30 Pounds of Compassion

Life is so organized! It amazes me when coincidental occurrences of life accommodate such smooth syncopation-i.e. this blog and its random posts.

A significant part of last night's post dealt with the Mother of Compassion, Mother Theresa, a woman whose commitment to her faith led her to an compassionate commitment to the less fortunate; the marginalized; the orphans. The following morning, compassion in its purest form smacked me in the face.

The sun was just peaking its brilliant face over the eastern horizon. I was up with our infant, Ezekiel, providing his breakfast and struggling to keep my eyes open. In effort to keep my heavy lids lifted, I turned the television set on. I had no idea what was being broadcast into my home...I was just trying to feed Ezekiel and induce him back into a state of sleep. My three year old, Aylah, had wakened and was playing with some toys at my feet.

As I fed our infant, I did notice that the program on the television was an advertisement for the organization Feed the Children. Shots of emaciated Haitian children flooded the screen, but I payed little attention--I was barely awake. Then the sweet little voice of Aylah brought me back to reality. The sweet little voice said, "That makes me sad, daddy."

I lifted my head. Surely Aylah had not said that! As I attempted to replay her words in my head, it made more sense that she was simply commentating on the ghostly figure of an underfed and near-death figure of a small Haitian boy. She must have said, "that boy is sad, daddy."

So I asked her, "Aylah, what did you say?"

She may as well have said nothing. I turned to her and saw that her little three year old faced was puckered with sorrow. But she replied, "That makes me sad, daddy."

Sweet empathy! I would not have thought it possible that such a built-in love for humanity could surface in a three year old--my three year old--as compassion so strong so as to evoke such a stirring emotional response.

As I fell asleep last night my thoughts were centered around the deep rooted compassion of an elderly nun, only to be awoken by a display of compassion by an innocent child. I am ashamed. I am humbled. My daughter, my junior by 24 years, was used this morning to teach me what it means to love.

I can only pray, "God, please give me the same compassion contained in the tiny body you allowed me to help create."