Monday, March 19, 2012

Love to work or work to love?


And what is it to work with love?  It is to weave cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.  It is to build a house with affection, even as if your beloved were to dwell in that house.  It is to sow seeds with tenderness and reap the harvest with joy, even as if your beloved were to eat the fruit.  It is to charge all things you fashion with a breath of your own spirit.  Work is love made visible. 
–Kahlil Gibran

This Saturday, my brother Christian graduated from college.  The only boy nestled between four sisters also happens to be the only sibling that wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about higher education (or school at all for that matter).  Though my mom would hate to admit it, she used to worry endlessly about my brother’s future.  Up until the time Christian was accepted at Western Washington University, she was sure he would “probably become a garbage man.”  And though I don’t believe it takes an education at a university to ultimately succeed in life, I have seen first-hand how higher education opens doors to opportunities that may not otherwise present themselves.  There is something powerful about education and the choice one is given to pursue the field of study and line of work that they find most alluring.

I still remember the shortness of breath and tears that accompanied the phone conversation I had after receiving my first “dream job” at an adoption agency right out of college. That evening, I was reading a borrowed book of Wendell Berry’s poetry, my feet dangling haphazardly from my bed and my eyes widening as I read each line.  There was a visceral connection that I had with the page, and a message I couldn’t ignore about the world of work I was about to enter:

“Love the quick profit, the annual raise,
vacation with pay. Want more
of everything ready-made. Be afraid
to know your neighbors and to die.


And you will have a window in your head.
Not even your future will be a mystery
any more. Your mind will be punched in a card
and shut away in a little drawer.”


I realized I was terrified of becoming another predictable story.  Of living a life abundant in comfort and laced with luxury but absent in passion and purpose.  Even though I was strongly discouraged by an echoing clamor of voices in my head to avoid going into social work, I pressed on. For the next five years, I discovered the inevitable rollercoaster of emotions associated with the line of work I willingly chose. But it was worth it.  I was doing what I loved most. 

“Do what you love ” seems to be the mantra of American culture.  At my brother’s graduation it was mentioned more than once from the podium as speakers challenged graduates to pursue their deepest passions.  It’s the ultimate American dream… springing out of bed with an unquenchable excitement to go to work and being handsomely rewarded for doing so.  I’ve met a handful of people who are truly doing what they love, but that handful is really quite small. Maybe more of a pinch full. The reality is that work is trying, challenging and filled with moments of failure, stress and discouragement right along with moments of joy, success and triumph.  I can’t tell you how many times I have experienced the rougher sides of work and daydreamed about finally finding my perfect career.  But when I examine my motivation to “do what I love”, I find that it’s rooted in an awful lot of selfishness . The “I” seems to be a central motivator for my work. 

But what if my work was not so much about “doing what I love” as it was about loving others through what I do?

I have seen strong examples of individuals loving others through what they do.  A stay-at-home mom staying up until 2 a.m. to help her child with a school project.  A man working long hours overtime in order to provide security and a future for the ones he loves most.  And the woman I remember seeing at a bus stop in South India, selling cashews with her baby riding on the bump of her hip in order to make enough money to survive.

I don’t think that loving others through what you do always has to include such dramatic or dire sacrifice.  Nor do I think that you ultimately have to sacrifice what you enjoy doing.  But I do believe it will require sacrifice of some kind.  It will require a sacrificial mindset of placing the needs of others before your own.  It will mean redefining “greatness” by becoming less of a self-advocate and more of a servant. 

How much powerful transformation would occur if we loved others through our work?  If work suddenly became a way to promote others instead of solely promoting ourselves.  If seeing others’ dreams realized was a part of our dream.  This mindset could make anyone (God forbid, even a garbage man) a revolutionary.

-A.W.

LoveFeast Table Gathered Thoughts Party
This post was inspired by a Gathered Thoughts Party created by Love Feast Table and shared through my friend Kamille, who most definitely loves others through her work.  You can read more about Kamille and her work at www.redeemingthetable.com.

Friday, January 20, 2012

To keep my author rights.

Blogs are a funny thing to me.  I tried blogging in college.  I didn't realize quite how many times I tried until I sat down with Abbie a couple of years ago and tried to start a new blog (only to discover that I had already "started" blogs at multiple sites).  Sadly, every blog address we tried was already taken (by me) and I couldn't remember any of the passwords.  www.brandonwentzel.blogspot.com, taken.  brandonwentzel.wordpress.com, taken.  One attempt after another helped me to realize that maybe I am just not cut out for this whole thing.

I did keep a blog while traveling around the world after college.  I really enjoyed it.  It had purpose--a running narrative of my adventures.  It was more for me than any audience.  A way to process the day and reflect upon all that I was seeing and experiencing.  Some people read it and seemed to appreciate the way I wrote about my experiences.  I did have some individuals (namely my family) concerned when, very early in the trip, I wrote about getting a free massage on a beach in Argentina from a white-haired, leathery skinned, expat sixty year- old man named "Baby" Goldstein.  Only to find out after the massage, it wasn't free like I had somehow anticipated.  "Baby" didn't speak English, but I could tell he wasn't happy when he mentioned "policia" and reached for my camera and wallet.  After reassuring my loved ones that I wasn't going to die on the trip, and after promising to make good decisions, the trip (and the blog) continued.  I was devastated to find out recently that blog too fell victim to the fate of inactivity and has since been removed.  If you know how to recover dead blogs, please let me know.  Seriously.

That's "Baby", my masseuse. I snapped this photo after fleeing the scene.


All this to say...I guess I need inspiration.  I could write about my students.  Teaching middle school Physical Education is certainly entertaining.  Though, I am not sure it is appropriate or even legal to write about students without their permission.  Those of you (as if someone will read this) with more information about the moral and/or legal ramifications of such blogging, please advise.  If I am not writing about my students, I am not sure what it will be...and maybe that's alright.  Perhaps I will find purpose or motivation along the way.  Abbie has been patiently urging me to blog a post since this particular site's inception.  I haven't been avoiding it, just lacking a particular topic worthy of writing about.  Last night she inadvertently threatened to erase the blog if I didn't step up to co-author like I had said I would.  I saw my window closing, rather quickly at that.  I am secretly hoping that I can write just enough to encourage her to continue blogging.

I don't think I have ever told Abbie this, but her blogs can be partially credited with me falling in love with her.  Back when we were just ol' college buddies, she was blogging regularly and I couldn't get enough.  If she wasn't blogging about something utterly absurd that happened to her, she was articulately and beautifully detailing her thoughts regarding the challenges of leading a life following Jesus.  She was (and continues be to) the full package and certainly far out of my league.  Sadly, it seems right about the time our relationship turned serious is about when the blogging slowed down for Abbie.  And, I miss it.  I know she does too, and I would love to partner with her in this journey of blogging about life.  Even if it is just us (and maybe our parents) that read it.

It might be foolish of me to juxtapose my writing next to that of a Creative Writing major.  But, if it means she'll continue writing...I'm in!  For all the P.E. teachers out there thinking they'll never stack up, this post is for you.  Ha!

B.W.