Posts Tagged: compassion

“When Somebody Else’s Golf Cart Ends up in the Ditch”

Somebody’s golf cart ended up in the ditch a while back. Several people commented on Facebook that, “he shouldn’t have had that much to drink.” Turns out that the guy had a seizure. Respect means, among other things, putting the best possible construction on other people’s words and actions.

I am not naïve. I have lived long enough to realize that some people really do stupid and/or harmful things. People also have bad (or at least, mixed) motives. That’s all true. But I have also lived long enough to learn that my evaluations of other people are frequently wildly wrong.

Even if we are right about a person’s motivation, we are not right to think the worst of them. Such thinking, even when it is technically correct, is wrong. Why? Two reasons: It makes them less likely to change for the better at the same time that it makes us less kind and compassionate. The last time I checked, kindness and compassion were important character traits.

Jim, our preacher this past Sunday, said “It is more important to be kind than to be right.”

And then, there is this. Eventually, we all end up with our golf cart (or our hearts) in the ditch. And none of us want other people to think the worst of us, even if they’re right.

“A Very Serious Teeter-Totter!”

A good friend of mine, in an accountability-support phone call yesterday made some intriguing comments about his core values. He spoke of courage and discipline, which are balanced by wisdom and compassion. He pictures these qualities as if they are a teeter-totter. For him, learning is the fulcrum.

I am not sure precisely what he means, but those words and the image of the teeter-totter has been marinating in my brain for the past twenty-four hours. Here is the current flavor of my thoughts about these qualities and the fulcrum.

Let me take a stab at the first two core values—courage and discipline. My first observation would be this: I don’t really know what these words mean, and I’m not sure that I want to know what they mean. Courage and discipline sound scary and costly to me.

I googled “courage” and found this definition at https://www.google.com/search?q=define+courage&rlz=1C1GCEA_enUS844US844&oq=define+courage&aqs=chrome..69i57j0i512l9.3232j0j7&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8.

“cour·age

noun

  1. the ability to do something that frightens one.

‘she called on all her courage to face the ordeal’

  • strength in the face of pain or grief.

‘he fought his illness with great courage’”

I suspect that the first step in cultivating courage is admitting that I’m afraid. And I am very much afraid to admit that. I would sooner admit that I am angry than to admit that I am afraid. (Typical man!)

Perhaps I could begin with some small fears and work my way up. Okay. Let me begin right now!

I am afraid of . . . Wow! I’m having a difficult time thinking of any little fears. All the ones that come to mind seem big. Hummm . . .

Perhaps I should just move on to discipline. To paraphrase a saying of Jesus, “If they persecute you in one word, flee to another.”

Discipline! I don’t like that word either. But perhaps, discipline is courage in the small things. Maybe discipline prepares me to develop some courage.

I use these blog posts, not just to write, but to grow. So, here is what I am going to pledge to you, myself, and God: Today, I will make disciplined choices about what I eat. I will eat only healthy foods today. That is about as much discipline as I can probably muster. I will let you know how I did tomorrow in my post.

“LITTLE KIDS SAY THE FUNNIEST THINGS (AND SOMETIMES, THE MOST HELPFULLY COMPASSIONATE THINGS, TOO)

“Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength . . .” (Psalm 8:2a.  See also Matthew 21:16.)

A friend of mine has the smartest and funniest grandchildren you can imagine.  This is not simply his grandfatherliness talking.  He has told me some stories that make me realize he is not exaggerating.  If they were my own grandchildren, you might discount my words, but these are not my own grandchildren.  I have no horse in this race.

For example, my friend’s four-year-old grandson had a cold.  His dad was helping the little guy blow his nose.  After a successful conclusion to this maneuver, the little guy said, “I’m the mayor of snot town.”

Young children have the wonderful ability to help us to see the world differently, and to help us to see the world differently.  This little guy was going to be in charge no matter what—even if he had a cold, and needed encouragement to blow his nose!  The word “indomitable” comes to mind.

2 Kings 5 tells a wonderful story about a little girl who not only had an indomitable spirit, but a compassionate one as well.

“The king of Aram had great admiration for Naaman, the commander of his army, because through him the LORD had given Aram great victories. But though Naaman was a mighty warrior, he suffered from leprosy.

2 At this time Aramean raiders had invaded the land of Israel, and among their captives was a young girl who had been given to Naaman’s wife as a maid.

3 One day the girl said to her mistress, “I wish my master would go to see the prophet in Samaria. He would heal him of his leprosy.”

4 So Naaman told the king what the young girl from Israel had said.

5 “Go and visit the prophet,” the king of Aram told him. “I will send a letter of introduction for you to take to the king of Israel.” So Naaman started out, carrying as gifts 750 pounds of silver, 150 pounds of gold, and ten sets of clothing.

6 The letter to the king of Israel said: “With this letter I present my servant Naaman. I want you to heal him of his leprosy.”

7 When the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his clothes in dismay and said, “This man sends me a leper to heal! Am I God, that I can give life and take it away? I can see that he’s just trying to pick a fight with me.”

8 But when Elisha, the man of God, heard that the king of Israel had torn his clothes in dismay, he sent this message to him: “Why are you so upset? Send Naaman to me, and he will learn that there is a true prophet here in Israel.”

9 So Naaman went with his horses and chariots and waited at the door of Elisha’s house.

10 But Elisha sent a messenger out to him with this message: “Go and wash yourself seven times in the Jordan River. Then your skin will be restored, and you will be healed of your leprosy.”

11 But Naaman became angry and stalked away. “I thought he would certainly come out to meet me!” he said. “I expected him to wave his hand over the leprosy and call on the name of the LORD his God and heal me!

12 Aren’t the rivers of Damascus, the Abana and the Pharpar, better than any of the rivers of Israel? Why shouldn’t I wash in them and be healed?” So Naaman turned and went away in a rage.

13 But his officers tried to reason with him and said, “Sir, if the prophet had told you to do something very difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? So you should certainly obey him when he says simply, ‘Go and wash and be cured!’ ”

14 So Naaman went down to the Jordan River and dipped himself seven times, as the man of God had instructed him. And his skin became as healthy as the skin of a young child’s, and he was healed!”

Most of us biblical types tend to concentrate on Naaman or on the prophet Elisha.  In reality, there are several unnamed heroes.  The servants, who encouraged Naaman to wash in the Jordan River were heroes.  He would have gone away in a huff, and still would have been a leper, if it had not been for his servants’ wise words.

But above all, there is the little girl who served Naaman’s wife.  This little girl was an Israelite who had been captured in a raid.  Had Naaman’s men killed her mom and dad?  We don’t know.  How old was she when she was captured?  We don’t know.  How old was she when she made the comment that sent Naaman on his journey to Israel and to healing?  We don’t know.  Was Naaman such a nice guy that the little girl was interested in his healing?  We don’t know.  As with most biblical stories, there’s a lot we don’t know.

All we really know is what the Bible says.  However, I am going to make a broad generalization: Generally speaking, small children are amazingly resilient and astonishingly compassionate.  Small children are often the mayors of compassion town.

We humans outgrow many things, but one thing we ought not to outgrow is compassion.

Got compassion?  If not, get some!

 

 

 

“THE BACK STORY: LEARN IT OR MAKE IT UP!”

My wife and I saw the movie “Wonder” for her birthday.  I thought it was a very good movie!  Probably the highest praise I can give to a movie is, “It made me want to read the book.”  This movie made me want to read the book.

One of the intriguing techniques that the movie employs is that it tells the story from various people’s standpoints, but then, later in the movie, we are shown brief back stories for some of the supporting characters.  The effect of these back stories is to make us more understanding and compassionate toward those who make bad choices.  The back stories help us to see that people are complicated.  In short, these stories invite us to mistrust our perceptions of ourselves and others.

In real life, there are always multiple back stories.  We may be aware of our own back stories, but I doubt that we are very aware even of these.  We are most definitely not aware of the back stories of other people.

Sometimes, it may be necessary to ask a question in order to elicit a back story.

Years ago, I had a neighbor who was a very hateful older lady.  She didn’t seem capable of getting along with anyone.  In particular, she hated dogs and anyone who owned them.

One day, when she was fulminating about dog owners, I was her very reluctant non-conversational partner.  (She did not realize that we had just acquired a puppy, and I was too cowardly to tell her.)

When there was a brief pause, I mumbled something to the effect that I was sure she had reasons for hating dogs.

She looked at me fiercely, pointed to her face, and said, “You bet I do!  Do you see this scar on my cheek?”  She pointed to a very large scar that stretched from near her left eye to the left side of her chin.  “That is from a dog that bit me when I was seven years old!”

I still didn’t like the lady, but I was a bit more compassionate toward her after that.  Why?  Because I knew a bit of her back story.

Now, I don’t want to make excuses.  I suspect that most of us have had horrible things happen to us, and many of us have done horrible things to others.  At some point, we are responsible for our own attitudes and our own faces.  Perhaps, as George Orwell said, “At 50, everyone has the face he deserves.”  I knew another lady who had a very similar scar on her face.  She was one of the sweetest, kindest individuals I’ve ever known.  She was also one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.

Her back story is that Minnie had never married.  She was caring for a sister with serious mental instability.  One time, when Minnie’s sister was going through a particularly nasty psychotic experience, she grabbed a butcher knife and slashed Minnie’s face, but Minnie went right on loving and caring for her sister.  Perhaps it is not so much our scars that disfigure us, as it is what we choose to do with those scars.

Back stories matter.  When we don’t (or can’t) know those back stories, it may even be helpful to make up back stories.

When someone tailgates me, I no longer slam on the brakes.  Instead, I make up a back story.  Perhaps the person has a sick child and is trying to get to school to pick up the child.  Perhaps the person just broke up with a significant other.

Of course, I don’t really know what is going on in the other person’s life.  But isn’t that the point?  I don’t know!  And if a fictional back story helps me to be more patient and compassionate, it is a good back story.

“YOU DON’T KNOW—AND NEITHER DO I!”  

 

I recently overheard a conversation between two people at an adjoining table in a restaurant.  I am somewhat acquainted with one of them.  He seems frequently sarcastic and ill-tempered.  I have been on the receiving end of some of his tirades.

From what I could hear of the conversation, it sounded as if he and his wife (or girlfriend?) were breaking up, and that it was getting ugly.

Of course, you might be tempted to think (as I was tempted to think) that his sarcasm and temper are the reason why the relation is coming apart.

However, once in a while God’s Holy Spirit enables me to overcome temptation, and feel a small fraction of the compassion that God’s loving heart feels toward us all.  Instead of going all judgmental, I thought that perhaps this ill-tempered man is the way he is due to this horrendously painful breakup.

And then I generalized the matter: Perhaps I might try cutting more slack for everyone who seems unkind.  Maybe I could simple say to myself, “Self, this person is probably having some terrible struggles.  You don’t know!”

“The heart knows its own bitterness”says the first part of Proverbs 14:10.  The implication is that no one else knows that bitterness.  You and I don’t know!

The only person for whom I ought not—perhaps—to make such allowances is myself.  I need to hold myself to a high standard in terms of my own behavior.  If I make too many allowances for myself, these allowances will likely shade off into excuses in a hurry.

But, for others, I might try remembering this simple but important fact the next time someone is unkind to me or unreasonable with me: I don’t know!

“Determination, Compassion, and the Ant Who Would Not Die”

My wife is generally a very compassionate woman—except when it comes to ants. She doesn’t like them, at least not in the house.

So, I was surprised that she had not only spared one of the little creatures, but had actually carefully escorted it out of our house. However, this was only after she had tried to drown the little creature twice.

“Can ants breathe under water?” she asked me, early this morning.

Even though I had already drunk two cups of coffee, I was not prepared for a zoology question. I am in the humanities, not the sciences.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. Then, reaching into my shallow pool of half-remembered trivia, I said, “However, I think they can hold their breath for a surprisingly long time.”

“The reason I asked,” said my sweet, compassionate wife, “is that I tried to drown an ant in the bathroom sink, but he crawled right out. Then, I ran a lot of water in the sink, and was sure I had drowned him, but I turned around and there he was again.”

“Why didn’t you just smash him?” I asked.

“Well, I figured if he was that determined to live, I’d better let him; I took him outside and let him go.”

Here endeth the reading of today’s lesson!

Or rather, here the lesson beginneth!

Sometimes, sheer doggedness wins out in the end. The determination not to give up, no matter if a giant is trying to drown you, can prolong your existence. This is especially true if the giant has a compassionate respect for stubbornness and the will to survive.

God is a very compassionate Giant. Feel like you’re drowning, like nothing is working? I doubt that God is trying to drown you, but it may feel as if that is true. And, of course, other people, your job, your school, your own unrealistic expectations—these and a thousand other giants may be pouring cold weather (or raw sewerage?) on you.

Hold your breath and keep crawling out. Who knows? Compassion may very well win out in the end. If you choose to hold on and hold out, you may find compassion holding out her hand after all.

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