Asking the next question unlocked lasting impact for my company.
I thought the leap was getting on the plane. Turns out the real leap came when I realized we’d been doing it wrong all along.
For 10 years I was the frog on the log. I told everyone I was going to jump — someday. I’d been talking about doing structured outreach work for nearly a decade. Then in November 2011, 30 days after saying “go,” I stepped off a plane in Paraguay with 12 people, 30 bags of dental equipment, and no real idea what we were walking into.
We set up our first clinic on the basketball court of an orphanage with 236 children. We had no instructions for the chairs, no practice run for the clinic flow, and only a loose plan. Half of our team were dentists. The other half including me, a CPA, were suddenly dental assistants. The Paraguayan Ministry of Health had even licensed us all as dentists for the week.
What Happens to the Next Ramon?
By the second morning, we’d already seen heartbreaking cases — children with teeth fused to their jawbones, mouths ravaged by decay. Then I noticed a boy lying in one of the darkened rooms downstairs. “That’s Ramon,” someone said. “He wasn’t feeling well enough to come up yesterday.”
When he rolled over, I saw a swelling the size of a golf ball on his cheek. I called over our surgeon, Dr. David Jones. His easygoing face turned serious instantly. We carried Ramon upstairs. Over the next 30 minutes, Dr. Jones drained an abscess so severe that when he finished, he said, “Steve, I’ve never seen anywhere near that much infection in a patient in my 40 years of practice. I don’t think Ramon would have gotten out of that bed alive.” I should have felt relief. Instead I felt dread. I asked myself, “What happens to the next Ramon when we’re back in the U.S.?”
Starting Isn’t Enough
That question wouldn’t let go. I called over our local partner, a 26-year-old missionary named Judah. “If I were to leave you my equipment and supplies, could you get a local dentist to come back here with you every month or two to provide care and be a resource so we know the next Ramon also gets support?” He thought for a second and then replied, “You’d probably need to help me with some gas money.”
That was it — the moment the Smiles for Everyone Foundation changed forever. We went from one-off service trips to building ongoing, sustainable dental outposts. Today we operate in nine countries and turn every $1 raised into more than $25 of delivered care.
Here’s what that day taught me: Starting is everything, but starting isn’t enough. The real leap in leadership is asking the next question: How does this last when I’m gone? That’s when you stop being the frog and finally hit the water.
