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Grains of Sand: Compassion
"The best acts of compassion will never be known by the audiences."
When my brother was mustered out of the Navy, he drove from the Great Lakes area toward Houston. While enroute, he picked up a stranger on the road somewhere in Kansas. It was cold and windy, so the hitchhiker was mighty pleased to take a seat in a warm car. It wasn't long before the two of them got on the subject of spiritual things. The man had led a rugged life. In fact, he had recently been released from prison.
As you'd expect my brother's authentic compassion for the man proved irresistable. The man quietly took the gift of Christ. By the time the two of them reached central Oklahoma, the stranger announced that he was near his home. Here is where he got off. As he opened the door, the wintry blast filled the car.
"Where's your coat?" asked Orville.
"Well, I don't have one...but I'll be fine."
"Wait a minute," Orville interrupted. With that, my brother reached back into his seabag and dug out his Navy pea jacket. You remember, that dark blue, double-breasted, big-collar government issue every sailor wore on cold days. He tossed the jacket toward the stranger, smiled, and said, "Here's your new coat."
Shivering the man buttoned it up, then leaned through the door and, with great sincerity, said, '"In all my life I've never met anyone like you. How can I thank you enough?"
Meanwhile, back in Houston, my dad is awaiting the arrival of his older son. Clipboard in hand. Ready to check off the seabag supplies. Was he in for a big surprise! I was only a teenager at the time, but it has been indelibly imprinted in my museum of memories.
"Eight pairs of socks?"
"Check. Eight pairs."
"Three caps?"
"Check. Three caps."
"Six white t-shirts?"
"Check. Six white t-shirts."
"Eight pairs of skivvies?"
"Check. Eight pairs."
"Two pairs of shoes?"
"Check. two pairs."
"One pea jacket?"
"Uh...well..."
"Where is the jacket?"
"It is somewhere in central Oklahoma, I gave it away..."
"Where is it?!?! Who did you give it to?!!!!"
Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath and stated with calm confidence, "Dad, I gave it to a hitchhiker I picked up in Kansas. He had just gotten out of prison and he did not have a coat, so I gave him mine."
One incredible space of silence transpired as the two of them locked eyes. Finally, my father leaned across the kitchen table, cleared his throat, and responded, 'You know, Orville, I haven't understood you for a long time." To which my brother replied - standing about three inches from Dad's nose - "No Dad...and I don't think you ever will."
I learned a never-to-be-forgotten lesson that afternoon. Compassionate people are often hard to understand. They take risks most people would never take. They give away what most would cling to. They reach out and touch when most would hold back with folded arms. They don't usually operate on the basis of human logic or care very much about the rules of safety. Their caring brings them up close where they feel the other person's pain and do whatever is necessary to demonstrate true concern.
Written by Charles Swindoll
(Matthew 25:40) "To the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me."
Submitted by Richard
"The best acts of compassion will never be known by the audiences."
When my brother was mustered out of the Navy, he drove from the Great Lakes area toward Houston. While enroute, he picked up a stranger on the road somewhere in Kansas. It was cold and windy, so the hitchhiker was mighty pleased to take a seat in a warm car. It wasn't long before the two of them got on the subject of spiritual things. The man had led a rugged life. In fact, he had recently been released from prison.
As you'd expect my brother's authentic compassion for the man proved irresistable. The man quietly took the gift of Christ. By the time the two of them reached central Oklahoma, the stranger announced that he was near his home. Here is where he got off. As he opened the door, the wintry blast filled the car.
"Where's your coat?" asked Orville.
"Well, I don't have one...but I'll be fine."
"Wait a minute," Orville interrupted. With that, my brother reached back into his seabag and dug out his Navy pea jacket. You remember, that dark blue, double-breasted, big-collar government issue every sailor wore on cold days. He tossed the jacket toward the stranger, smiled, and said, "Here's your new coat."
Shivering the man buttoned it up, then leaned through the door and, with great sincerity, said, '"In all my life I've never met anyone like you. How can I thank you enough?"
Meanwhile, back in Houston, my dad is awaiting the arrival of his older son. Clipboard in hand. Ready to check off the seabag supplies. Was he in for a big surprise! I was only a teenager at the time, but it has been indelibly imprinted in my museum of memories.
"Eight pairs of socks?"
"Check. Eight pairs."
"Three caps?"
"Check. Three caps."
"Six white t-shirts?"
"Check. Six white t-shirts."
"Eight pairs of skivvies?"
"Check. Eight pairs."
"Two pairs of shoes?"
"Check. two pairs."
"One pea jacket?"
"Uh...well..."
"Where is the jacket?"
"It is somewhere in central Oklahoma, I gave it away..."
"Where is it?!?! Who did you give it to?!!!!"
Swallowing hard, he took a deep breath and stated with calm confidence, "Dad, I gave it to a hitchhiker I picked up in Kansas. He had just gotten out of prison and he did not have a coat, so I gave him mine."
One incredible space of silence transpired as the two of them locked eyes. Finally, my father leaned across the kitchen table, cleared his throat, and responded, 'You know, Orville, I haven't understood you for a long time." To which my brother replied - standing about three inches from Dad's nose - "No Dad...and I don't think you ever will."
I learned a never-to-be-forgotten lesson that afternoon. Compassionate people are often hard to understand. They take risks most people would never take. They give away what most would cling to. They reach out and touch when most would hold back with folded arms. They don't usually operate on the basis of human logic or care very much about the rules of safety. Their caring brings them up close where they feel the other person's pain and do whatever is necessary to demonstrate true concern.
Written by Charles Swindoll
(Matthew 25:40) "To the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me."
Submitted by Richard
