“The Many Faces of Humility”

“And what does the Lord require of you,

but to do justice, and to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?”

- Micah 6:8 -

I have come to believe that the journey through the second half of life is essentially about learning the “Art of Humility”. It’s not that we seek it or welcome it, but come it does, often as an unwelcomed guest. Humility comes in many forms and has many faces: I can’t run as fast, jump as high, or throw as far.

This summer I was at the beach with my grandson, Max, playing football. I told him to go out for a pass, “No farther”, I yelled. Out about 20 yards, I took dead aim at my receiver, and unleashed a ferocious bomb right on target . . . but 15 yards short! In my enthusiasm I had forgotten my two shoulder surgeries as well as the fact that I hadn’t thrown a pass in many years. I was devastated, crushed, embarrassed, humiliated. I used to be a very good athlete, and in my mind, that reality hasn’t dimmed -- until another loss, another reality check. “That was then, this is now.”

Learning to walk humbly seems to be the way of things now that I am in my 70th year. This time of life gives new meaning to the Serenity Prayer line, “Accept the things I cannot change”, and the list keeps getting longer: I don’t think as clear, sleep as well, move as quickly. Asking for, and accepting, help and assistance does not come easily to a man steeped in pride. The realization that “I can’t do all I used to do” and that I often need to reach out to others, is humbling.

Donations --

All this came into play in an important way as I was preparing for my third year in Guyana this summer. I decided to reach out to family and friends, and give them the chance to “join me on my  journey” through their financial support. Now I absolutely hate asking for money (especially from those close to me), but I humbly knew that there was a greater good at play.

The first donation was a $4 one--I call it the “Widow’s Mite” -- small in amount in dollars, but proportionate to the giver’s resources it was gigantic. Then came a $100 gift from an old friend, then another from a relative. The checks kept coming and coming, totally over 40! I was humbled. Big gifts, smaller gifts, donations soon went over the $2,000 mark. I’m still not sure what’s beyond humbled, but I am there. So many thanks to all who gifted the children of Guyana through their generosity!

LESSONS IN HUMILITY FROM  . . . .

St. Ann’s Orphanage --

This generosity was quickly put to work by John and me in the purchasing of a brand spanking new fiberglass backboard, hoop and stand for the girls’ outdoor play area. With the enormous help from the folks at Gizmos and Gadgets store in Georgetown, the basketball equipment was delivered, re-assembled and readied for the girls to see.

         

                              

The looks in their eyes and expressions on their faces when we brought them down to the previously empty play area is so hard to describe with words. (I hope a few pictures will help give you a sense of their reactions). Jo’c and I even shot around, doing pretty well for a couple old geezers. In one of my “hot streaks” shooting, one of the girls came over to me with amazement and innocence in her eyes and said, “Are you Michael Jordan?” Without hesitation I responded, “Why yes I am . . . except for the white thing!” We laughed.

Another day we brought a volleyball net and balls, then Twister games, then jump ropes donated by the YMCA in my hometown. For each new gift, words and looks of appreciation flowed from the girls. All John and I could do was “walk (and play) humbly with them”.

 

St. John Bosco School  --

For the boys of Bosco, I focused on the school that they run at the orphanage for Kindergarten through 6th Grade. There are about 18 - 20 boys split up by classes in a cramped and hot space in the basement area of the old orphanage. The desks are old, the books are old, the blackboards are old -- to save space, let me just say most everything there is old, worn and tattered.

But the atmosphere was surprisingly upbeat and appealing, not in small measure due to the team of dedicated teachers who have given their lives to the education and moral development of these children. When I asked the Headmistress, Miss Shelda Emanuel, what I might get to help with the school, she listed things like chalk, glue sticks, games, books, etc. When pressed for more, she sheepishly said, “An easel and paper would be very useful . . . but that would cost too much.”

No, not with the generosity of my North American donors! So I went shopping. When I presented Miss Emanuel with all of the things I was able to purchase, the look of surprise and appreciation humbled me. Amazing that so little could mean so much.

  Miss Emanuel & Miss Daniels

At the end of their school day, all the teachers and boys pray in unison a prayer that they have memorized, to give thanks for the day and each other. I looked around at these little rascals (who I had usually seen running all over the compound, pushing, hitting, throwing and finding mischief wherever they turned), now standing with their hands folded, eyes shut and rotely reciting their daily prayer. I was pre-occupied with this incongruency of behavior until I heard their voices say the following part of the prayer: “And, oh God, Bless all those less fortunate than ourselves!”

“What? What are you saying?”, the voice in my mind shouted. “Don’t you realize that you ARE the least fortunate! You have no parents, no homes, no creature comforts, limited food and clothes. You have no one to tuck you in at night, no one to read you stories. Your health is continually compromised and your future is bleak -- and you dare stand there and pray for those less fortunate?!?!”

Tears came to my eyes as I watched these little souls “doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with their God”. Writing this some 2,500 miles away now, I still tear up and have a palpable feeling of humility beat within me. “And a little child will lead them.”

              

  Bosco’s new “Transition Home” --

Moses and Ravi are both 18 years old, and have been at the orphanage for many years. They are beyond the age that boys normally stay (16 yrs.), but have been kept there because of mental and physical limitations. They are not capable of living independently, but need to move out of the orphanage, They are too old to be there, yet they are too vulnerable to be out on their own.

So the Sisters of Mercy (who run St. John Bosco) purchased a house for them (and others in the future) that could give the boys the safety and supervision that they need. Again donations I brought were able to help here, by purchasing kitchenware, towels, paper products, cleaning supplies, etc., to help them get jump-started in their new dwelling with some of the basics. I was also able to buy a few games for them after I noticed how barren their rooms were.

One day, Ravi and the supervisor of the home, Gabby, walked me from the orphanage through the neighborhood for a couple blocks to the new home. They were eagerly wanting me to see it. As we approached the house, Ravi got increasingly excited. He fumbled with the locked gate to quickly try and get it open. He then pointed to the front door and beckoned me ahead.

As it opened, he suddenly and automatically removed his well-worn pair of flip-flops before he entered . . . as if we were walking on holy ground. And in that moment I felt we were. Humbled by his deep appreciation for his new home, I entered and followed him from room to room as he showed me that sacred space. I must admit it was hard to be a witness to what Pope Francis was talking about when he said, “Those who live on the outskirts of hope.”

                                       

 

“And the last shall be first . . .”  (Mtt.20: 16) --

And finally a few words about those with whom I spent the most time and feel an endearing connection. First, the 23 first year student nurses who were a joy to be with. They were challenging, studious, playful, compassionate, and exuded a wonderful sense of hospitality to me. My “Relationship 101” classes were engaging and fun, and they taught me so much about the similarities and differences of our respective worlds.

But it was their individual stories that moved me the most. “Stories” are always the turning point for me. To hear where they’ve come from in life, where they live, who’s “there” for them (or not), why did they chose nursing, what do they hope to do with their lives in the future . . . was so revealing and powerful. They “loved to tell their story” as the old hymn goes, and I learned so much about their struggles, sacrifices, hopes and dreams. As I listened, I felt (and continue to feel) humbled by their motivation, perseverance, determination, and courage against formidable odds.

                                                  

And finally, finally, my “old” (in many ways!) friend of 50 years now, John O’Connor, aka, Jo’c, Rev., Father John . . .  Little could we have fathomed in our college days with the Maryknoll Missionary Fathers in the 1960’s, that our lives would take such divergent, and yet similar paths, leading us to be reunited in mission for the last three years in Guyana.

His knowledge of, commitment to, and passion for, the people of Guyana and their country are deep and strong. His memory for names, history, geography, culture, religions, politics make him a walking (well, limping now) encyclopedia! People from there ask him about their own country! The respect he engenders, despite his sometimes caustic ways, is illustrative of the man of integrity, warmth and concern that he is. I am proud to call him my friend, and happy to still walk humbly at his side reaching out to those in need.

                             

                                                 

The lessons of Guyana are once again many this year. I continue to be in awe about peoples’ kindness, generosity, compassion, care, and hospitality. I feel a profound sense of humility when I experience them giving from what they barely have.

In that, I learned more deeply about “Blessings” in my own life . . .  that so much of what I have and who I am, is a gift, luck, good fortune, a cosmic break (by whatever name, they are not of my doing!)  --  where I was born, who my parents were, family, health, opportunities for education, employment, travel, and on. True, SOME accomplishments have been by my efforts, but the vast majority have NOT.

And so I returned to my life here in Greenfield, Massachusetts, USA, with its struggles, uncertainties and challenges, feeling a renewed sense of how blessed I am. I will try to live this gratitude better, and more frequently remind myself how I need to continue “to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with my God.”

Blessings to you,

Dennis   (aka. Rev. 2, Father Dennis, “M J”)

Dennis: 
Thank you my "older" friend.   I have appreciated re-uniting with you and like you am amazed that we have thrived separately and now together...  

The Big Surprise... [drum roll, please]

Dr. Emilee Flynn Arrives

On Monday night, Emilee arrived in Guyana.  Emilee has been trying to come to Mercy Hospital for about a decade to see and work with me.   Yet for one reason or another, could never get here.   Now she is so important, a distinguished senior paediatric resident at St. Christopher's Hospital for Children in Philadelphia, that I am really just helping her.   I have known Emilee ever since she was born.  She is the oldest child of my sister Monica and her husband John Flynn (I think he's also a doctor  ).   It has been many years since I actually have seen Emilee in person, so it has been a great time to catch up with her life and living... and get some new and embarrassing stories about my sister which I'll be able to use the next time the clan gets together.

Emilee has matured into a wonderful woman and sensitive paediatrician -- and she has been on the go ever since she arrived.   Emilee is interested in practicing medicine in some developing country after she finishes her residency this year, so is here to look at how children are cared for here and has accompanied a local paediatrician Dr. Malika Mootoo on her rounds and clinics for a couple of days.  When she returns she will team up with Dr. Rohan Jabour another long-time paediatrician here, as well as a new (to Mercy) Cuban Paediatrician Dr. Rosa.   

In the middle week she is travelling to Linden and then back to GT to lead a programme on Helping Babies Breathe -- a course in neonatal resuscitation.   

Emilee is walking around the Bourda Market.

with Dolly  Karran
who has a stall at the market
 and is an old friend of mine. 

I have gotten her out in the city walking around. Don't worry, Monica: she had me and my awesome strength to ward off any muggers.   As well, she has been helpful with the PBL course and other classes.  In fact, I was going to cancel my afternoon class and walk Emilee around the city; however, the students so wanted the chance to talk with her about her life and becoming a paediatrician that they begged me not to cancel.   I did not realize how much of an embodiment of their dreams Emilee represents; she is a symbol of the kind of person they wish to be.  Emilee gave them a chance to see themselves in the future .....  and for a few moments it was close enough for them to taste.  

Of course we went to St Ann's (see slide show at upper left); she also met my friend Dr. Bhiro Harry and attended several planning meetings at the Everest Cricket Club where she enjoyed some Banga and Shark as well as Plantain Chips.   She watched Bhiro and me imbibe a few drinks and she stuck to water.   Georgia, Bhiro's wife, invited her to their home for dinner.  She met Indira who is Bhiro's and Georgia's favourite daughter and a doctor who is pursuing further education in psychiatry to be able to help cure her father ..... and their favourite son Pravesh who is a dentist.

Emilee came to a Mental Health and Suicide Prevention meeting with the local press corps and the Minister of Public Health, Dr. Norton.  She was introduced as part of the team of technical specialists working for the Ministry!

It is good to have her here; I have been honoured by her wanting to visit me and see my life here.   I am sure she will be in more of these blog posts, but for now - enough.

My Health

I have been recovering from my cough etc., and now feel only about a decade older than I actually am .....  I went of my own accord to see Doctor Devi who lives in the flat next door and who has been checking on me every time she comes or goes.   She put me on a bag-load of pills and tonics and home-squeezed fruit juice! Now I do feel well -- and I hope this means that I won't get my usual bronchitis after I get home.

A New Ambulance for Mercy

A colleague, Chris Klaffs, who has been coming to Guyana for many years and is from the Florida Synod of the Lutheran Church has assisted her friend, Pastor Mike Mielke who lives about 30 miles from her in Florida and has the great Wilderness Lake Church.  He has friends/family at Banks Distributing -- my beer company, eh?  He loves Guyana, and several of his congregation are Guyanese.  He and his church raised money for two ambulances -- and one of them is for Mercy!  This is a great service for the hospital and its patients.  Thanks!!

Some Thoughts on Receiving Donations

Here are parts of a recent email from Dennis LeBlanc who has been down for the last two years and is planning on being here again in October.   He had a reflection on asking and giving that I want to share.

Hi Jo'c,

Yesterday you wrote "I am always humbled by donations" . . . that is a word I have always felt and used myself. I carry all sorts of baggage about asking for money, but a couple people have pushed me beyond my self-imposed limits around "fund raising" over the past few years. I can't say it's gotten any easier, but I have tried to be a little more bold and creative (the tin cup routine never worked well for me) in asking for money for causes important to me.

This is the outdoor "playground" at St Ann's we are trying to improve.

When people give, I am still truly humbled by their care, concern, generosity and support. Well, I've had a lot of practice in humility lately! Today at the nursing home, three staff people came up to me (separately) and talked about the newspaper article and how they "wanted to help out a little". One hundred and fifty dollars ($150) later, I staggered back to my desk, overwhelmed by their words and gifts. It has truly been "a wonderfully humbling day"!  The total amount raised now is $704 (that's good 'ole U S of A dollars, not Guyana dollar value)!

Thanks for reading... More next week. John

except .....  does anyone know what this is?

My "Old" Friend, Dennis LeBlanc, Reflects on his 2nd Trip

Preface to a Prelude ?!??!

Since Jo’c wouldn’t unlock “the ball and chain” he had me in during my stay in Georgetown until I promised on a case of Banks Beer to write something for the Blog (and I knew that I’d have a tough time getting through security at the airport in chains), I “happily” agreed to put something together about my three week experience (October 18 to November 8) in Georgetown this year.

So I am dutifully writing now from my home in Greenfield, MA, a few days after my “21 hour ‘door to door’ “ excursion from Mercy Hospital to Franklin Street (via a taxi, four airports in 4 different countries, two bus rides, a subway, a two hour car ride and a whole lot of walking!).

Added to that, I left Guyana in shorts and sandals, only to arrive with everyone in Boston wearing winter coats, gloves and hats. . . with about a 60 degree difference between my early morning departure and my midnight arrival. So forgive me if I’m still not acclimated to the multitude of changes (weather, culture, values, etc.) in these few days that have passed since leaving a Third World country and returning to my plush and entitled surroundings (comparatively at least).

This is my second year going to Guyana, and I realized early on that I was having a “Good News / Bad News” set of feelings about my return. The “Good News” was that this year I knew what I was getting into and what to expect. The “Bad News” was that this year I knew what I was getting into and what to expect! That two-edged sword worked for me and against me, in this year’s experience, but I ended up trying to put aside all expectations, remembrances, and fears, and just accept this year’s challenge and opportunity on its own terms.

While in Guyana, I would write some reflections on my experiences and feelings in a journaling fashion. What now follows are some portions of those writings.

 MUSINGS OF A TIRED MIND:  Prelude  - October   2014          

Well the cool, colorful days of Autumn in New England once again this year find me in the tropical heat and humidity of Guyana, South America, just a few degrees north of the equator. Usually "up there" in Massachusetts, my system is being invigorated by crisp air; preparations are well underway for a swift change into the snow and frigid cold of winter; the wood is cut and stacked, and the evening fire in the fireplace sets the house aglow (figuratively speaking!).

Trying to beat the heat with my new friend, Sylvia, and old, Jo'c.
And see: I am the only one with a beer.

But here in Guyana, Autumn is just like Winter, which is just like Spring, which is just like . . . get the point. It is always the same -- and that "same" is HOT, 90+ degrees hot, with comparable humidity!! And anyone who knows me, knows at least two things early on ... I'm from Oregon, and I don't DO heat! I get cranky, miserable, and TIRED! 

So since heat is the perpetual state of affairs down here, you can imagine I'm a real joy to be around! Writing helps me keep me hovering at least on the fringes of sanity, so I will be doing that while here. It is both for therapeutic for me, but it also gives me a chance to share with others for whom I care, a part of this profound experience in this wonderful and challenging country of Guyana.

 

Nursing students at work.

More Bubble Therapy -PRN only

  Vignette for the day   "THE SECOND TIME "

 Coming for the first time last year, the novelty and newness was somewhat overwhelming--and so was the heat! From the climate and culture, to the values and customs; from the "monopoly money" system to the petrifying transportation options, I felt bombarded with a paradigm shift in living that was both exhilarating and exhausting. 

And I found my approach to getting through the three weeks here, kind of like the way I approach jogging or running---I focus on every painful step; the harder I work, the more resentful I feel about what I'm doing; the longer I go, the more I become obsessed with the "finish line " and count the time till it's over. "Enjoyment" is a sadistic concept that someone must have made up. Hey, I'm a "ball & stick" guy in sports...running is means to an end so I do it. Running by itself? Used to have a tee shirt that said it all: "I hate to run!" 

St Ann's Girls - All tired out -or maybe not.

This second time around, I can feel a visceral shift inside. It feels like I'm riding my bike on one of those 25 mile rides through the countryside of Western Mass. It is no less tiring and challenging than running, but my attention and attitude are totally different. When I ride, I ride with a focus and determination that both challenges my body, but also calms my mind. I enjoy the terrain and landscape, as well as my capacity to still be doing what I'm doing. At the end, when I come to the long, steep hill of Bank Row within a half mile of home, and the thought inevitably comes into my mind "you're legs won't take you up" ... my mantra supercedes that message with "yes, someday I will not be able to make it up --- but TODAY is NOT the day!"

My "ride" this second time around, has enabled me to focus differently. Even with the heat -- which the locals say is the hottest ever -- my approach has been not to fight a reality so much bigger than myself, and to surrender to its power with as little complaining as possible. Does it help me feel any cooler? Believe it or not, sometimes. 

 

 

Vignette for the day     "FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND"

I have walked the shores of many a beach over my almost seven decades now: from the Oregon sands to the East coast waters; along the Mediterranean in Israel and Egypt; and on the banks of a multitude of rivers, steams and lakes. And amidst all those sojourns and the many footprints I've made in the sands, not one remains.   In fact, not one lasted more than a brief moment in time. Impermanence is the nature of all things.

At times I have been presented with the argument that I should not be going so far away ---spending a lot of money, to a foreign land and culture...when there are so many problems, so many people in need right close to home. “You can (should) 'do good' in your own backyard", people have said.

But sometimes journeys are not that logical and pragmatic. And so has been the case for me coming to Guyana. It is more about a quest, a journey that is not about miles and geography.  It is about leaving the "land" of the familiar, the comfortable, and known, to risk exploring the unknown, the uncharted ways, the internal land of darkness.

At my age I just ...

Stretch String; the rest creaks.

Coming here is about "stretching" this Self of mine, to explore the inner terrain of my soul ... which can become soft and lazy when not pushed and prodded. The physical challenges of heat, filth, poverty, chaos that come with this stretching here, provide the context for the process of growing. I know that I have sat in the "comfortable pew" of life too long sometimes, and have needed a periodic jolt from the "normal " (which I've been seduced to believe is the only way to think, feel, believe, value, behave, live). 

I can forget that I live in a big, diverse, complex world, where not everyone looks, thinks, believes and behaves like me. Here, one walk down to the massive outdoor market is a vivid reminder of that. Amidst thousands of other shoppers, I am the only "white guy" to be seen ... and prancing around in shorts and a tee shirt, wearing sunglasses and a baseball hat! I now know differently how a person from India, China or Africa must feel as they stroll the streets of Greenfield in their native garb, needing to deal with the stares and comments of being "different".

Journeys serve many purposes. I know a part for me being here again is to acknowledge the little place that I occupy in this world and to keenly feel the impermanence of my good intentions, deeds -- and my life. To feel this even as I am being propelled by the words in Micah, "to seek justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God" (6:8).

That said, I have had no "agenda" here really. I just know that being in Guyana again this year is as much about helping myself as it is about helping others. It is about making a few "footprints in the sand", then glancing back to see they already have disappeared.  And I am at peace with that.

In the quiet moments and in the dark places of my journey in another land, I have come to feel that the words of T.S. Eliot ring ever so true for me: "We shall not cease from exploration. And the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and know that place for the first time".

Vignette for the day     "THE UNIVERSALITY OF PLAY"

 “Play is the highest form of research.” – Albert Einstein

    "It is a happy talent to know how to play.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Certain realities are not bound to a particular culture, geography, race, or age.       The one that was most evident in this year’s trip for me, was the persistent power and potential of play. Many a time I have been accused of “Not acting my age” and that phrase was usually intended as a “judgment” to prod me to follow Paul’s admonition in First Corinthians 13: “When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child; when I became a man, I gave up childish ways.” Never having listened much to Paul anyway, I now wear my “childlike ways”, and my ability and desire to play, as a badge of honor! 

So this year I came “armed” and ready for play . . . with toys! A 20 ft. in diameter colorful parachute, bubble blowing solution and wands, bean bags and plastic rings for a tossing challenge, beach balls,  playful reading books, jump ropes, Frisbees, multi-colored pipe cleaners, glow sticks, etc., -- a full suitcase!

  

I used these tools at St. John Bosco Orphanage for Boys, at St. Ann’s Orphanage for Girls and with the nurses and staff at Mercy Hospital. The energy, fun and laughter that ensued were palpable and satisfying. I hope some of the pictures here will give you a sense of the playful spirit that emerged in these different settings, and that the happy faces of the many different ages will be a reminder of the restorative power of play.

Play unlocks the imagination, de-stresses our system, and opens us up to the wonder and awe of life. It helps satisfy our hunger for humor and laughter, and restores a sense of balance for us. But play is not just fun (though if it were that would be surely be enough). Play is the great equalizer. It breaks down the barriers of age, gender, social status, economic difference, and religious preference (or bias). Play inspires, it opens us up to the magical in life. It uses the wide range of our senses (touch, sight, sound, smell, taste), and gets us in touch with the holistic being that we are.

There is a particular tendency of dismiss the impulse to play for adults, by labeling it as unproductive and to even try to evoke a sense of guilt for those who dare challenge that taboo. But especially in the world of work, we need to restore a sense of BALANCE in our lives  . . . which was especially evident with the 2^nd year nursing students who are particularly stressed by the major exam facing them on November 25^th. It is not accidental that they “got into” the bubble blowing and parachute play with a hardy gusto that I believe reminded them that there is more to life than the serious, solemn and somber. The cognitive world is not the only world.

Showing the students
"You just put your lips together and blow..." 

So I confess to all of you that I had a great time playing and having fun with all the different people who were willing to join me in “letting our hair down” (or at least as much of it that remains for some of us!).

In that spirit, I end this Vignette with the words of George Bernard Shaw:

                   “We don’t stop playing because we grow old;

                             we grow old because we stop playing.”

EPILOGUE

I am grateful to so many people who have supported me on this journey and adventure to Guyana, and taken interest in the work (and play!) that’s being done there. I dare not start naming names for they are many . . . but I also feel compelled to mention two, without whom I would not be sharing all this with you. 

First, I want to thank my wife, Maggie, for her sacrifice, encouragement, interest, and support, not only during the three weeks that I was away but also the preparation time preceding the trip and the “decompression” time that has followed. Even when it has been hard to understand why I choose to do some things in life, she has trusted that “I need to do what I need to do” in my growing and exploration as a person. I continue to value that greatly.

As Jo'c taught me - You can't be cool
without an umbrella in your beer.

And finally, words of appreciation to Jo’c. Almost 50 years of friendship have now encompassed our lives. The changes have been many in our personal and professional lives, as well in our looks and abilities to get around in these aging bodies of ours. But the “red thread” that runs through that half century for me, is one of gratitude and admiration for this friend that has seen me through many seasons of my life and has constantly challenge me to “think outside the box” and take risks to do the right thing.

Without both of these people, I would have had a great void in my life. Thanks for filling it with your friendship and love.

Blessings to all,

Dennis     (aka, Rev. 2)

Thanks for coming down and being you. Jo'c [Rev. 1]

and saying all those nice words about me, but it didn't seem quite long enough!