by Andy Andrews
PRAISE FOR
The FINAL SUMMIT
Every generation or so, God produces a person who can communicate like no one else. His words are like cool water to a thirsty civilization. Andy Andrews is one of the best I have ever seen.
—Zig Ziglar,
America’s #1 motivator and best-selling author
Is it possible to mix C. S. Lewis, Alfred Hitchcock, and Tony Robbins? The Final Summit is a unique and powerful blend of mystery and suspense and principles and emotional fire. Wow! Bring your highlighter to this party. You’ll want to remember every word!
—Hal Sutton,
PGA champion
This is no ordinary author. Andy Andrews is a Life Whisperer. He has a way of taking life’s most confusing issues and simplifying them, allowing us to harness principles and reach our fullest potential. The Final Summit is his best work yet . . . and that’s really saying something!
—Dave Ramsey,
Nationally syndicated radio host and
best-selling author of The Total Money Makeover
Have you given up in some area of your life? If it were possible, would you change something about “the way you are”? If so, The Final Summit is for you. Read this book now.
—Patsy Clairmont,
Speaker and author of Kaleidoscope
People who don’t like to read LOVE Andy Andrews’ books. Think about that for a minute. Surely, there is no higher praise.
—Sandi Patty,
Grammy Award–winning recording artist
This is not another “celebrity author” or “motivational guy.” People love Andy Andrews because his words change their lives. And those words have been carefully excavated from his own heart.
—Joe Bonsall,
The Oak Ridge Boys
Once again, Andy Andrews draws us into the narrative with his masterful storytelling. But this is not ordinary fiction. Drawing from history, science, and religion, The Final Summit frames our individual challenge to make a difference. If you’re comfortable with complacency or blaming, you’ll be uncomfortable reading this book.
—Dan Miller,
author 48 Days to the Work You Love
The journey through The Final Summit and The Traveler’s Gift has allowed me to take on more than I ever thought I was capable of doing.
—Lenny Sisselman,
LSA Entertainment
Under a master storyteller’s hand, history comes alive, and speaks to us all.
—Howie Klausner,
Writer, Space Cowboys
The Final Summit is a crucial piece of literature for our times. Andy Andrews once again weaves an important, entertaining, and profound story imbued with a fundamental message that both challenges and inspires. If you liked The Traveler’s Gift, you will love and appreciate this book!
—Scott Carr,
Director of Development, Hollywood Gang Production
A captivating climb to a crucial choice led by a collection of the most inspirational minds of all time, and one spellbinding story teller.
—John Wilder,
Award-winning writer/producer
This is the book that the entire world has been waiting on someone to write. Thank you, Andy Andrews.
—Jonathan Burleson,
Director of National Sales, Gaylord Hotels
Andy possesses the rare ability to entertain and enlighten at the same time. The Final Summit is evidence enough. Through laughter, sighs, chill bumps, and tears, you’ll lose track of time, learn about the world, and reflect on your life. Give it to yourself. Then give it to a friend.
—Gary Keller,
New York Times best-selling author of
SHIFT: How Top Agents Tackle Tough Times;
Cofounder and Chairman of the Board,
Keller Williams Realty
Once again, Andy Andrews delivers chills, laughter, and tears. The Final Summit is a masterpiece for our generation.
—Don Reid, The Statler Brothers
For six years now, Andy Andrews’ words have influenced and greatly impacted every single Air Force Special Operations squadron at every location they occupy around the world. He is our “go-to” guy as we raise up new generations of leaders!
—Lt. General (Ret.) Mike Wooley,
Air Force Special Operations Commander
OTHER BOOKS BY
ANDY ANDREWS
The Noticer
The Heart Mender
The Traveler’s Gift
The Young Traveler’s Gift
The Boy Who Changed the World
The Lost Choice
Mastering the Seven Decisions
Socks for Christmas
Return to Sawyerton Springs
The Butterfly Effect
The FINAL
SUMMIT
A QUEST TO FIND THE ONE PRINCIPLE
THAT WILL SAVE HUMANITY
ANDY ANDREWS
© 2010 by Andy Andrews
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of Thomas Nelson, Inc.
Thomas Nelson, Inc., titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail [email protected].
The Scripture quotation on the epigraph page is paraphrased in the author’s words.
Chapter 1 mentions Soul of the Lion: A Biography of General Joshua L. Chamberlain by Willard M. Wallace (Gettysburg, PA: Stan Clark Military Books, 1996).
Chapter 4 mentions The Principle of the Path: How to Get from Where You Are to Where You Want to Be by Andy Stanley (Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2009).
ISBN 978-0-8499-4866-4 (ie)
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Andrews, Andy, 1959-
The final summit : a quest to find the one principle that will save humanity / Andy Andrews.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-7852-3120-2 (hardcover)
1. Conduct of life. 2. Principle (Philosophy) I. Title.
BJ1597.A518 2010
813’.6—dc22
2010034235
Printed in the United States of America
11 12 13 14 QGF 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
To Kathy and Dick Rollins
of Columbus, Mississippi.
I will always be grateful for your
influence and example.
For I am but a Traveler upon this earth.
—DAVID (PSALM 39:12)
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
Readers’ Guide
About the Author
PROLOGUE
It is amazing, isn’t it, how one sound can distinguish itself from another? When the hustle-and-bustle around us is intrusive and overwhelming, how do our minds separate from the din that solitary ring tone? Or how, on a playground vibrating with the chatter of
youngsters, do we manage to quickly distinguish the single voice of our own child?
It was with those curious thoughts easing in and out of his mind that Carl Santiago looked up from the security desk. After all, it was almost time to close, which meant that dozens of workers were flooding the lobby, ready to leave for the day. Among them, Carl knew, was Gloria, who would be departing at the end of her shift. Still, he marveled at his ability to pick out the distinct sound of her high heels clicking across the marble floor of the lobby.
Carl’s desk—it was actually a huge block of granite—was situated near the entrance and had been carved and placed in such a manner as to “flow” into the koi pond. At least that is how he remembered the architect describing it. Carl had been the first security officer, hired before the structure was even erected. He was part of the security for the foreman’s staff during the construction years, and when the work was completed, he walked right into the boss’s office and declared himself a part of the place and “in for life.”
It had been amazing to watch the building climb the Dallas skyline while the media heckled and scoffed at its owner. The old guy was a bit eccentric, Carl admitted to himself. The man did things and said things and lived in a manner that was not entirely ordinary—that was for sure. But Carl liked the owner of the building. Yes, the man was in his seventies now, but his life had produced what Carl called “fruit on the tree.”
Carl had been in his late twenties when it all started. He and his wife had just welcomed a newborn baby into a world that seemed to terrify them. Neither Carl nor his wife had been traditionally educated. They emigrated legally from Mexico after months of waiting and paperwork, struggling with the language a bit but working hard, saving everything beyond what was needed for necessities.
Carl met the owner of the building during its first construction phase. The owner was a wealthy man who had been rich before. Carl had read all about him in the newspapers. The man had made a fortune by the age of fifty-five but lost every dime of it in a very public way when his debts overcame him.
According to the press, this man had “a magic touch.” The media seemed to make a connection between the man’s temperament and his money. True enough, when Carl met him, his personality was buoyant. He was down-to-earth and extremely likable. At the time of their first meeting, the man was sixty-something and had already come back from his financial difficulties. Way back. And everyone knew it. After all, it had been on the national news. This guy—a man who had gone bankrupt—had made another fortune and repaid every single creditor! And he had not been forced to do it.
The man was fabulously wealthy, but one might never have known. In fact, when Carl met him, the man had been wearing blue jeans and a burnt-orange Texas Longhorns sweatshirt. He had driven onto the property after hours in a Ford F-350 Diesel, and Carl stopped him—just as he had been trained to do. Carl was security for the job site, after all.
“Good evening, sir,” Carl had said. “How can I help you?”
The man opened the truck door, put a beautifully made (but atrociously dirty) M. L. Leddy boot on the ground, and answered, “Sir yourself! If you have a moment, I would like you to show me around.”
Carl quickly recognized the man from television and the newspapers. He was the owner of the whole place. Nevertheless, Carl politely asked the man for identification, and politely the man produced it, smiling and adding a “Thanks” for that slightly uncomfortable job well done.
It had been that day when the man made a casual remark to Carl that was soon to cause a firestorm of controversy. “I’m not going to borrow a dollar to build this place,” the man had said as he kicked a rock with his boot. “Not one dang dollar.”
“Okay,” Carl said in return. He hadn’t known how he was supposed to respond. Carl had never met a rich guy before.
“How old are you?” the man asked Carl. When Carl told him, the man went into a long speech about “paying as you go” and “not getting your cart before your horse.” The man reminded Carl of his grandfather back in Mexico. Carl had smiled and nodded then, not knowing how else to act.
When finally they came back to the man’s truck, he shook hands with Carl and told him, “I’m not kidding. Don’t borrow any money.” He laughed and nodded, and the wealthy man drove away.
But Carl never did borrow any money. At first, it was easy. No one would have loaned him anything anyway. Carl considered himself blessed—lucky, his cousins said—to have become friends with the wealthy man. Carl learned some principles from the man; he paid as he went, and his family now lived in a nice home that was totally paid off. And just last week, Carl and his wife had celebrated another anniversary with what seemed to Carl like a lot of money in the bank.
Through the years, the wealthy man had never forgotten Carl’s name. Nor had he ever neglected to spark a conversation when the opportunity presented itself. Once, the man had even broken through a mass of people that included a media line to introduce the president of the United States . . . to him. To Carl.
Carl and his wife had laughed when they watched the news that night. “Mr. President,” the man had said, “I’d like you to meet my good friend Carl.” Good friend. How about that? The owner of the building where he worked had called him a “good friend” in front of the entire world!
But that was then and this was now. Carl shook his head to clear the memories. The security for the building had been increased some years ago after 9/11. Thus, the desk itself was now joined with water to provide what amounted to a beautiful barrier to the six glass elevators that were perched amid palms and waterfalls flowing around the desk and into the pond. This incredible obstruction enabled Carl and the other security staff to funnel, register, photograph, badge, and track every single person who entered the fifty-five-story office building.
To say that the lobby was large would be an understatement. The building’s first five floors were an atrium that covered a city block. Forty-foot palms and live oak trees stood near each other, highlighted by a stream running from one corner of the edifice to the other. Grassy areas and flower beds were adorned with comfortable tables and chairs. In fact, many of the building’s occupants took lunch there. It looked more like a park than a place of business.
All the beauty and grandeur of the entrance, while visible from the elevators or even outside the building, were behind security. In fact, the only office not behind barriers was the one that oversaw the establishment’s massive parking deck. And it was that very office from which the sound of three-inch spiked heels began to emanate as Gloria Jackson made her way across the lobby floor.
Carl looked up and smiled. “Ms. Jackson,” he said to greet her.
“Mr. Santiago,” she replied brightly. Some unseen button was evidently pushed as a section of the granite desk folded smoothly into the floor, allowing the attractive woman to walk smartly across it. As soon as she had done so, the granite piece returned to its previous level, sliding into place with a satisfying thunk. Gloria Jackson was now behind the security desk.
Tall and beautifully proportioned, her skin was the color of caramel and rippled as she walked, the muscle tone apparent in her legs and arms. Gloria was almost sixty years old but could—and often did—pass for a woman in her forties. She ran transportation for the company in whatever incarnation that might mean at any particular moment. Helicopter to DFW, private jet out of Grapevine, or a taxi to Bass Pro Shops—whether it was a sedan with a little extra room or a bulletproof, steel-reinforced hard car for the governor of Texas, Gloria was on it.
Her boss was the owner of the building. He was a man recognized in public, but very few people knew him like she did. Gloria and her husband, Martin, understood the man who existed beyond the impressions that had been formed by the media in recent years. He had hired them to work at his house years before, when his wife was alive. The man obviously invented work for Gloria and her husband back then, doing anything he could do to put money in the hands of the young parents. He knew t
hey were penniless, but with his words and work, the man encouraged them.
When the man and his family lost their home, Gloria and her husband continued to help—even when he had nothing to pay her. All the other staff left, of course. The man had told Gloria he was bankrupt. And he told her it was his own fault. That was all right, she figured. “I been broke too,” she had smiled and told him.
But that was then. Now Gloria’s husband worked in her department—transportation—and at that very moment, he was outside in the car, waiting for her to leave.
“Has the boss come down at all today?” Gloria asked Carl, who shook his head in reply. Her eyes drifted toward the elevator shaft. “This makes four days, Carl. He has been up there for four days. Is he okay?”
“Well . . . there’s Internet traffic on his computer, and the sensors detect motion every now and then, so yeah, I guess he’s okay physically, if that’s what you mean.” They shared a glance. “But he hasn’t been up and down like usual.”
“Well, he’s got everything he needs,” Gloria said, as if to remind herself. “Should we call Jenny? No, don’t,” Gloria asked and answered her own question. “I’m going home. Everyone knows how to get me if they need me. Are you staying, Carl?”
“I will, I think,” Carl responded. He gestured over his shoulder at the other guards. “Their shift is starting. My guys have already gone, but I just feel . . . I don’t know . . .”
Carl took Gloria by the arm and moved out of earshot of anyone else. Talking softly, he said, “Look, I would hate for something to be needed up there and then the folks responding not to be ‘friends,’ you know?” Carl glanced around nervously. “Is he all right, Gloria? Mentally, I mean? Is he okay? You know I love him. I hate to ask that, but . . .”
“Shh . . . Carl . . . it’s okay. I know, I know.” Gloria smiled sadly. “Just stay here if you can. And call if you need me. Good night,” she said with a weak wave.
“Good night,” Carl replied with a sigh as his eyes turned upward.
CHAPTER 1
