Pieces of Purpose

Romans 12:15 (KJV) “Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep.”

Before Felicia died, I thought I had compassion. I really did.

I thought I understood what it meant to hurt for someone else. To see someone going through something difficult and wish things could be better for them. To offer a helping hand, say a prayer, or simply be there when someone needed me.

But through the second half of this year, I have come to fully understand what compassion really is.

Have you ever felt that heart-dropping feeling when you realize something is changing, something that is inevitable, but everything inside of you wishes you could fix it?

Have you ever looked at someone you love and wished you could take away their hurt? Not because you have the answers, but because you know there aren’t any words that can make things the way they were before.

I think that is compassion.

It’s realizing that you wish things could be better for all the people who are hurting, even when you know you cannot change their circumstances.

Before this year, I knew what it meant to feel sorry for someone. I knew what it meant to care. But I don’t think I truly understood the weight of compassion until I experienced a loss that changed so many lives around me.

When Felicia died, I didn’t just experience my own grief. I began seeing grief in the faces of people I love. I saw a mother missing her daughter. Children trying to figure out life without their mother. A family learning how to live with an empty space that nobody could fill.

And I wanted to fix it.

Oh, how I wanted to fix it.

I wanted to make things better. I wanted to take away the sadness. I wanted to somehow put everything back the way it was before June 12.

But I couldn’t.

And perhaps that has been one of the hardest lessons of compassion for me.

Sometimes compassion means loving people through something you cannot change.

As a younger person, I don’t think I truly understood that. Maybe I thought compassion was always about doing something. Finding a solution. Helping someone get through a difficult situation.

But now I realize that sometimes there is no solution we can offer. Sometimes there isn’t a way to make things better. Sometimes all we can do is sit beside someone, cry with them, pray for them, and remind them that they are not alone.

And isn’t that what Jesus did?

John 11:35 (KJV) “Jesus wept.”

Two words. Yet they have taken on a completely different meaning for me this year.

Jesus knew He was going to raise Lazarus from the dead. He knew the outcome before anyone else did. Yet when He saw Mary crying and the people around her grieving, He wept.

He didn’t dismiss their pain simply because He knew what was coming next.

He entered into their sorrow.

What a beautiful picture of compassion.

And maybe that’s what God has been teaching me through this season of my life.

Compassion isn’t always about changing someone’s circumstances. Sometimes it is about allowing your heart to be moved by what someone else is experiencing.

Galatians 6:2 (KJV) “Bear ye one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.”

I used to read that scripture and think about helping people carry their problems. But now I see it differently.

Some burdens cannot be taken away. Some losses cannot be undone. Some circumstances cannot be fixed, no matter how much we wish they could.

But we can help someone carry the weight.

And as I get older, I realize something else.

I’m going to need compassion for the years to come.

Life is going to continue changing. People I love will grow older. There will be circumstances I cannot control, prayers that require waiting, and moments when I will desperately wish things could be different.

There will be more opportunities to show compassion, and there will be days when I will need someone to show that same compassion to me.

I think growing older teaches us that life is fragile in ways we didn’t fully understand when we were younger.

Maybe that’s why we should be slower to judge, quicker to listen, and more willing to love people through their difficult seasons.

Because we never really know what someone is carrying.

Colossians 3:12 (KJV) “Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, long suffering.”

I wish I could say I learned this lesson in an easier way.

I wish Felicia were still here.

I wish her children didn’t have to know this kind of grief. I wish my aunt didn’t have to experience the heartbreak of losing her daughter.

But wishing doesn’t change what happened.

What it can change is how I choose to love people moving forward.

I can be more patient. More understanding. More aware that people are carrying burdens I may never see.

I can recognize that sometimes the greatest act of love isn’t having the right words or knowing what to do.

Sometimes it is simply having a heart that cares enough to hurt with someone else.

I thought I understood compassion before this year.

But now I know it in a way I never wanted to learn.

And although I would give anything to have Felicia back, I pray that the compassion growing in me through this loss will make me more like Christ.

Not just someone who sees the hurting.

But someone who is willing to walk beside them.

Because sometimes we cannot change what someone is going through.

But we can make sure they don’t have to go through it alone.