In my year of One Word 2014: Compassion, I’m practicing one step per month from Karen Armstrong’s Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life.

1. Learn about compassion
   How do you stay soft in a hard world?
2. Look at your own world
   Does it matter?
3. Compassion for yourself
   Practice on yourself
4. Empathy
   Go toward, not away
5. Mindfulness
   It matters to me; does it to you?
6. Action
   First you listen, then you act
7. How little we know
   “I’m not sure”—Is that compassionate?
8. How should we speak to one another?
   Change your tone
9. Concern for everybody
   When we are different
10. Knowledge
    Don’t take my word for it
11. Recognition
    Don’t look away
12. Love your enemies
    Compassion for an enemy?
    

We still had an hour before we could hear the Dalai Lama speak, so we entered the white tent outside Regions Field in Birmingham, Alabama, to kill some time.

It turned out to be a bazaar of Tibetan artwork.

We watched the incredible patience of the sand artists as they worked.

We listened to another monk explain the meaning of the mandala.

We wandered around the tables and took in the beautiful pieces of art and the collection of words for sale.

It was a feast for the eyes.

And then I spotted this . . . something for my heart.

At the time, Compassion was my One Word of the Year. It was what brought us to Birmingham this day to listen to the Dalai Lama, one of the world’s passionate contenders for compassion.

So I knew I had to take this scroll home as a tangible reminder of the year.

And as a reminder that when we seek to give compassion, we are often given compassion.

I share the words from this scroll here with you.

My year with compassion was a wonderful journey that continues to stick with me, long after the calendar turned to a new year.

Thanks to all who leave comments. Your compassionate words teach me more than you know. May you in turn receive your own gifts of compassion, individually wrapped just for you.

What unexpected gift of compassion have you received lately? Please share.

Read more:

• What the Dalai Lama Taught Me About Responsibility, Kindness, and Connection
  In honor of the Dalai Lama’s 90th birthday on July 5, 2025, a personal reflection on his timeless messages.
• 5 Things I Learned from the Dalai Lama
  The Dalai Lama’s name kept surfacing as I researched “compassion.” So when he came to Birmingham, I had to go. Here are 5 things I learned.

revised from the archives

I double-check my notes. I’m on the second floor of my local public library. The call number for the library book is correct. But where is the book? Maybe it has been shelved wrong by mistake.

That’s when I hear the noise.

A loud bark! Directly in my ear.

I jerk around . . . to find a woman brush past me, not a dog, like it sounded.

After barking, she smirks. Then she walks away.

A couple other people come rushing up beside me now. They are clearly disturbed, and ask, “Did that woman just bark at you, too?”

I pause for a split second. I know I have options for my response.

We almost always have options, even when we’re not aware of them.

The Agreements

In 2014, I read a small book of Toltec wisdom by Don Miguel Ruiz called The Four Agreements. (I recommend it.)

Ruiz shares four statements he lives by. They are virtuous and respectful toward all humans. (Read Ruiz’s four agreements here.)

After I finished the book, I tweaked the statements to create my own four agreements for life.

I wrote them on a sticky note and put them on my bedroom mirror. I don’t live them as well as I’d like, but I’m not finished yet.

My first agreement is this:

# 1. Give others the benefit of the doubt.

[Here are all four agreements.
1-Give the benefit of the doubt | 2-Let go of being right | 3-Don’t take it personally | 4-Just show up]

But how? How can we practically give others the benefit of the doubt?

5 Ways to Give the Benefit of the Doubt

1. Create a Better Story

It’s not easy. We’re wired to distrust uncertainty.

So when we don’t know the whole story (which we rarely do), our minds fill in the gaps. And we don’t naturally assume innocent until proven guilty.

Instead of assuming the best, we think:

• My husband must hate my new haircut because he said nothing about it
• My friend just wants to make me mad by bringing up that topic
• The world is against me because I had a flat tire this afternoon

But if we really don’t know, why not create a good story instead of a bad one?

Can’t we assume a positive what-if scenario instead of a negative one?

2. Use the Golden Rule

Would we want others assuming the worst motives about us when we do something they don’t understand? No.

We think they should know us better than that.

We can treat others’ motives the same way we want ours to be treated.

3. Let Go of Self-Protection

Often our cynicism arises because we don’t want to be hurt. We want to protect ourselves by staying on the defensive, not risking pain through naiveté or being caught off guard.

But is being skeptical the best way to live?

No. We will sometimes get hurt by giving others the benefit of the doubt, but more often we’ll create a brighter world, bringing light into darkness instead of spreading even more darkness.

Safety is an illusion. Take chances with love.

4. Forget Revenge

When we sense we’ve been treated unfairly, we can grow stingy with doling out understanding.

But who among us hasn’t received far more compassion at times than we’ve deserved?

By tuning into the kindnesses that we have been given, we can be more compassionate to others too, all things considered.

In everyday situations, when possible, err on the side of grace instead of judgment. It makes for healthier relationships. And happier ones, too.

5. Do It for You

Lastly, we often show the least compassion to ourselves.

Even when we assume the best in others, we may place unrealistic expectations on ourselves. If our bodies get tired or our tongue gets edgy or a relationship turns sour, we may shame ourselves with labels like Lazy or Selfish or Stupid.

Granted, we do need to take responsibility for our actions.

But we also need to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt as well, knowing we tried, that we wanted the best for everyone. Even when you fail, don’t abandon yourself yourself just because you made a mistake

Choose Your Response

Back at the library, instead of causing a ruckus about the barking woman, I choose to let it go. The woman looked homeless and had more important issues to deal with than receiving a lecture from me on keeping reverent silence in the library.

I laugh off the incident alongside the other people who heard the barking, hoping they will let go of their fears that she’ll be waiting outside to harass them.

The woman seemed completely harmless, just coping with life as best she can.

While some people in the world may be out to get us—and yes, let’s be cautious with those!—most of the people in our circles are decent human beings.

Like us, they too are doing the best they can with what they have.

Fill in the gaps with compassion.

And the library barker?

I’m agreeing to assume the best, not the worst, about her, too.

I’m giving her the benefit of the doubt.

* * *

Are you more naturally trusting or skeptical? Please share your thoughts in the comments.

See all 4 agreements (click on individual infographics)

1-Give the benefit of the doubt | 2-Let go of being right | 3-Don’t take it personally | 4-Just show up

revised from the archives

Sometimes I want to give up.

I see the long line stretching in the Alabama heat—people standing for hours, waiting for three afternoons a week just to get a free dinner and a box of free leftover produce from a grocery store or day-old bread from the bakery or whatever size bars of soap that some sweet soul donates along the way.

And I wonder: Is this really helping? Does anything change? What good are we doing?

I don’t see the girl begin to fall. She’s in line with her mother and they’re not yet to the shaded side of the building.

She starts going down. A man in line sees what’s happening and rushes to her. He catches her before she hits the ground.

Another lady in line also sees what’s happening and pulls out her cell phone. She dials 911.

I catch up with them as Winston is escorting them inside so she can sit down and cool off. Color is returning to her cheeks, but she still looks faint. Her mother is calm. She says this happens.

The paramedics find us and check her out as okay. She refuses their offer of a trip to the hospital.

They say she can drink, so I rummage around back and find a warm coke, thankful she asked for it that way. Winston and Mary Beth cut into the food line to gather several big bags of food for her so that her mom can take her home and not have to return later to get what she needs.

I wait with them as they get the food to go. I see the mother is disabled herself—I’d noticed a heavy limp—and the daughter tells me that her mom cares not only for her, but for a total of fifteen people in two houses. Some are family, others are just strays who need help.

May they be shown mercy. Healing. Rest.

A few more minutes pass. The mom leaves to get the car. I ask Ricky, a friend in line, to lend a strong arm to walk the girl outside to the car. He gladly does.

The girl thanks us for everything.

The outward happenings of any situation—whether a near fall or a line full of hungry people or a volunteer struggling to see grace—are mirror images of things also happening inside us. The girl needing help. Her fellow compatriots in line. Her mom and the volunteers and the paramedics and Ricky. And you reading it all.

• Are we seeing grace or not?
• Are we believing in mercy?
• Are we being compassionate?

May our hearts keep growing in love to see more, believe more, be more.

We close her car door. The next things still need to be done, so we all move along. Nobody else goes down today. . . .

Where have you recently seen or experienced grace in an unexpected way?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more:

• 6 Lessons When Curiosity Meets Compassion
  Learning how to be compassionate is a lesson that never ends. After making it my Word of the Year years ago, I find myself revisiting it with a new One Word, Curiosity.
• What Can I Do? For Now, This Is My Something
  My friend needs something I can’t give. What can I do? For now, this is my something.
• “I’m not sure”—Is This Compassionate?
  Is being uncertain a path to compassion? Can admitting we don’t know open us to deeper connections?

revised from the archives

In honor of the Dalai Lama’s 90th birthday on July 5, 2025, here’s a reflection on his timeless message of compassion, responsibility, and spiritual practice from Ethics for the New Millennium—including favorite quotes and lessons from seeing him in person in Birmingham, AL.

A Personal Connection with a Global Leader

On July 6, 2025, the Dalai Lama will celebrate his 90th birthday.

Eleven years ago in 2014, I had the unforgettable experience of seeing him in person in Birmingham, Alabama. He made such a lasting impression on me—not just as a spiritual leader, but as a profoundly humble human being. He was attentive, joyful, and quite playful.

[See “5 things I Learned from the Dalai Lama” here.]

Although he is a Buddhist and I am not, his teachings and example resonate deeply with me. He doesn’t try to convert us to Buddhism; he just wants us to live more kindly and responsibly among each other—universal values that are important to all human beings.

His Message: We Are All Responsible for Each Other

“So while as Dalai Lama I have a special responsibility to Tibetans, and as a monk I have a special responsibility toward further interreligious harmony, as a human being I have a much larger responsibility toward the whole human family—which indeed we all have.”

These words were published over 24 years ago in the Dalai Lama’s book, Ethics for the New Millennium. But the issues are as relevant as ever.

In this era when division seems to dominate, the Dalai Lama’s vision of shared humanity offers a path toward healing—through compassion, humility, and personal responsibility.

The Call: What Will I Do?

The Dalai Lama doesn’t preach perfection or supernatural wisdom. In fact, he speaks plainly about his limitations:

“But I am only an ordinary human being. The best I can do is try to help them by sharing in their suffering.”

That honesty clears the way for each of us to ask:

• How much responsibility am I willing to take for the suffering in the world?
• What kind of commitment am I ready to make to act with compassion?
• How far am I willing to be inconvenienced?

Even small steps matter. The Dalai Lama’s appeal is simple but profound:

“Do what you can, and do it with kindness.”

Practicing Kindness, One Step at a Time

Spiritual practice, according to the Dalai Lama, isn’t about ritual. It’s about how we live and how we treat each other:

“It consists in nothing more than acting out of concern for others.”

Here are some practical ways to live this out:

• Think less about your own worries and more about someone else’s well-being
• Be patient even when anxious
• Serve others with humility, regardless of your job or status
• Resist judging people by appearance or situation
• Practice daily kindness—sincerely and consistently

Easier said than done, I know. But even setting an intention to live more aligned with our values is a step in the right direction.

Quotes to Keep Close

Here are a few more quotes from Ethics for the New Millennium that I am returning to on the eve of the Dalai Lama’s birthday:

“Cowardice arises when we lose all confidence as a result of fear. Patient forbearance means that we remain firm even if we are afraid.”

“It is far more useful to be aware of a single shortcoming in ourselves than it is to be aware of a thousand in somebody else.”

“All human endeavor is potentially great and noble… so long as we carry out our work with good motivation.”

“Try not even to think of yourself as better than the humblest beggar. You will look the same in your grave.”

Final Thoughts

The Dalai Lama’s teachings aren’t just for monks or mystics. They’re for all of us who want to live meaningful lives in the midst of everyday messiness. His 90th birthday is a reminder that while he may be aging, his message of compassionate responsibility continues to be timeless.

“Treat everyone as if they were a close friend… I speak as a human being: one who, like yourself, wishes to be happy and not to suffer.”

So to the Dalai Lama I say, “Happy 90th Birthday, my friend! Thank you for your gifts of wisdom to the world.”

What do you know about the Dalai Lama? Share your thoughts in the comments.

“Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.”
— Arthur Ashe

Remember the Connections

I’ve missing my quirky friend Violet. Last month marked one year since she died. A couple Fridays ago would have been her 57th birthday.

Violet wasn’t always an easy friend. But she was an unforgettable one.

She lived with more than her fair share of challenges. Upon meeting her years ago (maybe 2004?), I immediately saw she had learning disabilities, a speech impediment, and a childlike naïveté about life.

2012 at Manna House

But she also had joy. None of her hardships stopped her from connecting with anyone, anywhere. If she met you today, in the first five minutes, you would find yourself telling her:

• Your birthday
• How old you are
• Your favorite music

And the next time she saw you? She’d remember those. (Not me—I struggle to just recall names.)

2016 at Kings’ Banquet

Violet loved birthdays and music. Especially Elvis Presley, whose birthday—she’d tell you—was January 8. I think she loved him because her mama loved him. And Violet loved her mama. She also loved Hall & Oates. Charley Pride. Any 70s and 80s pop band.

If an oldie came on the radio when we were together in the car, I could trust Violet to accurately tell me who was singing it. Sometimes I’d think,

There’s no way she can know that.

And I’d google the song. But sure enough, she was always right.

Violet also loved her brother, cheering for Auburn football (War Eagle, Violet! but no, we probably won’t beat Alabama this year), playing Candy Crush on her tablet, listening to Pandora on her phone, and eating Moose Tracks ice cream in her apartment.

What Friends Give You

Being around Violet often restored my faith in humanity. Why? Not only did she place an innocent trust in most people, I also saw most people respond to her with patience and gentleness.

I’ll never forget the kind bank clerk who helped us set up a new account. Violet wanted the clerk to understand—over and over—how many years that she and I had been friends. Violet would turn to me and ask,

“How long have we known each other? 12 years?”

And each time, I would reply,

“Actually it’s been about 20 years!”

Violet would repeat that to the clerk. Over and over and over. The exact conversation, sometimes just a minute apart.

Yet each time, the clerk showed appropriate amazement, as if she were hearing it for the first time.

That moment, among many others, reminded me that people can be quite generous when given the opportunity.

2024 at the eye doctor – she enjoyed talking to everyone but hated the exams

When Friendship Isn’t Easy

Not everything was smooth though. Sometimes we got on each other’s nerves. Like those days when she would call me 30, 40, maybe 50 times in a day. Mainly just to say that:

• Someone we knew had died (maybe last week or maybe 3 years ago)
• Or to tell me a storm was coming tomorrow
• Or to ask if I could get her some Reese’s Pieces the next time I was at the store

Because of Violet, I learned how to do things that I’d never done before. Like navigate food stamps. Track down missing Social Security checks. Fill out a Medicaid application.

And in Violet’s final months, I had to learn how to guide around a blind friend who couldn’t grasp what was happening (which is how I often felt myself).

2024, “Cheers!” on move-in day at her new home after she lost her sight

I did none of those things exactly right. I fumbled many times. And often had to call for help myself.

I felt overwhelmed by Violet’s conditions. And very sad. Yet also frustrated. I couldn’t convince her to try healthier foods or wash her socks or stretch the carton of ice cream over multiple nights instead of eating it all at one time.

But worse, I couldn’t keep Violet from dying.

2024, final photo I have of Violet, one week before she died, with our sweet friend Kay

Things You Can’t Fix

I innocently hoped that a single simple eye procedure would restore Violet’s vision. And with it, bring a brand new sparkling life for her—finally living where she could be taken care of, being served three good meals every day, and discovering a hallway full of new birthdays.

But after the first, then the second, and even the third surgery all failed to restore her vision—not even in the smallest way—she faded fast.

The good life I’d wanted for her future years here wasn’t possible after all. And there was nothing I could do about it.

Instead of getting to see Violet’s life change, it was my life that was changing.

• I became more aware of my ignorance of how people live with disabilities.
• I recognized how much privilege I had been born with.
• I learned that compassion means little if it stays in the heart—it must move through the body, stepping into spaces where love becomes action.

To quote the writer/artist Mary Anne Radmacher, I also learned that:

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow.’“

So thank you, Violet.

For loving me and letting me love you. For building more courage in me than I knew I had. For the days you gave me to try again tomorrow.

You taught me that love doesn’t have to be perfect to be powerful.

Many people loved Violet powerfully. Many people continue to miss her today.

I am one of them.

Who in your life has taught you things you didn’t know you needed? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more friendship adventures here:

• Do You Need to Change the Channel?
  Need to change where you’re placing your attention? Be proactive: change the channel.
• One More Try to Go Home
  How will my friend view “home” if her surgery works? If it doesn’t? Amidst life’s uncertainties, home is our solace.
• The Unexpected Impact of a Short Friendship
  It was only a short friendship with a hospice nurse. But even brief encounters can make unexpected impacts on our lives.

“Love and compassion grow when we see that there are really no viable alternatives.”
– Joseph Goldstein

While my One Word of the Year is Curiosity, I change subwords every two weeks. Curiosity and Awe. Curiosity and Wisdom. Curiosity and Kindness, etc.

And these two weeks in November? It’s Curiosity and Compassion, which is especially curious to me because Compassion was its own Word of the Year for me ten years ago.

And it was one of my favorites.

Never assume your One Word is finished with you when the year is up. Words have a way of circling back around again and again.

What did I learn about Compassion ten years ago that I can carry alongside Curiosity these next two weeks? I looked back and reminded myself of these six lessons on compassion that are still applicable today.

1. PITY ISN’T THE SAME AS COMPASSION

I don’t know about you, but I hate feeling pitied. But I do appreciate someone showing me compassion. I’m curious about what the difference is exactly, and why one feels bad and the other feels good.

Perhaps it’s because compassion means accepting people’s pain as it is, whereas pity views a person as a project that needs fixing. Real compassion is one human being relating to another through love instead of through a hierarchy of helper over helpee.

2. COMPASSION CAN WRECK YOU

Some encounters bring both heartbreak and transformation. I still remember the pain of stepping into the deep poverty of families living in Guatemalan slums.

These moments remind me of what Jeff Goins wrote in Wrecked: “Our brokenheartedness at the injustices we witness is what gives us compassion. So when we rush past these messy and uncomfortable moments, we take away the experiences that teach us mercy.” I want to remain curious enough about people’s pain to risk being wrecked by what I find.

3. SOMETIMES COMPASSION IS QUIET

Compassion doesn’t always use words. It can be as subtle as wearing all black in solidarity with the grieving, making eye contact with the lonely, or choosing to sit at the table with those who feel invisible.

Quiet choices can speak loudly. Be curious about when to speak up and when to simply be present.

4. COMPASSION CAN BE SMALL

The more I see the needs for compassion, though, the more I see my own limits. With a friend facing homelessness, for example, her needs outstrip what I can give. I have to remind myself that doing something, anything, is still better than doing nothing.

Compassion is movement, even if it’s slow and steady. Curiosity is staying alert to any small step you can take in the right direction.

5. WE BEGIN AGAIN IN COMPASSION EVERY DAY

Every day is an invitation to start again in compassion. Sometimes I look at friends who are pros at showing compassion, and I feel so inadequate. I’m curious about how they do it and I want to learn from them.

Yet nobody is a complete expert in this. As we are each presented with unique opportunities, we can learn anew the best way to show compassion, again and again.

6. GIVE YOURSELF COMPASSION TOO

Perhaps the boldest lesson I’ve learned about compassion has been more recent than ten years ago. The past three years I’ve been working on giving myself compassion, too. Self-compassion doesn’t come naturally to those of us who were taught to only meet the needs of others instead of tending to our own needs as well. I’ve had to grow curious about why showing compassion to myself feels selfish, when it’s not.

The work of Kristin Neff is teaching me that we can be better givers of compassion to others if we’ve learned how to also give compassion to ourselves. Compassion isn’t a zero sum game; instead of depleting, it multiplies the more we practice it.

Compassion is a gift to both give and receive, creating a web of connections that extends to everyone around us, including ourselves.

I’m curious where I’ll see the need for compassion this week, and how I’ll learn to respond.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read more about compassion:

• When Compassion for Others Takes a Sharp Turn: A Lesson in Vulnerability
  Our mother/daughter experience donating blood took an unexpected turn, reminding me of the value of vulnerability and the importance of compassion.
• I’m Not Sure—Is That Compassionate?
  Is being uncertain a path to compassion? Can admitting we don’t know open us to deeper connections?
• What Can I Do? For Now, This Is My Something
  My friend needs something I can’t give. What can I do? For now, this is my only something.

A Day of Compassion Begins

I sit in a row of folding chairs in a neighborhood church gym, which today has been transformed into a blood donation center. My eyes are focused on my daughter Jenna, who is already on the donation table.

I know Jenna is nervous; it’s her first time giving blood. My mother’s heart feels a wave of compassion for her. I reassure myself that she’ll be fine.

Until I see a Red Cross volunteer hand her a juice box mid-donation.

This can’t be good. Is something going wrong?

A Shared Commitment

A few weeks earlier, Jenna and I had signed up to donate blood together. Our Alabama chapter of Moms Demand Action—a grassroots movement for common-sense gun legislation—had chosen blood donations as our monthly action item for June. Survivors of gunshot wounds often require more blood than other trauma victims, so donating blood felt like a meaningful way to contribute to the cause, especially given the nation’s current low blood supply.

Unlike Jenna, though, this isn’t my first time. I’ve donated blood many times (starting in my college years when my workplace would entice me with four paid hours off for each donation). So though I’m familiar with the process, I do know it can be intimidating.

My name is called next, and I hop onto the other donation table, expecting a routine experience. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Jenna still lying down, but she seems to be okay.

Everything goes smoothly with my donation. But now that I’m finished, I suddenly feel lightheaded. And incredibly hot. Where did all this sweat come from?

An Unexpected Turn

A volunteer brings me a juice box, which I quickly drink. I start to feel better.

I stand up and move to the folding chairs, where Jenna is now seated as well. The nurse advises me to stay a few extra minutes, just to make sure I’m fine.

Jenna and I laugh about the fact that we both got lightheaded. We’re glad we donated, but we’re also glad it’s over.

Except it’s not.

I begin to feel lightheaded again, and this time, I also feel nauseous. Jenna takes one look at my now pale face and immediately calls the volunteer back over.

The next thing I know, I’m opening my eyes, sprawled flat on the floor, feeling awkward and confused. What just happened?

Embracing Vulnerability

I’d completely passed out.

But the experience isn’t over yet. The volunteer brings me a barf bag, and I immediately throw up. Jenna, watching this all unfold, feels sick herself and also throws up.

We are quite the pair. The dear lady next in line to donate is advised to wait a little longer; her blood pressure has gotten too high after witnessing our ordeal.

I feel so embarrassed for getting sick. This has never happened before.

I apologize to the nurse for needing so much help. He is incredibly kind and reassures me that this sort of thing happens and not to worry about it.

A Lesson in Compassion

I did eventually recover that day, and Jenna drove us home.

Reflecting back on the experience, I still cringe at the turn of events. I never figured out why my body reacted so differently to that donation.

What had begun as an act of compassion for others ended up being an opportunity to receive compassion from others.

But now I can better appreciate the beauty of that day. It connected me more deeply to my vulnerability and increased my gratitude for the kindness of strangers.

We need not apologize for being vulnerable. It’s keeps us connected to each other in community. Compassion for each other is the grace that makes us human.

But don’t let my one bad experience discourage YOU from donating blood. It’s a wonderful gift to the world. Find a local Red Cross or other blood donation center near you.

I received this email a few weeks after I donated:

“Thank you for giving blood with the American Red Cross. After first ensuring that local needs were met, your blood donation was sent to Grandview Medical Center in Birmingham, AL to help a patient in need. Your donation is on its way to change lives!

Every day, people receive blood for life-threatening illnesses, blood disorders, traumatic injuries, and other conditions. You can feel proud knowing that your gift of a blood donation is critical to these patients. If you’re eligible to give again, please schedule your next donation today!”

Are you a blood donor? (Maybe I’ll attempt it again one day? Maybe not?) Share your thoughts in the comments.

The laundry room door cracked open.

I could see her inside the room, tenderly folding each piece of clothing more gingerly than I fold my own family’s clothes. When she had put them all in the basket, she tiptoed out of the room, not disturbing the concert in progress in the activity room.

It’s a high touch position.
No need to apply if you’re afraid to get close.

It’s been a few years ago, but I still remember it clearly. I was there that day as a proud fan. My daughter was singing with her grandfather’s Butterbean Band at this assisted living facility. It housed a family friend, giving me double reasons to attend this day’s performance.

I can’t help but watch the workers when I visit homes like this for the elderly and disabled.  

It may be the patients and family who pay the bills, but it’s the everyday workers who keep things humming.  

• It’s the nurse who makes rounds with her little cups of pills, each specific to a resident.
• It’s the aide who pushes the elderly gentleman’s wheelchair into line so he can listen to the band with the gathering crowd.
• It’s the activity director who breezes in and out to joke with the residents, distributing hugs, and ensuring everyone is having fun.

And it’s the young woman who goes into each room to empty individual hampers, washes and dries and separates each article of clothing, then tiptoes back into rooms to return each item to the right drawer and closet where it belongs.

You can’t hold down these jobs without using your hands—to move, to work, to love.

Without the human touch, it’d be an empty place.

To touch hearts, sometimes you have to use your hands.

* * *

How can you use your hands this week to touch a heart? Please share in the comments.

revised from the archives

“I began to notice how seldom we ‘make place for the other’ in social interaction. . . . Western society is highly opinionated.”
– Karen Armstrong

Is there a connection between knowing you’re always right and being unsympathetic?

And its converse? Are those who realize they could be wrong likely to be more compassionate?

I’m curious about it. I wonder if it’s so.

Because sometimes, from where I sit anyway, it seems to be true: that people who are most sure of their position are often the harshest ones. And people who accept their potential to be wrong are the ones more likely to give grace to others.

But I could be wrong. . . .

In Karen Armstrong’s book, Twelve Steps to a Compassionate Life, Armstrong suggests these three exercises to grow in compassion.

1. Appreciate the unknowable

Armstrong suggests participating daily in an experience that touches you deeply beyond words. What brings you awe? What captures your sense of wonder? One example for me is the awe I feel when I see unusual displays of kindness. Seeing humans treat other humans with exceptional respect and dignity makes me truly realize there’s much I still don’t understand about the depth of goodness in our humanity.

2. Become sensitive to overconfidence

You probably know someone in your life who thinks they know everything. (And if not, turn on the news; you’ll find talking heads who think they know it all.) Do we try too hard to win arguments? Are we too reluctant to admit, “I don’t know”? Would we be wise to occasionally play devil’s advocate against our own views to uncover blind spots?

3. Notice the mystery of each person

Be mindful of the beautiful mystery of each person in your day. Think about what you specifically love about your partner or close friend. And then about yourself. What makes you different from everyone else? Do you value the mystery of each person?

Another book that touches deeply on this message is Kathryn Schulz’s amazing book, Being Wrong (it’s messing with me, I tell you). She reminds me that even as I seek Truth, the deceptive allure of certainty is hard at work pulling me in the opposite direction of Love.

“Just as our love of being right is best understood as a fear of being wrong, our attraction to certainty is best understood as an aversion to uncertainty.”
– Kathryn Schulz

How little we know.

May we make peace with it so we can learn more.

And open up space for more love, more grace, and more compassion.

* * *

Has being wrong ever taught you to be more compassionate? Who in your life is a compassionate person? I want to hear.

Read more:

• Discovering Life’s Wisdom – 4 Key Takeaways on Being Human
• Let Go of Being Right – When Being Right Is Wrong (and Dangerous)
• Being Wrong

Can I Ask You Something?

We chat outside her front door. It’s a normal Monday afternoon. She smiles and we make small talk until it’s time for me to move on to the next door.

But she asks me to hang back. She wants to ask me something.

I get nervous.

• What if her ask is bigger than my give?
• What if she needs something I don’t have?
• Or if she asks for something I don’t want to give away?

It Turned Physical

We’ve known each other for a few years on a casual basis. Jenna and I stop by once a week to see if she and her husband would like a free meal off our cart. Sometimes we’ll swap a recipe. Or she has a gift she wants to give Jenna’s boy, my grandson.

It’s only been this year that we’ve swapped phone numbers. And she’s shared more of her life’s circumstances.

What now? I ask her what’s going on. She tells me there’s been a disagreement with a neighbor. Last night, it turned physical.

And now, after several years of living in the same apartment with no trouble, she and her husband are being evicted because of the fight with the neighbor.

My emotions go into high alert. I feel . . .

• sad that my friend will be leaving,
• angry at the neighbor for pushing her to the ground,
• and still nervous about what she’s about to ask me next.

Now I Feel…

At last the question comes. She’s only asking if I know a place they can move to. I wish I did. I’d love to provide an answer, a solution. But I don’t have one.

Now I feel…helpless.

We talk a few more minutes. I offer what little encouragement I can. I tell her I believe her side of the story, that I can’t imagine her ever starting a fist fight. I tell her I’ll miss her when they leave.

She says she’ll give me their new address when they find a place. She’ll want updates and photos of my grandson so she can still see him grow up.

And then I walk away, feeling like I’ve done nothing. Sure, I’ll stay aware of housing options I might hear along the way. But that feels so small.

This Is My Something

Jenna and I finish our rounds at the apartment complex. We get back in the car. We haven’t even pulled out of the parking lot when my phone rings. It’s my friend. She says her husband wants to ask me something. I listen.

It’s the same request: do you know of anywhere we can live?

Again, I say I don’t know. I wish I did. I’ll let them know if I do.

And then we drive away.

I did nothing to help. All I did was listen. All I did was let them know I hurt, too. All I did was say I’d keep my ears open.

But maybe, for now, listening to someone’s pain in their own words, being a witness to the ache in their circumstance, is not nothing. It is something.

Just showing up alongside our friends, feeling emotions with them, and giving them our attention does count for something. I know it counts for a lot when someone does it for me.

I still wish I could offer my friend something more, such as an address for a new home to move to. But for now, I’ll just stand beside her once a week in her old home as long as she’s there.

It’s not much.

But for now, this is my something.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

revised from the archives