Sometimes, I can be (not very em)pathetic

Watching the scene unfold from the peanut gallery, I have my opinions. Given the garbage I have managed to produce in my life, my ability to judge others' motives with impunity is astonishingly intact. Things happen that I pretty much knew would pan out that way, so surprise doesn't play into it... instead, I have a haughty sense of low expectations fulfilled.

Then it happens, as it did today: God smacks me in the back of the head with my own 2x4, and I never saw it coming. Glancing over, I watch this person slip into a moment of utter despair, and without it ever registering in my conscious brain, I am destroyed. I begin to sob, and memories flood back. Memories of being in exactly the same spot. Memories of singing praises, and genuinely meaning them, or at least wanting to mean them, but having their celebratory lyrics stand in stark contrast to the reality of the gloom I was experiencing. Knowing that I loved and trusted God, and that there was a plan for my life, but not really sure how that would parse out to the little things... like walking back out to my car. Everything seemed overwhelming. It was too big for me, and I needed God and his people... at the same time that being around his people hurt. Because what I was going through was an intensely private thing. And everyone knew. And everyone had an opinion... And now I've become "those people."

God help me.

When Daphne was little, sometimes she'd get hurt because she'd do something I'd told her not to do. As tempting as it was to lecture her, I knew better. When she was in severe pain, even though it could have been avoided, I knew that it wasn't the time for a life lesson. It was time to put my arms around her and try to help her feel better.

God help me not to care whose fault it is. Help me to put my arms around those who are hurting and even if all I can offer is comfort, to give freely, without listening to my inner Church Lady. Help me to remember how repelled I have been by people saying the right things at the wrong time. Help me to have compassion...

Even as I think this through, I wonder whether it's too soon. I have done this before: walked with someone who was going through something very traumatic, and listened to her say horrible, ugly things... things that I had also thought and said... And I was near enough to remember and extend grace, but far enough away to have my wounds scarred over.

But I also know that God never wastes a hurt, and I feel like I have some responsibility here.

If nothing else, I need to keep my heart pure. I need to remember what it feels like to be in that place I don't want to remember. And I need to be able to love, even when it's difficult. Especially when it's difficult.