Yesterday, I came face to face with the question, “What is
compassion?” I am regretting my
response; my seeming lack of love and mercy towards the stranger-neighbor who
crossed my path. I have always been
taught and come to believe that we are to love one another. This love included a holding back of judgment
in regards to surface realities. If you
peeked into my heart and could see the thoughts I harbored, you would find
contrary evidence to my spoken belief.
Yesterday, I took the kids to the Y pool. It was 94 and sunny, so you can imagine the
crowd of fellow patrons seeking cool relief.
We found chairs and arranged out towels.
We left our chairs to enjoy a picnic lunch. We returned to find one of our towels had
been removed and someone else’s stuff in its place. I see the woman who orchestrated the chair
stealing – I have seen and observed her before. She was a tough woman with obvious signs of a
hard life. A woman I presumed would
cause a scene if I attempted to confront her.
My oldest began questioning why her towel had been moved leaving her
without a chair. Ah, a moment to teach
about turning the other cheek. I tell
her, “Someone took it, but it is okay, we can just share.” A virtuous response intended to disguise my
fear of finding myself in an uncomfortable altercation. My daughter was not happy with my
response.
I was not happy with my response. Yes, it was turning the other cheek, but my
secret thoughts were initially filled with resentment, anger, and
passive-aggressiveness. “How dare
she! Who does she think she is! Perhaps I should point this out to the
lifeguards and have her kicked out of the pool!” And then I begin to tear her down in my head –
“Look at all those tattoos . . . and her teeth . . . she is just gross.” I began to despise the state of my soul. I could not teach my child to turn the other
cheek and love our neighbor if my own motivations were this impure. I began to hate my thoughts and immediately
recognized my virtuous response as a sham.
Not only was it intended to cover my cowardness, it quickly became a
vehicle to stroke my ego and exalt myself as being better than she. Awareness – now I must deal with my
heart. Grrrr. Can I be angry with her for this? Or better yet, be grateful that she was
unknowingly exposing stains that needed removed?
It got worse. She
came and sat next to me and began apologizing for taking our chair. She had lame excuses – “I needed to be near
my purse; I was too focused on getting sun screen on my nephew; I did not
realize you were still using your chair and towel.” I responded with an “it is okay” and
attempted to turn the focus back to my kids.
She kept talking to me – asking me for a lighter because she really
needed a cigarette. Then she began telling
me about her life, how she had grandbabies because her daughter had kids so
young. And by the looks of her age, I
assumed she also had kids young. She
talked about not being able to drive (again, I had my assumptions as to why she
could not drive). I responded with brief
head nods and one-word answers. She did
not take the hint that I was not interested in talking with her. The longer she talked, the more I wrestled
with what to do – how would Christ respond to this woman?
It got worse still.
For now I see that my struggle with attempting to figure out how to best
love this neighbor was motivated by a heart filled with pride. I am the better person – it is I who have
something of value to offer this woman.
Ouch. Dangit, more conviction. As it turned out, it was she who became my
teacher. She who became the vehicle to
expose deep layers of my sinful pride and arrogance.
Not what I expected or wanted from my journey to the local
Y, but it was exactly what I needed.
