As we turned the corner one street earlier than normal, my youngest glanced at me with a confused look in his eyes. But how do I explain to him that I just can't deal with the beggars today? That I'm just tired and can't handle the empty baby bottles shoved in my face, the yanking at my clothes, and the desperate voices calling out the names of destroyed hometowns. Even more specifically, the mother of a newly burned child had begged me for medicine for her daughter. After talking with a doctor, I learned that this particular medicine would do more harm than good, and I knew she wouldn't understand.

Usually, we take our time as we walk. Looking people in the eye, listening to their stories, asking names and ages, sometimes buying a sandwich or a donut as a treat. But today, I just couldn't.

Having compassion on someone means we are suffering with them. When someone hurts, we hurt as well. Sitting with someone in their pain and suffering can be incredibly powerful.

At the same time, when the Bible talks about Jesus having compassion on people, it is often followed with, “and He...” He helped. He healed. He brought people back from the dead. But I'm not God, clearly. And I can't always help the way people want or need me to. 

So, on those days when I feel completely tapped out, when the hurt and the pain of others becomes just too much for me to bear, when I am at a complete loss of what to do… we take another street home. I snuggle my children. I take a nap and turn those burdens over to God and ask Him once again to fill me with His compassion. Even Jesus rested so that He could better serve the multitudes of people who came to Him in need.

Then tomorrow, once I allow God's Word and His Spirit to fill me up again, I can go back to buying donuts and hearing stories and allowing my heart to break all over again at the pain and injustice right outside my door.