I have a theory:
Empathy.
Empathy is active love.
And for many, empathy reflects the two most commonly quoted life mottos:
Walk a mile in another man's shoes.
And the golden rule of life:
Treat others how you want to be treated.
Empathy is a choice. You practice empathy. And it is the greatest of all loves we can offer because instead of trying to fix or control, we enter in. We enter in with no intention to fix or resolve rather simply to be, to sit beside, to consider. We mourn together, rejoice together, hope together, bear together.
Empathy changes perspective; it shifts reality. And ultimately, empathy is Biblical. It is a reflection of the greatest commandments - to love God and love His people.
Empathy is patient.
Empathy is selfless.
And truthfully, empathy exposes our rightful humanity - that we are not God and without God we are nothing.
Empathy releases circumstances and hardship to the Lord and waits expectantly on Him. We may not know, we may not understand, and we may not have any power to control, fix, or change the circumstances but we know the One who does and the One who can.
In empathy we walk and sit in togetherness. We pray and intercede and call and beckon. And it aches, it hurts to sit in the emotions and experiences of others, but empathy places the ache at the foot of the cross.
.
.
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I had a red eye flight from Denver to Boston with a layover in New York. The flight was delayed and as I drove to the airport I laughed with my cousin about all the long runs across airports and near-misses. I had never missed a flight before - even when the gates closed or I had been late, I walked onto a plane every time.
In 2018 I travelled to Europe with a dear friend, companion, and long-time adventure partner. Before we left, I met with a mentor of mine – a God-fearing woman from my local church. Before our grand departure, we sat over coffee and talked of airplanes – the departures, the landings, the near misses, and the complete misses - the ones that leave without you or any thought of you.
While in Europe, as we planed around from mountains to oceans to seas, I awaited the disappointment and sheer overwhelming nature of missing a flight. But I was ready. I had prepared. The conversation before I had left, although an unexpected thought at the time, stuck with me. I knew that my God was God over early and over late. I knew that my God was God whether I boarded that plane and flew off into the sky or sat, disappointed and sulking, in an airport a few hundred bucks shorter and pride a little dented. But it never came – the disappointment, the rush, the anxiety, the misses.
But tonight, in light of transition and grief and heaviness, the plane left without me. I fell asleep to the words,
"20 minutes and then we will board."
and I awoke, 2 hours later, from my deep slumber and was told the flight had left ten minutes ago. Ten minutes ago.
My initial thought responded out of sheer frustration:
How rude! Someone would have woken me.
And then my second thought argued with my selfish and prideful self:
This is not on them. The weight, the heaviness, the ache, the scar, the scuff – it lands on you.
But really, as much as I wanted to blame my deep slumber and justify myself, I had to recognize the fault and have faith that my missing my flight was divine. My feet were intended to not step on that plane.
I sat and breathed and tears ran and I thanked God for the opportunity to learn and to grow. He was still God, and as much I wanted to blame others, and as much as I wanted to justify and vindicate myself, there was no word to be said or excuse to be made. I believed it was in God's goodness I was allowed to miss a flight, experience the unknown in a new way, and walk away scathed, but still whole.
I was left alone, in a dim airport at one in the morning without a flight and without a plan. So I did what anyone would do: I called my mom. I left a voicemail at 1:17 am that went something like this:
Hey. Just checking in to let you know all is well – I missed my flight, will book a new flight, I will sleep at the airport, and probably have learned something but am not sure what that is quite yet. I will keep you posted.”
But truthfully, that has been my last few months. The disappointment and ache in this moment felt familiar. It had been months of brokenness, sickness, heartache, revelation, and heaviness.
My hands were worn open, my heart tied vulnerable, and as I walked through it all – soaking and sopping – I knew Grace was sufficient and each moment was divinely appointed. And my life was not about disappointments or heartache or heaviness and neither was my faith. My life is about God and His people.
Even when I fell ill for weeks, weak and feeble, resting on the floor, tiring to breathe; as I processed relationships and life stage; as I flew stateside and felt the depth and quake of a culture so different, so distracted; and now, as I sat in the airport bathroom with tears, pushed together two chairs nudged in a corner on the second floor of an empty airport, and laid my head down to rest, I let go.
I sat with my sorrow. I grieved and mourned and experienced the depth of disappointment. I allowed space to feel every range of emotion.
I knew it was true yesterday and I meditate on it again today - the Peace, the songs of praise and psalms offered to our great Shepherd; the Repairer of the Breech; the Restorer of Streets to Dwell In.
So my heart rests, my head lain down to sleep.
It was morning the next day. As I fell asleep the night before, I reaffirmed myself:
This will be funny in the morning, just wait.
So when I woke from my restless slumber, I chuckled.
I thanked God for my recently acquired blow-up travel pillow and the email I received saying my checked luggage made it to Boston Logan Airport. I gathered my things, brushed my teeth, bought a cup of coffee, and meandered to my new gate.
My new flight was delayed and I accepted defeat – I would be tired and restless and may spend the whole day in the airport, but with determination and hope I knew I would make it. At least this time I came with a plan.
When the woman on the intercom spoke of the earliest flight to Boston, departing from the same gate my now-delayed flight would be leaving from a few hours after:
Ten minutes until boarding.
The familiar words over the income rang in my soul and I decided the worst thing that could happen was a "no" and then I am in the same situation I was in before.
So I walked up, steadily and slightly more timid, and explained my night and asked:
Could I get on this plane to Boston?
And she said yes. Without hesitation, she printed a new boarding pass and I sat giddy and wide-eyed as I waited for the zone announcements for boarding. Again, I called my mom - this time with upbeat news and a different tone.
It had been long since I had travelled alone. Let alone in America and through airports and the bustle of the city. I knew I had experienced true grace at the hands of others. And I knew, that even though no single soul knew me in that place, there was love, there was grace, and surely:
there was empathy.
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