no compassion is wasted

Today at church, the minister told stories about people with marks on them of various sorts - some obvious in origin, like black eyes and hickeys, some mischevious, like dirt on a child's sunday clothes, some that told of hardship, like a hospital bracelet. She compared these marks to the mark of ashes that ministers place on congregants' foreheads in Ash Wednesday services, to stress the universalness of both. She told one particular story about her brother, who came home one night with his face flushed and tear-tracks on his face. She asked where he had been, and he said, "I just met the woman I think I'm meant to marry, and she's engaged to another man." An old woman in the congregation let out a gasp.

I was surprised at the reaction - how could an old woman who had no doubt been through many troubles in her life, had probably been through the many heartbreaks of parenting, who likely had friends dealing with more "real" problems like cancer, and the loss of faculties and freedom, be shocked and saddened by something like that? That someone so far removed from the situation could have compassion on the trials and tribulations of young people gave me great comfort.

It was validation of sorts - sometimes our meant-to-bes end up never-to-bes, and it IS sad. Her reaction has also reminded me that compassion can have great force even when it's not expressed directly. Ok, so maybe you're not on the front lines, saving the world, but when you feel deeply for others' sorrow, and express it in some way, even if it's just a sigh, gasp, or conversation with a friend about a tragedy, it can still charge the air around you with empathy. Maybe your expression of solidarity won't reach those directly affected by the tragedy at hand, but maybe it will reach someone else who needs it.