The Pain of Love

Have you ever experienced genuine compassion for someone else? I imagine it's happened at least once in your life. For some, it's an innate gift. For others, it's an impossible task.

For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to help people, and lift their burdens. I've wanted to make others happy, because I cared for them. I was genuinely concerned for their well-being. I still am, for that matter. I've always thought it was a great gift, and a talent I had that I should cultivate and use. It has always brought me happiness. That is, until a few nights ago.

It was a great day. I slept in, I cooked a delicious breakfast with my family comprised of bacon, biscuits, and gravy. I had an entertaining rehearsal for a play. I relaxed the whole day, and had fun with my family, laughing as I pleased. What more can a day give you than being with who you want to be with, doing what you want to do, relaxing and laughing the whole way?

Happiness. I was truly happy. When does that ever happen? Once in a blue moon for me, at most. Of course, me being me, as the day was winding to a close I thought about my friends and family and how I wished they could be as happy as I.

Then I thought about all of the pain, weight, depression, and discouragement they were all feeling. Alienation. Isolation. Hopelessness. There was nothing I could do for them, even if I dedicated every fiber of my being to the cause, because none of them would let me in and let me understand.

And so dawned my epiphany. Charity and compassion are a gift when they can help, but they are also a curse when faced with helplessness. The sword revealed its other edge, cutting me deep to the heart in the process. Pain of a whole new make racked my body and soul, forcing tears down my cheeks as a void slowly grew in my very core. The pain of love.

Now I know why God weeps.