The Blessing Of Compassion

   Compassion is a unique emotion that enriches the spirit of a human being. Many people don't ever learn what it means. Many don't ever come to understand what it even is. There is no room for pity, for instance, in compassion. Pity is a negative emotion. Although the dictionary says it is sympathy and sorrow, yet I say it is negative, because I have seen it too many times in its negative form, and NEVER in the positive form that the dictionary speaks of. Pity is when someone looks at your disabled child, and says in front of that child: "what's wrong with him?" Or, "oh, the poor little thing". Or, "won't he ever be able to walk?" Or, worst of all, to me, "is he a foster child or something?"

   NO! He is my own child. My darling, precious son. How DARE you insinuate that his life is not important enough for him to have, and be living with a mother!

   I don't say this, though. I have always tried hard to educate people who are so ignorant. So I taught myself to cheerfully say, "oh no, he's my own son! I adopted him when he was a baby!" And I get us out of there as quickly as I can, hoping my child has endured this without being injured like his mommy is.

   Compassion, however, is when a stranger comes to you, looks at your disabled child, and says "oh, she has such pretty hair!" Or, "what a beautiful smile she has!" Compassion is when a stranger says "I can see how much your little one loves you, by the sparkle in her eyes." Or, "what a lovely dress she has on!"

   You see, I have heard them all. Over thirty-five years of adopting and mothering my wonderful family, I have heard them all, from the bright end of the spectrum, clear to the very darkest. An old woman from church came to my home after the funeral of my precious eight year old daughter, bringing a casserole, and said to me, "well, with her being handicapped, it was for the best."

   I did control my rage. I forced myself to realize that when this old woman was young, and developing her attitudes about life, this was probably an acceptable thing to say, in our society. It hasn't been that long. I know. She was feeling pity. She was disregarding the value of my child's life. She must have been thinking that my little girl did not have the real right to live, with her handicaps, and wouldn't have had a good life anyway, being unable to walk. She had never come to our home before; never grown to know my daughter; never even seen the brilliance of her smile; or heard her rich laughter. What does walking have to do with joy? Not much. Look at all the miserable people walking around the streets every day. This woman had no idea what compassion was. Not even toward me, a grieving mother who had just buried her little girl, and was missing her horribly.

   It hasn't been that long since doctors and society virtually and sometimes truly forced parents to institutionalize their disabled newborns, or even starve them to death. I'm old enough to remember.

   So I was really breaking new ground back in 1970, when I fell in love with my daughter Julianne, while she was still only my foster daughter. The caseworker warned me that when foster parents got too fond of a child in their charge, the long practice had been to move that child to a new home. The only reason she did not do this to me, was because there wasn't another home who would take a child they called "a little mongoloid". Even foster parents did not often want disabled children back in those years. Thank God for that! I'm sure He put mercy in her heart for our little family, as well, because it was He Whose divine plan made Juli a part of our family.

   When I began adopting children with disabilities, it was simply not done. People did not adopt children who had even a correctable problem like a cleft lip, who were not tiny babies, who were of mixed race, or who were siblings. I was dumbfounded by such stupidity! Imagine a child being rejected because their hair or eye color did not match their adoptive parents! Yet it happened all the time. It even happened to me with my daughter Skyla, who had dark hair, and rich dark eyes. "But she doesn't match your blond hair!" The caseworker protested. My word, what does that have to do with anything? I think it had to do with the fact that my child might - gasp - guess that she was adopted! Of course, however, I was never going to keep that a secret from my children, so it did not apply to us. Adoption for our family, was a source of lots of talk, and much pride and joy! But children who were really disabled were absolutely not adoptable. The powers that be said so. They said so to me.

   Back at the beginning, particularly as I was a single parent, and young, I had a very hard uphill battle ahead of me. Of course, the impetus that got me going on this challenge was the fact that I wanted to adopt a child I was already passionately in love with. I wanted to adopt my daughter Juli, whom I had been the happy foster mother of, for many years. She had been given to me as a foster child when she was a little sixteen pound, frail baby who cried all the time. I grew to love her like my own flesh and blood. She was my first child, in fact. God gave me two by birth after Juli, when I already loved her as my own. There was no hesitation in my mind that I would never stop fighting the state until they saw Juli as a child with the right to have a mother. Until they allowed me to adopt her. She deserved a family of her very own.

   When I won this fight at last, my daughter was eight years old, and it was probably the proudest moment of my life. Much as I had loved my loving, precious daughter when we entered the courthouse; a great surge of new love entered my heart for her, the second the judge said she was now my own, as though she were born to me. For at last, the endless fear that some day, someone might take her away from me was gone. I did not have to hold anything back ever again. In fact, I had not been aware that I had been holding anything back, until that new flood of love overwhelmed me!

   And since I had already been the foster mother of my daughter Skyla since infancy, for over two years, and she had been up for adoption since birth, I drove straight home and called the caseworker to get a new home study started, with the aim of becoming Skyla's real mother. You see, the rules are, you can only adopt one child at a time, unless they're siblings.

   I was on my way. I had at last realized my life-long dream. My children were my own.

   You may be wondering what all this has to do with compassion. Nothing at all! This was pure, sweet love. But this love was planting seeds of love which grew to encompass children whom I would not have chosen, had I not learned the true meaning of compassion. For instance, adopting children who were not expected to live very long. Children who needed and deserved a mother and a family just as much as all children do.

   Nearly every child I adopted through the years, had a disability. Those were the children I looked for. I wanted to bring into our family, children who had the least chance of being adopted by someone else. There was something about a motherless child with problems, that brought out the mothering instinct in me, like nothing else.

   Every new handicap fascinated me. I wanted to learn everything about it that I could. And every new child was a new challenge to me. Could I be the right mother for this new child? Could I make this child happy, and feel happy about themselves? What could I give this child, so he or she would have a good life? Could I help this child? How could I help? In our family, every child was valued for the things they WERE able to do. Even as small as the ability to smile.

   I taught my children to be happy with who they were, and to be proud of what they could accomplish. Only rarely did a sorrow pass through me, for what this child or that would never be able to experience. I was too full of joy for the things my children WERE able to do! There could be no benefit for my child in a mournful kind of feeling. Caring, certainly. As they grew up, I expressed, and continue to express care and sympathy about their physical problems, pain, etc. But as they were growing up, my most intense focus was to help each one become the most complete and fulfilled individual they could become. I wanted them to be happy adults some day. There was no room for pity. Pity would have only injured my children.

   I remember saying to my children, "oh, everybody in this world has a problem. Look at me - I have to wear glasses, because my eyes don't work very well." And think of all the things you can do, that so many other children can't do!

   My children accepted my outlook wholeheartedly. I was so excited at each new achievement, no matter how small. Because each new accomplishment was a stepping stone, and my child was climbing, making another motion toward independence. When a mother is thrilled about something their child has learned, that child is going to be thrilled too. That child is going to proceed to try hard, to continue learning!

   Compassion is a positive experience. The dictionary says it is the deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it. That is what marks another difference between pity and compassion. Pity is a feeling only. Compassion spurs a person into action.

   Compassion is the emotion of true caring about someone else. Someone who is in greater need than yourself, perhaps. But even if you are in great need yourself, you can always give a smile to someone who looks sad.

   Compassion is a natural response to a need, for most people, I think. Anyone would jump in a pool to rescue a drowning child. Anyone would reach down something from a high shelf in the grocery store, for a little old lady. Caring is very simple, and very natural for another human, or animal for that matter. It is a gentle regard for another living creature.

   Many people care about the homeless, and try to help them. Many send money to other countries, to try to help feed the starving. Many go into hospitals and volunteer their time to comfort and cheer the sick.

   Jesus gave us countless examples of compassion. He cared deeply about those in need.

    * He hath made his wonderful works to be remembered: the Lord is gracious and full of compassion. Psa 111:4