I was reading stories I wrote in my early days – high school, college and early adulthood. In these stories I can tell that I am trying to work through issues of faith, belief, morality, empathy. Writing has always been the way I work through the puzzles of life. These are the rough drafts of who I will become and how I will find meaning.
The puzzle of empathy was one of the things that stood out in my re-reading. I remembered that an elderly relative passed away when I was a young child. I didn’t know her well or relate to her personally, so I didn’t understand the sadness that people felt when she died.
In the first draft of a 30-year-old story, “Jesus Is a Big Name for a Little Girl,” I had written about someone else’s loss then concluded: “I know you can be sad for other people if you really think about it hard, but it’s just easier to push it all away. It just is.”
I am a whole lot older now, and I can see what I am trying to figure out. How do you hold your heart open to what other people are experiencing?
I had a chance to do that this week when I volunteered with First Methodist’s Respite Ministry, where participants are in various stages of dementia. I sat next to someone deeply loved by her family, and I could feel the desire for this time at Respite to go well for her. My heart opened in the presence of someone else’s treasure.
Perhaps empathy is aided by recognizing that everyone is loved by someone and certainly by our heavenly Father, if earthly connections have gone awry. Is there a way today that you can care for someone loved by someone else?