I feel sick.

The pit of my stomach is bothered. It’s not the pills that anguish me. I think it’s the hills. The constant journey, up then down, makes my strength wane and brings me to the ground. For a moment I feel bold, but the next I’m frozen, not from fear, but from insensibility.

The people I meet and the scars they bear, remind me of the blessings I take for granted. The individuals I encounter and the pain that’s been inflicted upon them, remind me that compassion is invaluable. The hearts that I see and the sorrow they hide, remind me of the saving grace that I’ve done nothing to earn.

I cannot stand the idea that they do not have access to the joy that I have. That in this moment they cannot rest like I can. I want to grab them out of the anguish. It’s like a burning house and I want to bring them out of the flames. Like a mother picking up her child after they’ve fallen. I wish I could simply resolve their issues and restore their lives. I want to have every answer. I want each person to be whole, not out of optimism, but because of true healing. I want to . . . I want . . .

I feel sick again. The pills must be wearing off. I think I’m noticing my errors, this one’s an old scar. So I take more pills until the quivering effect of the pain dissolves into an afterthought.

I remember my Father telling me to offer compassion to others. Again and again he told me. Through his actions and his speech he showed me.

“Compassion my son, offer compassion.”

Oh, but how am I to help others when I cannot help myself? How am I to offer compassion when I cannot accept it? I do not deserve it. I blew it the last time. I saw the exit and proceeded to my own demise anyway. I’m not needy, I won’t let you know what I lack. I’m independent. I’m accomplished. But the pain keeps coming back. And soon I’ll have to turn to a stronger dosage. If I could just forget for a day my erroneous ways, then I would be positioned to offer compassion to those who are really in pain. If I could just surrender my pride, then the compassion of my Father could comfort the memories of my darkened days.

We are all blemished with error. Anyone can commit evil, but who can offer compassion? People need someone who will listen. Individuals need time and understanding. Hearts need healing and encouragement. Acknowledgment alone is a step away from hitting the bin; or a wall. One way or another we all find a way to stall.

This is my heart. Faults and fears. I’ve known no other solution than that of my Father. He cares for me and makes me whole. Though my past is not forgotten, it is lost from my person. For the scars, pains, and sorrows, my Father has blessed me with grace that pours out unwavering compassion. As it has been lent to me, I will lend it to others. Healing is what is needed. Compassion is where it starts.