Compassion ---> Cynicism

I've been wrestling with a new emotion when it comes to work this summer. I haven't been able to put it into words until recently. 

It's the feeling I get when a resident asks a lot of me. When, even though they are incapable of doing the task themselves, a certain impatience rises within me. Even though the words never exit my lips, I think, "Are you sure you can't do more of this for yourself?" It's when I wonder if I'm being taken advantage of. I wonder if, maybe, just once, they could help ME out a little bit, instead of me always helping them. 

Cynicism. 

I know, this is silly. Especially when my job revolves around helping people who are unable to help themselves. How could I become cynical and think that those I am serving are somehow selfishly needing my assistance? Or even worse, how could I look at a human being who is completely helpless without my care, and still feel deserving of something from them?

I remember my first days at the nursing home. For the first time in my life, I felt needed. For the first time in my life, I felt a deep sense of compassion for this group of people. Where did that compassion go? When did it fade into cynicism? 

These realizations lead me to reflect on my lost state. I am not much different from the completely dependent one I care for. When I look at myself apart from the Father's assistance, how little compassion I have within me. How little patience. How little strength.

 

Lord, make me like you. 

"When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd." Matthew 9:36

Prompting

This day was full. It was one of those days I'd rather not walk through again. But now that it's over and there are heavy raindrops coating my window and a good dose of perspective in my veins, I can see the prompts.

When I walked down my hall at work in the early hours of this morning and found that she was no longer with us: a prompt.

When, for the rest of the day, I wrestled with the nearness of death, the brevity of life, and my incompetence at saving a single soul: a prompt.

When I had almost all sixteen of my residents needing my help at the same moment: a prompt.

When I was confronted with my own pride and idolatry for the millionth time: a prompt. 

When I was speechless: a prompt.


In each moment, I was tempted to say, "I can't," and crawl back under my covers. But in spite of my cowardly emotions, I was graciously given these prompts that could turn me back. Back into the safety of my Savior, His gospel, and His sufficiency for every need.


2 Corinthians 12:9 
But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."

Again

Work lately has been teaching me something about repetition. Something about knowing. And something about patience.

I walked down the hall the other day and a deep sigh washed over me as I stuffed my pager back into my pocket. Room 318. Again. I knew the routine: knock, smile, help, leave. I also had a pretty good idea of what the need would be. She would still be weak on the same side, unable to reach for the same things, and in need of my assistance with the same tasks. My job is pretty repetitious: help the same people with the same things in the same way... every day.

For some reason on this particular day, the repetition was getting to me. I was feeling a bit robotic as I went in and out of each room, completing the routine tasks of the day.

However, just before I entered room 318 a thought flew through my head. How similar am I to these patients that I care for? From the perspective of my Father, how repetitious are my needs? How often do I fall in the same ways, cry over the same wounds, and nag about the same needs?

And yet, He sees. He knows. And He doesn't sigh.


Isaiah 41:10
So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.