Living Paradox

Living Paradox

“The great paradox of life is that those who lose their lives will gain them. If we cling to our friends, we may lose them, but when we are non-possessive in our relationships, we will make many friends. When fame is what we seek and desire, it often vanishes as soon as we acquire it.”—Henri Nouwen, “April 30” in Bread for the Journey (HarperOne, 1997).

University of Arkansas graduation

Nouwen again opens us up to an authentic truth: that we live and work with paradox, holding tensions. One of the best books I read during my work as a physician was John R. O’Neil’s The Paradox of Success: When Winning at Work Means Losing at Life. It is subtitled: A Book of Renewal for Leaders. O’Neil tells us how our excessive pride as leaders, combined with the seductive perks of power, can become addictive. At some point, the wielding of power itself becomes even more important than its goal.

Power and the need to control our fate can take over and sometimes become the end rather than the means. The paradox of success is the promise of renewal, as we can stand back, especially in a retreat, and see where we have gotten into trouble. There are obstacles to stepping back, such as our drive for perfection, as our path becomes a prison. Often, we let our clocks tell us what we should be doing, especially as we drive toward the dead-end of a substantial paycheck.

O’Neil believes that any amount of time spent away from our usual productive round of activities is renewing as long as it is time spent pursuing wisdom. Renewing activities can be exercising, watching birds at my window, being or sitting in nature, listening to music, playing the harp, being quiet, writing, talking and connecting with friends, visiting the sick, and some form of daily retreat, usually involving writing.

O’Neil encourages us to become healed by pursuing a different situation, where we do not run the show and focus on relationships rather than goals or end results. Our difficulties stem from the very traits that make us winners. We will find unmined gold in dark places initially hidden from us.

The book includes a graph about success. We work hard to reach the top as we master our profession. However, we only stay at the top briefly since there is always someone else or many who will soon surpass us. O’Neil suggests we stop to observe our situation as we approach the peak of a pursuit and consider starting all over again in a new career.

That can keep us humble, as we are back on a learning curve where we do not have all the answers. Then, as we get close to the top of that career or undertaking, he suggests we observe and again consider starting all over again. As Benedictines might say, “Always we begin again.”

My summer reading again includes David Brooks’ The Second Mountain. I think Brooks is discovering some of these same principles about life. For so many, our time during the pandemic was a period of discernment—learning how to live with the paradoxes in our lives.

Richard Rohr recently reminded us in his blog that our call is to hold the tension, not necessarily find a resolution or closure to the paradox. We must agree to live without resolution, at least for a while. He believes being open to this holding pattern is the very name and description of faith.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com  https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Strangers, Angels, Visiting Firemen

Strangers, Angels, Visiting Firemen

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.”—Hebrews 13:2, NRSV.

Early in our medical careers, as my husband and I had the opportunity to help develop departments at Arkansas Children’s Hospital, we constantly recruited out-of-town physicians looking for positions in our specialties for several weekends a month.

We also had three small children we wanted to be with, especially on the weekends. So, we usually took our children with the visitors on tours of Little Rock and treated them to lunches in the afternoon. We often ate at a hotel restaurant with an indoor glass elevator and escalators. When the children had enough recruitment entertainment at lunch, they entertained themselves by making several birds-eye-view trips up and down the hotel elevator and escalators.

I don’t know if this term is still in fashion, but we would identify the visiting physicians to our children as “visiting firemen.” The phrase is still a well-used part of our family vocabulary.

Many of these “visiting firemen” indeed became “angels unawares,” as the King James Bible translates this verse from Hebrews. We had no idea how we would be able to work with those we were recruiting, but we took a leap of faith, and they changed and healed children’s lives, and influenced us as well.

They helped us put out fires when the politics of medicine reared its ugly head. They taught us by their presence how grateful we were for them every day as we tried to solve,  identify, and change the course of children’s diseases, consulting with each other in community rather than making decisions by ourselves. Their presence and wisdom changed me from an anxious person to a grateful person. They brought with them peace, one of the fruits of the Spirit in Galatians 5.

The most significant accumulation of strangers we now meet is at St. Mark’s food pantry. But soon they, as well, are no longer strangers. Many, indeed, are angels. They ask for prayer, but know how to pray better than we do. They have very little, but they share it with others. Many bring their neighbors who cannot drive. They repeatedly tell stories about how blessed they are. Perhaps this is a sign of an angel who lives in gratitude.

I share with spiritual friends that I have learned most often from strangers that gratitude is a path to our soul and the God within us.

If you or a loved one became sick during this pandemic, you indeed met many strangers who were angels, unaware. But we don’t need to get sick to see the angels. They bring our mail. They work in our grocery stores, pharmacies, and food pantries.

Today, we also remember Macrina Wiederkehr, who died near this time in 2020. Her book, Tree Full of Angels, speaks to what we are all trying to write about.

Joanna. Joannaseibert.com. https://www.joannaseibert.com/

aln a Maine Manner of Speaking

aln a Maine Manner of Speaking

Guest Writer: Ken Fellows

                             Tourist: “How far is it to Portland?”

                  Maine Farmer: “The way you’re headed, about 30,000 miles …

                      with some stretches of pretty bad wheelin’.

Maine Porch Railing. Ken Fellows

     When we moved to our home in Kittery, Maine, years ago, I was charmed by local speech … words like “Sat’day” for Saturday or “barse-ackwards” for reversed) and colloquialisms (“go’in over town,” “right as rain”). I was also smitten by our new neighbors’ comments, so often cryptic, wry, and ironic. But it was the short, off-kilter conversations I found most beguiling. 

    My first encounter with local brevity came during the building of an addition to our Kittery house. A muscular, middle-aged Mainer, perspiring and frustrated, was trying to back a huge cement truck along the confining edge of a new foundation. A stunted, bushy tree next to his truck was another vexing obstacle.

Assuming I could help, I shouted up to him: “I don’t care much about that tree.” The driver whipped around to glare down at me from the truck’s cab. Clearly annoyed, he loudly deadpanned: “Neetha’ do I.” Reflecting on that brief exchange, I marveled how that Maine truck driver, in just three little words, had expressed his extreme contempt for my help, established me as an irritating interloper, and effectively curtailed any further distractions from the gallery. Our future relationship had been established.

     A graying lobsterman, Henry M., lived in a house backing on ours. He was an extreme example of Maine reticence. He was a thin, spry man, polite but taciturn. He often left products of his fishing on our doorstep but never knocked on our door or ventured to stop in when we were obviously at home.

He waved from his yard but rarely spoke. I suspect he wanted to be neighborly but was inhibited by our being “from away” and perhaps also embarrassed by our age and background separation. He was probably a treasure trove of Maine lingo and local stories, but his shyness prevented my gathering any samples.

     A 60-year-old lobsterman, Bud S., lived next door. His relationship with us over many years was quiet and remote but never unfriendly. We met occasionally on our adjoining creekfront lots, he repairing his lobster boat while I fussed over a dock with landing-float I was building. I was always impressed by his reticent speech and calm demeanor bordering on indifference. He never initiated a conversation, and his responses to questions were mumbled and abbreviated. Yet, I found his persona intriguing and amusing … a quintessential Maine character. His bearing always initiated an uncharacteristic calmness in me.

      Having arrived back in Kittery after a long winter, one sunny April day, I was devastated to discover the floating-raft section of my new dock gone. I assumed it had washed down tidal Chauncey Creek and out to sea during wintery high tides. Bud happened to be there painting his boat for the next fishing season at the waterside. His back to me, he remained thoroughly engaged in his work and characteristically mute as I loudly voiced my anger and frustration.

Through at least 10 minutes of my uninterrupted, distraught whining about my loss and the expense of building another raft, Bud concentrated on this painting, nodded once or twice, but never turned around. Exhausted and deflated, I finally turned to leave.

Without expression, and in his usual laconic tone, Bud abruptly muttered: “Well, you could build anotha’ one, I suppose (pause ….), but my cousin down the cri’ck saw your raft floating by some weeks ago and hauled it up on his beach (pause) …  I could help haul it back whenever you like.”  And so, another Mainer had let a ‘new-be’ stew awhile before generously offering needed information and help.

     Maine lingo –it’s often reluctant, on target, exasperating, and amusing, all in the same mumbled breath. It slows city folk down, lowers their voices, and encourages their consideration and reflection. It makes them more accepting and a lot easier to deal with.

Ken Fellows

Joanna. . https://www.joannaseibert.com/