Yesterday, I stood before the Lord and grimaced after yet another trial of schizophrenic margins. Without really thinking, I said, “Well, it’s heaven we’re truly after isn’t it?” I was considering all the failures I’d experienced, rather than all the experiences I’d had in which I failed portions of.
Sounds better doesn’t it, when the glass is half-full than thoroughly parched with our own self-pity and indignation for pride run dry?
I smiled at God then seeing those attributes in myself, however painfully. Initially, in my youth, I longed to be a pulpit minister. Yet, to save face I shyly told all the adults who pinched my rosy cheeks and applauded my other attributes, “I want to be a teacher”. I once told my mother I’d like to be a writer. I had a horrible attitude and I still remember my sarcastic thought when she replied, “Oh good, then you can tell our family story.” She was a beautiful woman, with a temper, so the imperfection kept me from appreciating her talents and concern for her children’s cultural tastes and safety. We were in multiple organizations, had ample opportunities, and grew up in a church. My biggest problem was the temper. She had one. My Father’s temper tempered hers. Mine was huge, yet silent. So, I graduated and off to life I went, avoiding anger like a bat avoids light, and discovering I was just as blind as a flying rodent might be.
I never taught school, never ministered a flock, never had anything published. I don’t resent it now. I wonder at God’s divine plan. The greatest need I had wasn’t to be successful at what I thought I was good at, it was to learn how to be humble and accept that more of the tests God gives concern what I’m not comfortable with to make life a better place for others, including temper.
Because I can count on two hands the times I’ve blown up out of proportion, does not make me a righteous or pure person; it only means I handled it differently. Anger is just as much a part of my make-up as it was my parents’. I learned that my IQ wasn’t so important, nor did the SQ or social quotient that I worked hard on matter as much either. Rather it was my CQ that matters the most. What do I mean by CQ? It’s not a military acronym. It’s something I discovered I needed more. It’s the Compassion Quotient in my life.
I joined the “service” army of a nursing home. My first evening on the floor, I assisted to feed a resident who was unable to feed himself. I did not want to be there. I’d been convinced I’d make a good living as a nurse and this was something I could do. Taught of the worldly importance of a healthy self-esteem, I knew I did not have it and guilt was a poor partner in those early years. I gingerly held the hand of the man I was assisting for a good 20 minutes, before he hollered loud enough to shake the roof and alert all onlookers and some not even looking, “Dummy, you don’t have to hold my hand!”
Blushing no less than ten shades of red, I quickly removed myself from the table and took up residence in the shade of the wallpaper where I was accustomed to standing in the first place. Newbies and seasoned aides looked on my discomfort with a mixed bag of responses. Laughs, chuckles, gentle smiles, hidden eyes… you name it, I felt the best and worst of it. I knew; I just knew I did not belong there. Yet it was 15 years later before I retired my uniform for a new agenda. I remember the trials in those years. Every time I did a job I felt was more than necessary of me, I’d respond with a humbling thought, “It’ll build my character!”
Sad to say, I didn’t even know what character traits I was supposed to build! It definitely contributed to resentment and shameless pompousness at times! One day, I realized though, it wasn’t me. It was about love. True love. Not the kind I loathed that said nice things to someone’s face and belittled them the moment they were out of earshot. No, true love is different and difficult to have unless you develop it. True love tells the truth, even when it’s painful. “Your hair looks…messy… but.. seriously, I love you for you. I don’t care if there’s a hair out of place. What is important is your heart. I see through your eyes and I see a soul and a spirit that is a raving beauty! I know it’s invisible, but so is God. I’m assured he is love and beauty for the bible says so. I see it in all creation, if I choose to look. Therefore, even if you’re bald or have a doo to mimic Phyllis Diller’s, (yes, I am that old.), I adore the you that God meant for you to be. Forgive me if it’s less than perfect love, but I want you to be a friend beyond the outer garment.”
True love doesn’t cheat. My friend was blind. She handed me a twenty the first day I ran an errand for her. I came back with $15.43 in change. She readily took the dollars, but the change she didn’t even acknowledge or consider asking for. When I took her hand and handed it to her and explained it, she muttered, “Oh, you could have kept that!”
I couldn’t restrain it. “No! I want you to trust me. I want us to be friends. If I weren’t honest to the last penny, why would you trust me at all?”
She took a second to hear what I said. We were soon nearly inseparable. I brought her to church, shopping, out to eat. She was beautiful.
Compassion quotient: To give what is needed to comfort the one you are serving at the moment with all truth.
In the hospital that I frequented as an inpatient, I lacked love and the comfort of friends, even fellow patients. It hurt. My schizophrenia diagnosis was too “Out there” to warrant a lot of warmth. My expectations were a bit high and attitude was for fairness, so you can imagine my shallow disappointment. One other woman shared my diagnosis and was excluded from the majority as well. On the day she was being released, I hugged her. I took her by surprise and let go quickly, patting myself on the back for a perfunctory “love touch”. I attended a group for an hour and returned to my self-pity cave when I realized she was still there, still doing what hospitals and clinics are most famous for – paperwork. I reached out to her again and she hugged me so tightly for an almost uncomfortable length of time. The green Grinch turned every shade of humble and I grew three inches in that moment. I’ve determined the Grinch is green because it’s a shade created by blue and yellow. Blue is the dead inside. Yellow is the color of cowardice. Shades of red are a healthy sign of love alive and growing! I hugged her back then and let her hold on as long as she needed.
Compassion quotient or love quotient is your commitment to Christ; your intense commitment to follow Christ. I was shamed upon my initial hospital commitment. A legal precedence that said a Judge in a black robe in a court of law insisted I be there for an undisclosed length of time. Fellow patients chuckled at that. I pondered the deeper thought of commitment to the things of God. A few years and several more hospitalizations were incurred before I followed His plan. I began to “assist” those who were already in the “helps” ministry. Center stage is not my calling. Love is. It’s yours, too, even if you are on center stage. To love is, after all, the quickest way to achieve the greatest character trait of all: “Member of the body of Christ”.
I’m not sure what I’ll be when I truly grow up. I don’t know God’s final plan for this life but I do know this; it involves love – the selfless type of love I’ve seen since day 1 of the nursing home, whether it teaches respect in a flash of temper or whether it carries a cross, it gives all it has to offer and tells a story of a family that looks out for one another.
Sounds better doesn’t it, when the glass is half-full than thoroughly parched with our own self-pity and indignation for pride run dry?
I smiled at God then seeing those attributes in myself, however painfully. Initially, in my youth, I longed to be a pulpit minister. Yet, to save face I shyly told all the adults who pinched my rosy cheeks and applauded my other attributes, “I want to be a teacher”. I once told my mother I’d like to be a writer. I had a horrible attitude and I still remember my sarcastic thought when she replied, “Oh good, then you can tell our family story.” She was a beautiful woman, with a temper, so the imperfection kept me from appreciating her talents and concern for her children’s cultural tastes and safety. We were in multiple organizations, had ample opportunities, and grew up in a church. My biggest problem was the temper. She had one. My Father’s temper tempered hers. Mine was huge, yet silent. So, I graduated and off to life I went, avoiding anger like a bat avoids light, and discovering I was just as blind as a flying rodent might be.
I never taught school, never ministered a flock, never had anything published. I don’t resent it now. I wonder at God’s divine plan. The greatest need I had wasn’t to be successful at what I thought I was good at, it was to learn how to be humble and accept that more of the tests God gives concern what I’m not comfortable with to make life a better place for others, including temper.
Because I can count on two hands the times I’ve blown up out of proportion, does not make me a righteous or pure person; it only means I handled it differently. Anger is just as much a part of my make-up as it was my parents’. I learned that my IQ wasn’t so important, nor did the SQ or social quotient that I worked hard on matter as much either. Rather it was my CQ that matters the most. What do I mean by CQ? It’s not a military acronym. It’s something I discovered I needed more. It’s the Compassion Quotient in my life.
I joined the “service” army of a nursing home. My first evening on the floor, I assisted to feed a resident who was unable to feed himself. I did not want to be there. I’d been convinced I’d make a good living as a nurse and this was something I could do. Taught of the worldly importance of a healthy self-esteem, I knew I did not have it and guilt was a poor partner in those early years. I gingerly held the hand of the man I was assisting for a good 20 minutes, before he hollered loud enough to shake the roof and alert all onlookers and some not even looking, “Dummy, you don’t have to hold my hand!”
Blushing no less than ten shades of red, I quickly removed myself from the table and took up residence in the shade of the wallpaper where I was accustomed to standing in the first place. Newbies and seasoned aides looked on my discomfort with a mixed bag of responses. Laughs, chuckles, gentle smiles, hidden eyes… you name it, I felt the best and worst of it. I knew; I just knew I did not belong there. Yet it was 15 years later before I retired my uniform for a new agenda. I remember the trials in those years. Every time I did a job I felt was more than necessary of me, I’d respond with a humbling thought, “It’ll build my character!”
Sad to say, I didn’t even know what character traits I was supposed to build! It definitely contributed to resentment and shameless pompousness at times! One day, I realized though, it wasn’t me. It was about love. True love. Not the kind I loathed that said nice things to someone’s face and belittled them the moment they were out of earshot. No, true love is different and difficult to have unless you develop it. True love tells the truth, even when it’s painful. “Your hair looks…messy… but.. seriously, I love you for you. I don’t care if there’s a hair out of place. What is important is your heart. I see through your eyes and I see a soul and a spirit that is a raving beauty! I know it’s invisible, but so is God. I’m assured he is love and beauty for the bible says so. I see it in all creation, if I choose to look. Therefore, even if you’re bald or have a doo to mimic Phyllis Diller’s, (yes, I am that old.), I adore the you that God meant for you to be. Forgive me if it’s less than perfect love, but I want you to be a friend beyond the outer garment.”
True love doesn’t cheat. My friend was blind. She handed me a twenty the first day I ran an errand for her. I came back with $15.43 in change. She readily took the dollars, but the change she didn’t even acknowledge or consider asking for. When I took her hand and handed it to her and explained it, she muttered, “Oh, you could have kept that!”
I couldn’t restrain it. “No! I want you to trust me. I want us to be friends. If I weren’t honest to the last penny, why would you trust me at all?”
She took a second to hear what I said. We were soon nearly inseparable. I brought her to church, shopping, out to eat. She was beautiful.
Compassion quotient: To give what is needed to comfort the one you are serving at the moment with all truth.
In the hospital that I frequented as an inpatient, I lacked love and the comfort of friends, even fellow patients. It hurt. My schizophrenia diagnosis was too “Out there” to warrant a lot of warmth. My expectations were a bit high and attitude was for fairness, so you can imagine my shallow disappointment. One other woman shared my diagnosis and was excluded from the majority as well. On the day she was being released, I hugged her. I took her by surprise and let go quickly, patting myself on the back for a perfunctory “love touch”. I attended a group for an hour and returned to my self-pity cave when I realized she was still there, still doing what hospitals and clinics are most famous for – paperwork. I reached out to her again and she hugged me so tightly for an almost uncomfortable length of time. The green Grinch turned every shade of humble and I grew three inches in that moment. I’ve determined the Grinch is green because it’s a shade created by blue and yellow. Blue is the dead inside. Yellow is the color of cowardice. Shades of red are a healthy sign of love alive and growing! I hugged her back then and let her hold on as long as she needed.
Compassion quotient or love quotient is your commitment to Christ; your intense commitment to follow Christ. I was shamed upon my initial hospital commitment. A legal precedence that said a Judge in a black robe in a court of law insisted I be there for an undisclosed length of time. Fellow patients chuckled at that. I pondered the deeper thought of commitment to the things of God. A few years and several more hospitalizations were incurred before I followed His plan. I began to “assist” those who were already in the “helps” ministry. Center stage is not my calling. Love is. It’s yours, too, even if you are on center stage. To love is, after all, the quickest way to achieve the greatest character trait of all: “Member of the body of Christ”.
I’m not sure what I’ll be when I truly grow up. I don’t know God’s final plan for this life but I do know this; it involves love – the selfless type of love I’ve seen since day 1 of the nursing home, whether it teaches respect in a flash of temper or whether it carries a cross, it gives all it has to offer and tells a story of a family that looks out for one another.