Puzzled

I think that the needy are a gift.   They are desperate, and so they do not keep silent.   They speak, even shout their pain and anguish.   Their voices become an open invitation for compassion.    They challenge me to open my heart, to really see them, to not turn away.

Their need is so obvious I have to strain if I want to avoid it.    I pass it on my short four-block walk between bus and light rail.   I sit next to it on the bus.    I am aware of their need as I drive through their neighborhood, hear their stories on the radio, read the reports on their plight.  I seem to be surrounded by opportunities for compassion, and I have to choose what to do.

I admit that I am confused by the shouts of hate, anger and prejudice.    These are people who have a deep fear, and are ready to blame others for the causes of their fear.    They often blame people who have more need than them.   How do I get past the hate and anger.    How do I see them as fearful and in pain.    How do I not turn away.

I don’t think I can get past the anger and hate.    I would rather not see them.  They do not stir my compassion.