundational offspring. However, when faith comes forward, in front of the cyclorama of emotions, life becomes richer and deeper.

I have often felt you have several choices of thought with respect to faith. My sense of faith has allowed me to have many arrows in my faith quiver if you will. My favorite faith arrow is the belief in oneself. Of course it is easy for one to rhetorically quip…hey, just believe in yourself and the doors will open. However, like other choices of thought, faith requires a foundation and a maturation and it becomes layered with prongs of wisdom and a deep foundation from which one can distill thoughts, choices, logic, responsibility and consequences. Faith in yourself, as a person who reasons from principle is key for me. I like to believe that my faith in my ability to reason from principle instead of emotional indulgence has been my pillar, my compass in my rich life. Faith in my ability to survive at all costs assists me with preparation, simulation, and the predisposition of shadow boxing in life. Faith is a theme in my life tapestry which is made up of disciplined and practiced daily rituals so that my muscle memory understands this without having to engage in the parasitic drag of an inner debate. Faith in my wife and our relationship, and faith in my business partners so all can operate in a non-oppressive environment and succeed accordingly. Faith in my God who navigates my stream of consciousness and its polarity. I could write many paragraphs on the arrows of faith as they are deep and voluminous. It takes a lifetime to hone the wonderful arrows of faith but the process and the timeline will always reflect on the rich hues and spiritual depth of your character and legacy. I will attempt to share just a snippet of the all powerful faith in my own humble life. Sometimes faith just beckons you, in such a beautiful customized sheet of music. I hope you are listening as all forms of joy and success are beckoning your soul through faith.

In 1967 I joined the United States Marine Corps during Vietnam. I joined the Marines because I expected I would go to Vietnam and even though I had major reservations and some fears, I wanted to be trained by what I construed as the best, the Marines. I had many experiences of fear and vulnerability, and yet, I knew I would eventually win as I had faith in myself. I found ways to escape the pain of physical and emotional abuse that was part of the Marine Corps Drill Instructor training, which was meant to break a person down and then re-build them. I can remember them having us swim in pure mud on a very hot day and then tell us we could not shower while hitting us in the trachea when we talked. They would put our thumbs in the chamber of an M-14 and let the chamber slam home on your thumb and laugh at the bloody and swollen thumb. You see, you could choose faith or you could wallow in your misery. I chose faith, because I had faith in my ability to re-interpret their abuse as entertainment and comedy. I imagined that these idiots were enjoying watching my side stroke or breast stroke in the mud because they were the one’s that needed a psych exam and an assigned disorder or two. Later, I was made the Platoon Leader as the Guide and the Guide is supposed to train his Platoon and to hit them or give a blanket party to the twenty percent who they deemed, should not be in the Marine Corps. They would call these guys, wannabe Marines and Private Pukey or other derogatory and profane names. They wanted these guys to be slugged and to be reprimanded by the entire platoon so they would learn a lesson or leave the Marines. So, I had faith in these guys and I began to train them privately. I often say, everyone is a diamond, just some are more camouflaged than others. So, when we would be standing in formation, I would tell them that I would be slugging them in the stomach when the Drill Instructor came out of the mess hall. I would obviously pull my punch so it would not hurt them but it was important they faked the injury a bit so it looked real. That way no one suffered, and the D.I. was happy to see the discipline and we could avoid a little abuse from them. We had one particular kid who was red headed, wore glasses, and was rather obese. They hassled this poor kid every day and at night they would march him out to the fence that separated the Marines from the Navy and they would tell him they wanted him to go AWOL (Absent Without Leave) that night because he was a puke, and he was an embarrassment to the Marines and they told him he better be gone tonight and joing the Navy, the swabbies where he belonged. Each night Private Pukey, which was one of his names, but they also called him the four eyed Mother. Fer, and he would undergo more daily abuse. They made him write letters to his mom, and before he could send them, they told him he had to read them out loud to the entire Platoon while they mocked him like he was a coward and a sissy. I took him aside and told him that he needed to not allow his mind to engage in their ignorance and that he needed to beat them at their own game. He asked how he could do that, as he was having a hard time surviving, as that day, he feinted in the forced march in the heat and they poured warm coffee on his face and berated him even more. I told him to have faith in his choice of thoughts. I told him to choose his reality with faith and not to allow them to dictate his reality. I told him to have faith not only in his choice of thoughts but in himself and he would win. I gave him examples of these choices of thought so it was not some esoteric mental masturbation but would in fact help him. Soon thereafter, I never saw him for the rest of bootcamp because the Drill Instructors sent him to the dreaded Fat Farm where all day in the heat you worked with hard physical fitness while carrying and using a sledge hammer. I felt so bad for him and wondered if his faith was his golden arrow that would get him through boot camp. The problem with being sent to the fat farm is that you have do begin boot camp all over so he probably missed a few weeks, meaning, that if boot camp was 14 weeks long his was now 16 weeks of hell.

During the next few months of training, I took every test the Marine Corps offered and I was chosen to go to Officer Candidate School but that meant I had to stay in another 6 years and I passed. I also was the only one chosen to go to foreign language school but the good ole Marine Corps lost my orders. October 1967, I landed in Vietnam, trained as a forward observer, a Fire Direction Control Artillery person and a survey expert using the Theodolite T-16. All Marines were trained as rifleman and in jungle training. While I was sitting in Da Nang, watching all the wounded marines getting off a C-130 to go home I listened to their short timer crass insults to all of us….the cherries as we were called. They would yell…. hey Marine, what is your MOS (Military Occupation) and I would say FO and FDC. They would laugh and laugh… 16 second life expectancy there Mr. Forward Observer Cherry! I finally disengaged with their ridicule and began reading a Life Magazine article about the DMZ and it showed photos of Marines wrapped in bandages on top of a mountain area called Con Thien. I hoped I would not be going to the DMZ. A few minutes later the loudspeaker came on again and announced names and serial numbers. I was one of the names and serial numbers, going to the DMZ. I felt a sudden gloom come over me and I grabbed my Saint Christopher Medal and said a simple prayer to God and asked him to protect me with a golden shield and I would attempt to do the rest in good faith. I got on a C-130 Airplane and landed in Dong Ha, Vietnam. Next, I got on the plane and got into a Personnel Carrier (PC) and we were told to lay down as we would be taking sniper fire. I thought wow…..I have no flak jacket yet and no rifle or anything. We drove north on the dirt road called Highway 1. We arrived at an artillery base, and drove through the Constantine wire barricade. The noise was deafening and made one shaky as 105mm and 155mm Howitzers were shooting all night long. I was told where to sleep and I was freezing cold as the Monsoons were starting. I woke up the next morning with very little sleep and followed other Marines to the chow hall. I stood in line with my tray wondering where I was going next, probably a lot closer to the DMZ and I looked up and almost started to cry. I stared, making sure I was not hallucinating and then squinted at the red hair, a survivor, a hero, a true MARINE who had gone through hell, Private Pukey. I went up to him and gave him a big hug and asked him what he was doing here in the Nam. He said he graduated finally from boot camp and was a cook. He told me thanks for the lessons in Faith. I hugged him again, and thanked God for such a cool reward. The red headed, 4 eyed, private pukey made it and he made it like no other. His faith carried him through hell and he can be proud his whole life. I spent the next 13 months clinging to the memories of my hero, and of course, my faith arrows and I knew I would make it home to the USA. I was honorably discharged a E6, Staff Sgt and I am glad my faith helped me and helped others. I have so many stories of faith; faith made my acting career in Hollywood where I starred in two Television series and produced an award- winning TV series on HBO. Faith blessed me when I was flying war games in an A-7 fighter Jet fighting F-16s from the Air Force Academy. We had to eject but at the last minute we decided to try and catch the famous trip wire and we were successful, because of faith. It is a long exciting story but too long for this narrative. I raced and wrecked my race cars from time to time at Riverside, Phoenix, Baja and Laguna Seca. I set International Land Speed records at the Bonneville Salt Flats and yet, faith was the true winner. I have five children, all better than myself, and faith in them has been a journey, a