Her paper pale skin tells me that something is wrong. But those clouded eyes; they plead without words to make all things well again.
And so it is all too easy. A routine call and a ten minute drive to the doctor. A sparce waiting room, a brief exam, a simple diagnosis.
We stand waiting at that pharmacy and we look at shelf after shelf of meds. And tears come to my eyes and I wipe them away and away. Because this is America and look at all of our medicine. And I could have chosen to have never gotten out of my car to get what my little girl needs.
Gratitude finds me here. Mostly, because stories like this have been told. And yet if I’m really listening, gratitude should not be where their story ends. Shame on me if my own personal gratitude becomes the last word spoken.
Frederick Buechner said that compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else’s skin. It’s the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.
So the question becomes, how do I live today to promote that peace?
Oh God, help us me not to be blind to the needs of others. Forgive me and make me altogether different. Altogether, much more like You.