#6

Sometimes I think if You see me sad enough, surely it'll move You to swoop in, maybe even move You to answer the prayers I've been praying.

My intention isn't to manipulate – at least, I'd like to think that's not the case. But I have hoped in my weakest moments that the authenticity of my heartache would influence Your timing.

Compassion is a beautiful thing to receive, but to be in a state of longing for it? What a vulnerable place to be.

And I'd really rather avoid that seemingly unprotected place. So avoidance becomes my protective armor.

Avoid You, avoid the sticky feelings I'm unsure how to work through.

Avoid feelings, avoid facing what's underneath them.

Avoid people, avoid questions.

Avoiding people also means avoiding the uncomfortable comparisons and unwanted jealousy that tend to crop up.

On the one hand, my feelings of jealousy seem justified. On the other hand, they feel icky and self-centered. I'm already struggling with my unanswered prayer, and I'm not eager to add self-loathing to the docket, so avoidance seems to be the best option. Right?

Wrong.

Somehow, my natural human inclinations are literally. Always. Wrong.

Avoidance is just a temporary barrier that keeps me from facing the things I'm too afraid to face.

Like You, Papa. And the compassion You promise to show me that I've been calling foul on.

My definition of compassion is You ending the heavy season I'm facing. Restoring what's been stolen. Reversing what's been broken. Closing the door, locking it, and throwing away the key.

For the record, I do believe these are facets of Your compassion. And I'm still looking forward to experiencing them.

However, to say they're the only facets of Your compassion would mean it can't actually be experienced until the difficulty is gone or the struggle is over.

And before I gloss over that, I think I need to sit with it for a minute and imagine a reality where Your compassion only exists outside of difficulty. While difficulties come in different shapes, sizes, and maybe even levels, I'm hard-pressed to find one person who isn't experiencing anything burdensome in their life right now.

To only be able to look for Your compassion in the sigh of a struggle ending would be genuinely depressing.

The alternative to the ultra-narrow and specific definition of compassion bouncing around in my head is to look for Your compassion in the midst of my unwanted seasons. Looking for the silver lining, so to speak. It may not come naturally to me, but, as my husband likes to tell me, "silver's still silver."

I've heard it said that "every day may not be good, but there is good in every day." The moments of 'good' are the evidence of silver.

A car ride on a beautiful day – windows down, feeling the sun on my skin. Silver.

The coffee date with a friend that lightens the load on my soul. Silver.

The text exchange that reminds me I'm not alone. Silver.

The appointment that provides an opportunity to brighten someone else's day. Silver.

Dancing to that song that came on at just the right time. Silver.

The conversation where someone interjects hope and encouragement into my situation. Silver.

The "chats" during guilty-pleasure reality TV that bring about a host of laughs and inside jokes. Silver.

The jingles my husband and I make up to bring lightness and laughter to what would otherwise be monotonous daily routines. Silver.

And the hug that envelops coupled with the whisper, "He's still got you." Silver.

Recognizing the silver doesn't mean I stop praying the prayer that hasn't yet been answered. And, it doesn't mean I'm settling for less than Your gold.

But it solidifies an appreciation for the present moment's silver that will carry on long after Your gold-standard compassion gets poured out.

And it leads me to realize: I don't have to long for Your compassion; I just have to look for it.

Song of the Day: Take Me on a Ride by We the Kingdom