"If they are not done, they need to work on it at recess. If they are still not finished they need to work on it over the weekend." She knew from experience that the kids would like their books much better if they had illustrations, and was willing to prod. 

It can be hard to finish a goal, even if it is one you chose. I know I falter. I make up rewards for myself if I clean the bathroom or get the bills paid. Benjamin has learned the system. Now he takes out trash and starts his laundry without the slightest suggestion from me. Then he wants computer time, which I am tickled to grant. 

 

If I were to make a list of the ten qualities I want to integrate into my life, compassion would be one of them. In fact it would be in the top three. But there is a difference between arm chair compassion and on-the-ground-dirty-with-sweat-running-down-my-face. 

 

I can picture God mulling over my progress. 

 

"Look, Lori. I gave you a few physical obstacles to help you know what it feels like to struggle. Then I hoped you would learn empathy by having a mother who bounced in and out of mental hospitals. You made headway, but not enough. I let you lock horns with your son, to realize your own limits and break through them. But I know you can expand even further, so I will give you occasion to exercise it again."

 

Bother. I want to have compassion, as a kind of trophy.

 

"Oh, yes. Those plaques? I got them for delivering bandages to children in Bangladesh. I had them shipped FedEx, and composed a sympathy card which the company included. I think it was even hand written. Just not by me."

 

But cultivating empathy requires wrestling with people who hurt me, or chasing after those who have disappeared.

 

 

 

Photo by Stephen Conroy

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