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| This greeting card verse pretty much sums up the solution. |
This theme of this season of my life centers on deep understanding, empathy, grace. I'm not talking about the kind of empathy that says to the friend who has fallen, "I've been in your shoes." I'm talking about the kind that says to the fallen stranger, "I don't know you, but I care enough about you to crawl down into this abyss to experience your pain with you and help you climb out."
Don't jump to conclusions. I haven't actually jumped in a ditch yet, but the desire to see people with that kind of empathetic eye has ruled my life the past couple of weeks.
There's the lady who needed to be acknowledged. I don't know why she felt she needed a nod from me to feel validated, but she did. Her need angered me, but a very wise person in my life pointed out that this need was probably a symptom of a deeper problem. I can identify.
And so, after a moment or two of venting, I followed the prompting to consider her pain and extend grace. It cost me nothing to swap anger for compassion. It was a simmple choice.
There was the rude lady on the phone, who, on the two occasions I spoke with her, probably shouldn't have been answering the phone. My first instinct was to call her out, tell her boss about her behavior, but I felt a nudge of sympathy instead. I don't know what her day had been like. I don't know what her life is like at home. Maybe she had gotten a bad medical diagnosis or a bad work review. Maybe she had a headache. I could grant her some mercy. And so, I swallowed my pride and desire to be right, and thanked her for her time.
That's not me talking. If ever you need evidence that there is a Power greater than us Who lives inside us, this is it. This is Jesus talking.
This compelling response of grace and mercy was stemmed from a sermon illustration about downcast sheep that I heard and later researched.
When unshorn sheep fall, they sometimes have trouble getting back up. The weight of the wool on their bodies displaces their center of gravity. This causes reduced circulation in their legs and feet, rendering them helpless. The downcast sheep cannot right himself, no matter how hard he tries.
That's when the Good Shepherd comes. He doesn't order the sheep to stand. He doesn't pray for them and keep walking. He sits down beside the fallen. He restores blood flow. He turns the sheep on his side. He encourages and supports the sheep. He helps the sheep to stand, and He stays with the sheep until he can stand on his own again.
I've been there. The weight of the world displaces my center of gravity. I fall, and I can't right myself. I need a someone stronger than I am to help me, and the only way I'm going to listen to Him, is for Him to be down beside me, whispering in my ear. Nobody likes to be down. Depressed people don't choose to stay depressed. They try to get up, but they can't.
In this season, I have come to understand that the correct response to a difficult person is to put myself in their shoes. Rather than get angry at a bad attitude, I've come to see it as a symptom of a deeper pain. The best response is give them what they need rather than focus so intently on myself. I can't promise that I'll do that every time, but, in this season, I'm working on it.
There's the lady who needed to be acknowledged. I don't know why she felt she needed a nod from me to feel validated, but she did. Her need angered me, but a very wise person in my life pointed out that this need was probably a symptom of a deeper problem. I can identify.
And so, after a moment or two of venting, I followed the prompting to consider her pain and extend grace. It cost me nothing to swap anger for compassion. It was a simmple choice.
There was the rude lady on the phone, who, on the two occasions I spoke with her, probably shouldn't have been answering the phone. My first instinct was to call her out, tell her boss about her behavior, but I felt a nudge of sympathy instead. I don't know what her day had been like. I don't know what her life is like at home. Maybe she had gotten a bad medical diagnosis or a bad work review. Maybe she had a headache. I could grant her some mercy. And so, I swallowed my pride and desire to be right, and thanked her for her time.
That's not me talking. If ever you need evidence that there is a Power greater than us Who lives inside us, this is it. This is Jesus talking.
This compelling response of grace and mercy was stemmed from a sermon illustration about downcast sheep that I heard and later researched.
When unshorn sheep fall, they sometimes have trouble getting back up. The weight of the wool on their bodies displaces their center of gravity. This causes reduced circulation in their legs and feet, rendering them helpless. The downcast sheep cannot right himself, no matter how hard he tries.
That's when the Good Shepherd comes. He doesn't order the sheep to stand. He doesn't pray for them and keep walking. He sits down beside the fallen. He restores blood flow. He turns the sheep on his side. He encourages and supports the sheep. He helps the sheep to stand, and He stays with the sheep until he can stand on his own again.
I've been there. The weight of the world displaces my center of gravity. I fall, and I can't right myself. I need a someone stronger than I am to help me, and the only way I'm going to listen to Him, is for Him to be down beside me, whispering in my ear. Nobody likes to be down. Depressed people don't choose to stay depressed. They try to get up, but they can't.
In this season, I have come to understand that the correct response to a difficult person is to put myself in their shoes. Rather than get angry at a bad attitude, I've come to see it as a symptom of a deeper pain. The best response is give them what they need rather than focus so intently on myself. I can't promise that I'll do that every time, but, in this season, I'm working on it.
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