Matt and Miles watched this movie for the first time last week, and it made me think about Lionel Logue, the speech coach. If you’re not familiar with the story, Lionel helped King George VI speak publicly without stuttering and in many ways contributed to the success of his reign—and even Britain’s World War 2 victory—by helping the king present himself as strong and in-command. Without Logue, the king might never have given speeches like this one that stirred the country and helped them survive the Blitz, or he might have stuttered horribly through them. The UK would not have had the leader they needed during this dark time.
So Logue helped win the war and preserve the dignity of the monarchy. But if no one had made a movie about it, none of us would have known.
When we think about our lives and especially our work, many of us picture ourselves as King George. Many of you reading this are leaders of a church or a ministry or a nonprofit. Some of you are authors and speakers. You naturally identify with the idea that you’re important. You may not be a king or queen, but you are rulers of your own small kingdoms.
Few of us want to consider that we are Logue—behind the scenes, unlikely to be noticed, even less likely to be honored. Professionally I spend most of my time ghostwriting books for others to claim as their own, interviewing others about their projects, and publicizing what others are doing. Personally I spend a lot of my time helping to raise kids who aren’t mine. I’m not on the Catalyst stage and I don’t get a Mother’s Day card, and sometimes it’s discouraging.
But there is not only merit in being the person on the other side of the microphone, there’s joy. From all accounts, Logue loved his work, his family, and his life. And although he died without the world knowing his contributions, a grateful king never forgot it. Can that be enough for us, both those of you currently in the spotlight and those standing to the side? Can we find true, real happiness in simply bringing honor to The King?