This past week I met compassion, bathed in tragedy and yet robed in glory. Life giving, heart stopping, breath taking – compassion and I collided. I cannot pretend to understand compassion, to comprehend the gaze which greets my guilt with grace. I do not feign to comprehend the intense sorrow with which compassion comes nor do I purport to have full cognition of the joy with which it brings. I offer you only this: the Lord greets the desolate with tender hands.
As you all know, sometimes in the process of dealing with grief there are days when it seems almost tolerable, almost forgettable, but for every one of those light days there seem to be just as many which weigh down your soul. Memories threaten to overwhelm and consume you, if only you bend. Last week in particular seemed to be a rough ride.
As I attempted to force myself to conform to the perfect image I held in my head, as I pushed myself to go beyond my limits, I realized the depth of my own pain. It dawned on me that the Lord brings things up in His time. He is providing, constantly, opportunities for us to grow and heal. It is not my job to superficially force healing onto myself. In fact, in forcing "healing" upon myself, I am actually harming myself. As I found myself breaking down under the unrealistic expectations I placed on myself, tender hands touched my face. Feeling humiliated, the Lord lifted my tear-stained face upwards toward His. It is here that He invited me to the depths of compassion. For all of my shame, His grace was an ocean.
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