If you missed the previous parts of this series, find them here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.
The Harmony of Action and Surrender
Here are some adages that summarize this chapter.
Know what to pick up and what to put down.
Do your best, release the rest.
Let go and let God.
Sure, you might think, but no matter how true a saying may be, putting it into practice is the challenge! Balancing action and surrender is an artform that is difficult to master. This is especially true in our world that idolizes willful accomplishments. We consider it a high compliment when someone calls us a “person of action.” Our achievements can take many forms. We may know how to see a problem, analyze its component parts, then choose an effective strategy to solve it. We may write to-do lists on a daily basis and summon the energy to accomplish most of them. We may set goals for our fitness, our business, or our relationships, then work tirelessly to achieve them.
All of this is admirable. Most of us have little patience for people who complain about their lot in life but don’t get off the couch to make a change. Hard work isn’t only effective; it’s also its own reward, shaping our characters and providing an example to others.
But inevitably there’s that still point, that boundary that all of us eventually encounter. We come to the end of what we can control through our willfulness, and our continued efforts only create stress and anxiety. At this critical juncture, if we choose to spin our wheels, we squander a precious opportunity for personal growth.
As one who has benefited over time from a Twelve Step perspective, I hear repeated admonitions to practice acceptance. There’s a seminal passage in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous that circulates endlessly through the rooms of recovery.
Acceptance is the answer to all my problems today. When I am disturbed, it is because I find some person, place, thing or situation—some fact of my life—unacceptable to me, and I can find no serenity until I accept that person, place, thing or situation as being exactly the way it is supposed to be at this moment. Nothing, absolutely nothing, happens in God’s world by mistake… Unless I accept life completely on life’s terms, I cannot be happy. I need to concentrate not so much on what needs to be changed in the world as on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes.
It’s easy to see the appeal here. So many of us wrap our lives around the axle by trying to control things outside our purview. It’s another form of addiction, and it undermines our physical and mental health. Instead, when we turn to transforming ourselves, not the world around us, serenity rises like water from an inner aquifer.
Certainly, there are obvious exclusions to this truth.
- Times when we witness injustice. To accept those moments as “exactly the way they are supposed to be” means to acquiesce, to allow the oppression to proceed unchecked. Choosing to join the struggle for liberation is a heartfelt expression of our compassion and love. In my book, The Smile on a Dog: Retrieving a Faith that Matters, I examine how to do this without perpetuating the vicious cycle of action/reaction. I suggest going to Chapter Five if you’re interested.
- Times when we mustered the energy to try one more solution to a problem and by going that extra mile, we were successful. Looking back, we know that exercising a final bit of “control” made all the difference.
Despite these exceptions, there’s eternal wisdom in knowing when to surrender. Here is how writer Nancy Collier puts it.
Surrender happens when…we know that we cannot think or see our way through where we are…All we know is that we can’t do it this way, the way we’ve been doing it, a moment longer. The moment of surrender itself is easy; it happens when it’s ready. Control falls away and takes us with it. It’s the path to surrender that’s excruciating. But what’s amazing is that when surrender does arrive, it’s accompanied by a great sense of ease, relief, and peace. It’s not like the situation remarkably gets better or easier, but we feel better and more easeful when we know in our bones that we cannot fix or figure it out, when we know that it’s truly not up to us, and we simply can’t. In this moment of surrender or grateful defeat, there’s clarity. And oddly, something deep within us relaxes when we acknowledge that we don’t know how to do it, don’t know the way. More effort, more doing, more thinking, more plans won’t work. We feel an inner softening when we agree to turn it over to anything else, whatever is not us, the unknowable, or perhaps to just the truth of not knowing. From our knees, paradoxically, we feel a remission from the suffering.
Sometimes the courage to let go seems almost superhuman. I have seen this (and experienced it!) when we must allow a self-destructive person in our orbit to make their own decisions without intervening on their behalf. Letting go is a nod to the sovereignty of their choices, and it’s essential for our own mental health.
I vividly remember counseling a woman whose young adult daughter was addicted to drugs. The mother had done everything in her power for her child—arranging counseling and multiple stints in rehab, repeatedly showing her love and support on every level possible. Yet, gripped by the disease of addiction, her daughter continued her descent into self-destruction.
The woman tried attending Nar-Anon meetings, which helped somewhat, but she was still struggling when she came to my office. Here’s a version of the conversation we had that day. For the sake of anonymity, I will call the woman Jan and her daughter, Carrie.
“Krin,” said Jan, “I went to a therapist about this, and she diagnosed me as codependent. She claimed that I’m addicted to someone who is also addicted. She says that the root of my suffering is my need to be needed, my own form of obsession.”
“And you don’t buy that?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said with a tinge of anger. “What parent wouldn’t do anything possible to save their child? Even give their own life! This isn’t an addiction. It’s the natural reaction towards my own flesh and blood. I don’t want to look back someday and feel that I didn’t go the extra mile.”
I knew Jan was speaking her truth. I had observed her in other situations, and I always considered her a balanced person. I also knew that now she was killing herself with worry and that she needed to come to the end of what she could control. I empathized deeply with her, drawing upon a similar experience in my own family.
“I hear you,” I said. “Theories are theories. Even with the best counselors, we have to choose what applies to our own lives. Ultimately, we have to face these challenges in ways that make sense to us. And I agree with you. Sometimes comments from people who have no authentic point of reference can seem glib, even dismissive.”
“Exactly,” she said. “I know they all mean well, especially the folks in Nar-Anon, but they still have this disease model about codependency. I’ve never been obsessed with caregiving or trying to control other people in the past. Not in my extended family, not in my marriage, not with my coworkers. It’s just this situation with Carrie.”
I let some silence permeate our session.
“You know some of my story,” I said. “I confronted the same issue. I can only share what I learned in my own life if you want to hear it.”
“Please,” she said. “It’s why I came to see you.”
I took a moment to find the right words and voice tone. “The hardest thing with surrendering in this situation is accepting that the other person might indeed choose death rather than life. The disease of addiction is powerful. Carrie knows you love her. She’s been in rehab. She knows there are tools she can use to stay clean.”
“True,” said Jan, looking down into her lap.
“So, the stark and difficult truth I had to face—which I believe is the same for you—is that we must be willing to surrender to the knowledge that we ultimately have no power to prevent our loved ones from killing themselves. This is not giving into cold defeat. It’s not a dereliction of our duty. It’s a sober realization of reality, and as much as it stings, it’s truth is unavoidable.”
She looked up at me, then down at her lap again, wringing her hands. I’m sure she had heard similar versions of this from others, but as the saying goes, “we get there when we get there.”
Softly, she began to release a torrent of tears. When her eyes met mine again, she nodded, and in that gesture I heard the full force of the well-known Serenity Prayer: “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference.”
We don’t have to be in a dire situation to see how we need a balance of both certainty and surrender in our daily lives. Here are some examples.
- We’re certain of our love for our family, and we also see our need to accept their longstanding character traits without criticism. After all, they put up with us!
- We vote, even protest, to make our point in the political arena, but we also learn to let go so that we can sleep in peace at night.
- We do everything we can for our health, and we also realize that the rest is in the hands of our Creator.
- We plan for our financial future, and we also realize that our world and its finances are unpredictable.
In one of my short stories entitled Path of the Monarch, a man has a reverie in which a butterfly leads him through fantastical landscapes—a meadow, a desert, and finally up a mountain. There, he encounters his doppelganger whom he calls D. Let’s pick up the story at that point.
I stared at him sitting in the sunlight. I saw the wrinkles that had formed on his forehead. In his eyes—my eyes—I saw a mix of sadness and resignation, and it pierced my heart.
“You see it, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“Will you do something for me?”
I nodded again.
“Tell me—tell yourself—those lessons you know are true but seem unwilling to actualize.”
The words came faster than I expected, as if an inner treasure chest burst open, every phrase springing into the light.
“Live in the present,” I said. “Focus on the gifts of each day, rather than regrets or fears. Hold my loved ones close. Practice kindness towards everyone. Do the things that bring me joy. Remember that I will die and seize each day with gratitude.”
D slid down from the rock and started towards me, stopping a few feet away. He started to clap. “Bravo! No more self-help books! No more gurus! But there’s one more thing, grasshopper, one more piece of advice from yourself to you.”
I felt stumped. No words came to mind.
“Let go,” he said. “Let go, let go, let go, until it’s as natural as breathing.”
He placed his hands on my shoulders and moved so close that our noses were nearly touching.
“Practice with me,” he said. “Each time we breathe out, whisper let go.”
We tried it, over and over, the two us inhaling, exhaling, and whispering together.
Practice
Take time today to embody the Serenity Prayer in your life. Bring to mind any current challenges that might be causing stress in your life because you can’t predict the outcomes. Then use the prayer’s suggestions by speaking words like this out loud.
1. I affirm that I have done my best today to change these things that are within my power (name them).
2. I see that the following people, events, and circumstances (name them) are beyond my control.
3. I will rest in the wisdom of knowing what I should pick and what I should put down. I will let go of the rest and let the universe have my back.
As you fuse these aspects of action and surrender into this present moment, remember this:
Heaven is here. There is nowhere else.
Heaven is now. There is no other time.
The conclusion of this series will post on June 19.
Krin Van Tatenhove - Words & Images 