“I have compassion on the multitude, because they have now continued with me three days and have nothing to eat. And I do not want to send them away hungry, lest they faint on the way.” Matthew 15:32*
Father, You feel.
The people whom You made move Your heart.
I am one of them, like on that day. I am fixed on You and wondering: who is this Man? — yet trapped in all my humanity. And You have compassion on me.
You don’t just see with Your eyes in a way that puts distance between You, perfect, and what You have created, weakened by flesh, but You see them with eyes that receive them.
I adore You, compassionate God.
You receive me — all of me. My burps and hiccups and hunger — all signs of my flesh — were, once, worn by You. And You who could master them all look at me with compassion.
You saw every face in that crowd that served to mask the layers of who they really were. You saw external scrapes, cuts and bruises and internal torrents. You carried it all. And Your response was compassion.
You gave of Your tenderness to that crowd, just as You give of Your tenderness to me, now.
My weakness stirs You. The parts of me that I despise, the reminders of this temporal body of death, move You on my behalf. You love me, even in my humanity. Especially in my humanity. My humanity invokes Your compassion. When I am me, weak, You reveal You, strong.
You are not annoyed by me or simply tolerant of my temporality, You are compassionate.
I adore You God, whose compassion manifests itself in strength.
You feed not just my soul but my flesh. You wrap Your perfection around my frailty and You make a story that sings Your name.
My frailty — in You — isn’t to be despised, it’s to be carried to that place at Your feet where my life releases the bow I was made to give and You write Your name on all that I am not.
I adore You, God of compassion, who turns what is parched and hungry and strapped by a myriad of limitations into a glory in which I can participate. You make me beautiful by Your compassion.
When my eyes bore, deep into Your eyes that don’t scorn me or scoff at what I’m not, I’m compelled to lean in, not away. I can’t stare into the face of Compassion and not be changed.
You take what little I have and make it a feast, because my life is not about what I’m not but about who You are. And You are not too big to look at all the small parts of me.
**So what do I do with these posts, you ask, other than just read them? First, if you haven’t yet, read: Why I Adore and Morning Chai, Explained to give you a context for this little space on my blog.
If you are compelled, I invite you to participate. Set up a space and time in your own life to begin adoring. Over laundry or dinner dishes, on your commute to work, or in the wee morning hours — five or ten minutes is a great start. You can use the verse I list here every day or two as a launch pad for your own adoration. (Showing Up gives you some practicals.)
Then practice praise.
It’s not too late to use this adoration prayer guide, customized for February, as a start.
I promise your weary soul won’t regret it.
You can see all of the Morning Chai posts with this link: http://www.EveryBitterThingisSweet.com/posts/chai/ and you can easily subscribe to these devotional meditations as they are delivered, by using this feed: http://feeds.feedblitz.com/chai or by entering your email address in the second box on the right-hand side.