Yesterday I was climbing the cement stairs holding a waterer, grit, and a fresh warm egg. As I reached for the door handle I slipped and tumbled down into the window well. I screamed, and the twins screamed too. That bonded us, I suppose. My back fell against the edge of the well and the pain flashed across my spine. Zack came bounding across the house and helped pull me up to the landing. Tenderly I ooched to the living room and sank into a soft chair. The girls ran to get first aid for my scraped up legs and I thanked my lucky stars. Names and faces of people with back issues went across my mind like a video, and I sent a surge of compassion to them. 

"OH! That's why you stood so erect while we were talking! Oh that's why you couldn't cope." 

Suddenly the rote "I'm sorry it hurts" felt grossly inadequate. I wanted to call up six people and gush with empathy. 

I will be ok. Arnica pills and gel have already reduced the insult, and while I will not overdo it today, I can manage. 

One of the blessings of struggles in life is the window it affords us into genuine concern. It is nearly impossible to connect with another person's pain if we have flown over problems like a guy in a helicopter floating above the exhausted long distance swimmer. Nice as it is to sit on the beach with a cool drink it does not have the same ability to rivet people together. The last time I was at the shore there were countless other sunbathers enjoying the sand and I barely noticed them, except to be annoyed at their sheer number. But when a hurricane knocked out the power in our town last year we were as thick as thieves in our effort to stay warm and fed. 

Misfortune is a better bridge than opulence ever was. Even the God of the universe bowed the heavens and came down to take on the suffering of the world, so that we would feel His mercy. 

My back will be better in a few days. But I dearly hope to hang on to the remembrance of compassion. Maybe as long as the end of next week.