Gratitude Gives

I was the mentor and advocate for a young woman who was homeless, pregnant, jobless, and only 30-days sober. But I'm wondering who was helping who? She was faced with monumental challenges in every area of her life. And even though I've been academically trained to help her as a mental health counselor, honestly, even I don't know where to begin. Yet looking into her eyes, I saw myself. This is the heart of compassion-seeing your own humanity reflected in another's pain. I knew I couldn't solve all her problems but I determined to do my best to work a few miracles for her because someone had to love her with more than words. Words are cheap; words don't feed you, house you, or get you to your appointments on time. They are well-intended but useless. I didn't need to feel like a hero because friends, family and even strangers have selflessly given to me over the span of my lifetime-so many times in so many ways that I've lost count. I figured it was my time to give a little. When I looked into her empty eyes I saw all the times I came to dead-ends. I saw all the times I wished I'd had a big road sign to say: wrong turn,  time to turn around. I saw all the times I was disgusted with myself for letting myself and others down. When I was with her, I was seeing a younger, struggling version of me.

Gratitude happens in moments when we realize how much we've been given, and how many people have contributed to our success. Nobody's an island, which is why arrogance is such a disdainful quality. The CEO taking millions of dollars in salary is standing on the backs of workers making minimum wage. He may have gotten his position because of an education and good breeding, but he surely didn't arrive there alone. All of us, regardless of our fine qualities, had help along the way. If you can't recall the people who were there in key moments then you're not thinking hard enough. I think back to the time I lost my teen daughter to suicide and how many complete strangers reached out to me; how many poured out their sympathies and prayers. Knowing that others, even complete strangers, deeply cared is what kept me afloat. I survived on their borrowed faith when I wanted so badly to silently slip beneath the waves of grief. Their tender words and wisdom became my flotation device and their practical assistance became my life preserver. I stayed alive because of their belief in me. I can never repay all the compassionate people who have accepted me unconditionally, despite my jumbled and chaotic existence. What I can do is to reach my hand out when someone else is about to go under; it's the least I can do.

There's nothing uglier than a person without compassion, and there's no more breathtaking sight than a person who quietly practices it. The word mercy is synonymous with forgiveness; wiping the slate clean. Mercy means leniency; not being overly heavy-handed if you can help it. Mercy is gentle and shows tolerance and forbearance of others' failures. When we're laser-beam focused on our own worries, people around us don't even register on our radar. Key to tapping our innate tenderness is being aware of other's pain. If we are always concentrating on our own worries and gripes, there's no room for mercy in our hearts. The Christian tradition tells the story of Christ's birth, that there was no room in the Inn, no place for Christ to be born...nobody was willing to make room for him. Christ's birth showed us that mercy is only born in hearts that make room for tenderness, hearts that have been swept clean by the bristles and pain and a humbled existence. Your ability to shine with a quiet glow is dependent on how much compassion resides in your heart. Spiritual teachers of all traditions have advocated self-denial for a reason. Forgetting yourself is key to finding compassion and seeing other people.

I learned this lesson too late. My teen daughter's death was a poignant reminder of my relentlessly self-focused, "single-parent" mentality. I won the battle of being a bread-winner while I lost the war of being a tuned-in parent. I was so focused on my "duties" as a single mother, so consumed with making sure my teen was getting good grades, steering clear of drugs and unwanted pregnancy that I failed to consider what she was seeing. Did I bother to look through her eyes, or was I only seeing the world through the narrow lens of a stressed-out working mother, worn thin by her daughter's four year struggle with severe depression, a mother exhausted by never-ending power struggles? I was in survival mode, and so was she...until she couldn't see through my eyes anymore. That's the moment her flame went out, the moment she made the decision to say goodbye. It's imperative we all try hard to see though one another's eyes. I regret that I trusted my tired eyes. I should have realized I needed a different pair of glasses; I wasn't seeing her clearly anymore. The biggest lesson learned on the road to tenderness was how it only takes a second to watch everything turn to ashes. Sometimes we can't go back, we can't mend what's been broken; sometimes we don't get a second chance. It only takes a second to pull the pin out of a grenade, yet the mess and tears can echo for a lifetime. When we are consumed with our own wants and worries we lose sight of others. When the lonely heart breaks and no one sees, the next word may be goodbye.

If there's someone in your life that's asking more from you than you think you can give, remember: it only takes a minute to ask how they're feeling, what they're dealing with. Tenderness may require you to lay aside your own agenda for awhile; to extend a helping hand and to show some grace. Don't forget where you started, because the minute you do, you've lost the only perspective that means anything: how to be a human with a heart that beats and breaks for another. Just another lesson learned on the road to tenderness. 
  
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