This God that I love.
He has challenged me to wear compassion.
Compassion does not suit me well, friends. I am a comfort girl. Running shorts, track pants, favorite jeans, hair in a pony. I look crazy awkward in anything else.
He didn’t ask me to clothe myself in comfort.
He said to wear compassion.
I’ve heard it said that compassion is a deep awareness of some one’s suffering.
I’m learning that this means…
Listening. Crying out. Asking questions. Being still. Sitting by the bed. Praying. Hoping.
Being together, so as not to be alone.
I stink at compassion. I don’t want to.
Compassion seeks to understand. Compassion seeks to relieve.
Compassion is discomfort.
It’s awkward, like ill fitting shoes giving you blisters. Or those pants that you snake yourself into. (That happened to me today…. Too many bagels, too few runs. Oh the agony!)
Compassion hurts and heals.
The compassion of those closest to me has been unending.
The compassion of God has risen me from a sure death.
God, clothe me in compassion. Clothe us in Your beauty.
Love never fails.