Tag: compassion

You Are Here

jamieahughes4 Comments

Dear Nine-Year-Old Version of Me,

Yeah, you, the one sleeping on the plastic pool lounger and thinking about how awesome it is to be a Floridian instead of an Arkansan. The furniture will arrive tomorrow, but don’t get comfortable. This place isn’t the final stop in your life. Far from it, in fact. God has a journey in mind, and let me tell you….the itinerary is long.

692_10151705766881789_872895404_nYou’ll move to another nine cities in your lifetime as far as I know—a couple of them more than once—and put your crap in boxes more times than you’ll care to count. There will be places you love, where you dig your toes into the earth and fiercely whisper, “This is where I want put down roots. Please God, let this be it.” But you can’t, because there are still miles to go before you sleep. However, you’ll learn something from each spot where you sojourn, and you’ll carry them all with you in the marrow of your bones.

In Ormond Beach, you’ll botch your social studies fair project because Seminole Indians lived in Chickees rather than Tepees. But don’t worry, Mrs. Randolph will understand and let you fix it. You’ll discover Tolkien and Lewis here, fall in love with literature, and become terrible at math as a result. Why? Because you won’t be able to concentrate on all those silly numbers when Frodo is taken away from Sam or Reepicheep loses his tail.

You’ll discover music’s your passion and plan one of the most successful surprise parties of all time in Port Charlotte. You’ll hate your parents for awhile for making you leave that warm place where you can set your watch by the afternoon rainstorms, but don’t be too hard on them. You’ll always wonder what might have been had you been able to stay put. But it isn’t the one God had in mind. Look back fondly, but keep going. There are greater things ahead.

Your first apartment in Ocala, Florida will be a tiny efficiency, but you’ll love it because it’s yours. The Murphy bed will squeak no matter how much WD40 you put on it, and while you live there, you’ll make a series of spectacularly bad decisions. Don’t beat yourself up about them; you’re still a forgiven child of God. Oh, and try not to lurk in the AOL chat rooms. ‘Tis folly.

birthday1I wish I could tell you what to do about Savannah and the man you’ll meet there. You’ll be crazy about him, crazy enough that you’ll move back to give life with him a try. But the Holy Spirit will tell you to leave, and you’ll be inexorably drawn away like the tide pulled from the shore. You’ll think about it often and ache because you’ll want so desperately to call that port home. But it won’t be the place either. Press the memories like flowers in the pages of a book; preserve their essence and keep travelling.

The man you dreamed about when you lay awake in your pink gingham canopy bed, the one you’re meant for, will be in Valdosta. You’ll marry him, and once you grow into each other, you’ll wonder how you ever managed to get from Point A to Point B without him.

You will experience dazzling moments of joy and become intimately acquainted with fear and uncertainty. You will make friends easily when you arrive in a new place and struggle like hell to keep them because all you know is leaving people behind. At some point, you’ll want to wrap your heart in newspaper and pack it away forever because it’s been dropped, cracked, and nearly broken one too many times.

Little me on that pool float, you don’t know it, but you’ll be adrift in life for a very long time. More than once you’ll wonder why God couldn’t just let you stay put and leave you be. It’ll take you a couple dozen years to put it all together, but He’s got something so much bigger than you think in mind. He’s training you to serve Him. Now, I’m not going to lie to you, God is going to crack you in half to do it, but you’ll survive. And in the end, the dots on your life’s map will be Ebeneezer stones, testaments to His perfect handiwork.

There And Back Again: The Cities I’ve Called Home

This post is the first Blog Month assignment generated by the fine folks over at Compassion International. Our challenge was to write a letter to a younger version of ourselves, but the greater goal is to encourage readers to sponsor a child through Compassion.

Even though I’ve faced many challenges in life, I can say I’ve never wanted for anything. I’ve always had clean water, a full belly, and a warm bed. I have never doubted that I am loved, treasured, and valued. It may have been in different places, but I’ve always had a home. Many kids in this world aren’t so fortunate, but we can change that. Put a pin on their life’s map. Help them make a new start.

If you are interested in doing so, please visit their sponsorship page and take a look at all the kids who are in need. As the sponsor of four children, I can tell you that it is a worthwhile and wonderful way to help other human beings and make a difference in the life of a child.

Edmond, Paromika, Tania, and Brayan
Edmond, Paromika, Tania, and Brayan

Default to Compassion

jamieahughes8 Comments

Fantasy author Bryan Davis wrote, “Assumptions are unopened windows that foolish birds fly into, and their broken bodies are evidence gathered too late.” But I prefer my grandfather’s take on the matter. He always told me, “Jamie, when you make an assumption you make an ass out of you and ‘mption.'”

My amazing MS Walk 2010 team---The French Foreign Lesions
My amazing MS Walk 2010 team—The French Foreign Lesions

For those of you who don’t know, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis nine years ago. If you don’t know what this disease is, I’ll tell you in a nutshell. It is a chronic disease that attacks the central nervous system. Symptoms may be mild or severe, depending on which course of the disease a person has. The progress, severity, and specific symptoms of MS are unpredictable and vary from one person to another. If you want more information, you can visit the homepage of the National MS Society and read until your heart’s content.

I am among the 85% of MS patients who have relapsing-remitting MS, which means it comes and goes and never progresses. Basically, I have an exacerbation every so often. It doesn’t get worse each time, but each time I experience one, permanent damage is done. Depending on where it attacks my nervous system, I could lose the ability to see, walk, or remember. These periods of disability could last weeks or months. I might recover from them. I might not. As you can imagine,when I was first diagnosed, I didn’t take it well. In fact, I wrote about it last year in In Touch Magazine, which you can read here.

I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me. I’m telling you so you can better understand the rest of this post. I am handicapped. Not everyday. Not all the time. But because of my disease, things have changed. I sometimes become incredibly fatigued—so much so that it takes me several days of rest to recover after a stressful week. I am also more prone to headaches and body aches of various sizes and intensities. When I’m tired, my feet often go numb. My vision gets blurry at times, which makes it much more difficult to do my job, to read music, and even to drive.

That’s why I applied for a handicapped permit using a form signed by my neurologist who I see every three or four months. There are times when I need to save my energy. I live in the South, and it can get fairly warm. (If that’s not the best example of litotes I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is.) Heat isn’t great for MS and can actually bring on an attack, so when it’s 98 degrees with 100 percent humidity, I might whip that parking pass out to cut some time out of my walk across a parking lot. However, I try not to abuse it. If I’m feeling okay or there’s only one handicapped space left, I leave it and go in search of another one. Why? Because I know someone else who has a disability might need that space more than I do.

But if several are open, I feel I have the right to utilize one, which is what I did today when I went shopping for a few new outfits. When I came out, I found a note tucked under my windshield wiper.

photo (25)

I’ve been harassed for using a handicapped space before, so this is nothing new. But what galled me was the fact that this person automatically assumed that, because I wasn’t using a walker, crutches, or some other device, I wasn’t “allowed” to park where I did. There are dozens of diseases including fibromyalgia, lupus, rheumatoid arthritis where patients look perfectly “fine” on the outside but are struggling to get through the day thanks to extreme pain and fatigue.

Having one of these “invisible diseases” has taught me just how important it is to never judge someone or her situation before I know all the facts. I have no idea what burdens a person is carrying during the course of a given day. And even if someone does something that I don’t agree with or that hurts me personally, I try not to retaliate because I have no way of knowing what the source of that anger is. I always try to smile at people, to say hello, thank you, and excuse me. I always try to give a person a kind compliment. I open doors for people. I share. I do these things not because I’m a saint, but because I know how much those small gestures meant to me when I was at my lowest.

But that’s not what this person did. He or she assumed I didn’t have a care in the world, that I felt perfectly fine. (For the record, I didn’t. Long Friday = Tired Saturday) Instead of thinking about the situation and giving me the benefit of the doubt, he or she felt the need to wag a disapproving finger in my direction. And rather than confront me directly, which a few people actually have done, this person chose to tut-tut-tut me from a safe distance where I couldn’t explain my situation. To me, it was cowardly. Haughty. Pharisaic.

Dear Sir or Madam, I really am handicapped.

I may not have looked like it to you. I may not have lived up to your preconceived notion of what a handicapped person is, which is yours and yours alone. And that doesn’t make me wrong. It makes you wrong for addressing a problem only you thought existed.

If I could give this disease (and the handicapped parking permit that comes with it) back, believe me, I would. I would love to live without yearly MRIs that show me what new parts of my head are damaged by lesions. I would truly prefer to live without the small splinter of fear that’s permanently stuck in my heart–the one that pricks me when I think about waking up one morning and not being able to see, to think, to walk, or to care for myself. But, as there is no cure for multiple sclerosis yet, I can’t. I’ve learned to live with it, to embrace it, and to recognize it is one of the many things that has shaped me into the woman I am today.

You began your question with “What if…,” and I would like to respond in kind. What if another person’s life is much more complicated than you thought? What if you considered things from my perspective and reacted with kindness rather than judgment? How much better would your life and mine have been today if we had crossed paths and exchanged a kind word instead of a critical one? I don’t know how you felt after leaving the note—justified, righteous, maybe proud. But I know how I felt the moment I saw it. I was deflated and even a little ashamed for something that isn’t my fault. Today, you reminded once again that compassion isn’t everyone’s default setting, and I am more determined than ever that it will always be mine.

Walking Intentionally

jamieahughes12 Comments
I don’t usually go in for resolutions, but this year, I felt prompted to have a goal for 2013. The word that sums it up is Intentional, which means  “done with  purpose.” All too often, life gets busy and in the way of the things I mean to do or to say. I end up missing so much because I’m fighting to keep up. My goal for this year is to slow down, to observe rather than glance over the people, events, and moments in my life. I’m going to follow the advice of Henry David Thoreau and “Simplify.”

I know God has something to show me, and I don’t want to miss it.  I want to serve where He wills it and to be fully present in the moments He has handcrafted for my sanctification and, more importantly, His glory. That’s why I chose Micah 6:8 as my Bible verse. It reminds me that God isn’t complicated, and serving Him shouldn’t be either. It says:

“He has told you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

The last five years have been rough financially, spiritually, physically, and professionally. Pretty much anything negative that could happen (short of death) did. But I’m on the other side of it now, and I am not the same person I was then. I know what it is to feel lost and helpless, like a boat without a rudder that drifts from one place to another with only the fickle wind for company. But I had something that many people don’t–a family to love and encourage me. And now that I’m on the other side of that long, dark valley, I understand why God had me walk through it.

I now know what it feels like and, more than anything, I want to be for others what my family was to me. That’s why I pledged my birthday to charity:water this year and began supporting my first child through Compassion International. His name is Edmond, and he lives in Burkina Faso–a country I couldn’t have pointed out on a map before this year. I received my first letter from him last week, complete with an artistic scribbling that could either be a seashell or a diagram from Dante’s Inferno, I can’t quite tell.

He also asked me a question—“Do you love children?”

I held that letter, written in both English and French, in my hand, and realized that he had asked me a very intentional question. Do I? Do I love children? Do I love them the way Christ loves them?

The answer five years ago would have been a very non-committal “yes.” I did in the general sense, but now, something is changed within me. I want to provide justice and kindness for children. I look at Edmond and Paromika (the little girl my husband sponsors) and I think about what life must be like for them. I think about how much I have been blessed with. I don’t want to give because I feel guilty or pushed into it for legalistic reasons. I want to share for the simple joy of it, to know that in some small way I am intentionally giving to someone who’s life will be improved by a few dollars…or a few words I write on a blog. It is one way I can do justice, love kindness and, above all, walk humbly with my God.

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I’m Still Not Buying Stock in Kleenex

jamieahughes4 Comments
I hate to say it, but he's right...

Because of Tom Hanks’ inspired performance as Jimmy Dugan, we all know without a doubt that there is  “No crying in baseball!” However, that same statement can be made about every aspect of my life. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I hate…no wait, detest…crying. I don’t know what to do around people who are weeping, and I would pretty much rather eat sixteen tons of Lutefisk than sob in front of another living, breathing person.

It’s not vanity. Granted, I don’t relish the idea of wiping snot from my nose with the back of my hand or blowing it out into a tissue offered up by a friend or loved one, but it’s not the Lake Lachrymose aspect of it that bothers me.

No. It’s something more deeply rooted in me than that. I don’t think I’m comfortable with deep emotions period. I’ve never been the type to jump up and down with glee, to cover my mouth with my hands like a winning beauty queen, or to pump my fist in the air a la John Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club (though I do adore that film!)

How could I ever forget about you, Judd Nelson?

Maybe I’m secretly Vulcan. Maybe, for me, emotions are something that I feel compromises my ability to think logically or rationally. However, seeing as how I do things that are highly illogical, even for a human, and that, when it comes to mathematics or any of the “hard sciences,” I am about as likely to succeed as a gerbil would be at explaining String Theory. Nope, no pointy ears or awesome split fingered gestures for me.

Live long and prosper, my friends.

I have always had, however, a passion for knowledge. Some of the happiest days of my adult life have been spent deep in “The Stacks,” the endless rows of journals usually on the bottom floors of libraries. With iPod (and before them CD player…yowza, I’m old!) in my back pocket, a pencil stuck through my ponytail, and a list of topics to research, I would happily search through archives— pulling volumes from shelves, reading countless pages in my search for the right quotes and evidence to back up my own theories about literature, and generally feasting on all the wisdom before me. I’d only emerge when I was either done copying and filing away the pages I was taking with me or when I was about to faint from hunger. I actually fell asleep standing up, well leaning against a wall, one night during a particuarly tricky search for information pertaining to Christine de Pizan. I never slept better.

It’s also why I look up words like antediluvian, know the stories behind phrases like “A Good Rule of Thumb,” and generally rock at trivia as long as it doesn’t involve Seinfeld, Friends, hockey, or Reality TV. I love the thrill that comes when someone mentions something they think is esoteric in the extreme, and I can say, “Why, yes, I actually did know that Benjamin Franklin wore a fur hat in Paris! However, did you know he did so because he wanted to conform to the Parisian’s concept of ‘the natural man’ and that ladies fell in love with him and styled their hair to match that aforementioned article of clothing?”

That’s why I’ve been enjoying reading about Solomon as much as or even more so than his father, David. David was the “man after God’s own heart” and who was willing to express himself through dance and vivid displays of emotion. His anointed son, however, is more well known for his wisdom than anything else, but that wisdom did not come from his own diligent searching or study. Instead, he was granted it by God. He asked:

Therefore give to Your servant an understanding heart to judge Your people, that I may discern between good and evil. For who is able to judge this great people of Yours? — (1 Kings 3:9)

Solomon’s request pleased God because he asked neither for wealth nor long life. He didn’t ask for the destruction of his enemies or make a self-serving request, he was granted all those things in addition to his wisdom. Because of this, he is able to build a temple for the ark, provide peace and prosperity for his people and for his neighbors, and manage Israel well. In chapter four of the same book, after Solomon’s administrative staff is listed and the prosperity he provided are listed, the author states:

And God gave Solomon wisdom and exceedingly great understanding, and largeness of heart like the sand on the seashore — (1 Kings 4:29).

What, what, what!? When did “largeness of heart” enter into it? Since when is Solomon known for his kindness in addition to his other cerebral accolades? And you’ll notice that it doesn’t just say that he was kind or that he was generous and patient with the people. No, no. He had a heart that was like “sand on the seashore,” a simile that pretty much tells me his heart’s capacity was infinite.

It stands to reason, then, that he wanted to weep with joy when the mother of the disputed child was willing to allow it to be taken by another woman, to put the baby’s needs before her own. But, even more importantly, He took great joy from the house of the Lord he was constructing and rejoiced when the Shekinah Glory was made manifest. This is simply because our greatest love should be our love for God, and all other love comes out of that great well. As it is written in the Gospel of John (4:15-21):

Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. We have come to know and have believed the love which God has for us. God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this, love is perfected with us, so that we may have confidence in the day of judgment; because as He is, so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love; but perfect love casts out fear, because fear involves punishment, and the one who fears is not perfected in love. We love, because He first loved us. If someone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for the one who does not love his brother whom he has seen, cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from Him, that the one who loves God should love his brother also.

Can I love as God instructs me to without being able to work comfortably with emotions? Can I ever exercise perfect wisdom without them? They are unreliable things, which is one of the reasons I often eschew them in favor of rational thinking and planning, but they are so gosh-darned human. They are what we use for the matrix of all the relationships we build, and without a love for God and a love for our fellow men, all our acts of service will truly ring hollow.

I came across an interesting post akin to the topic yesterday titled “Perverted Love,” and in it, the blogger states that Christian service, if it’s done because you love people but not the Creator, music but not the Concert Master, or the vista without the Architect, you’re utterly lost and without focus. He’s absolutely correct! We can love because God first loved us, and we must always express our adoration directly to Him in all things rather than only loving (worshiping) the people or things He’s created. Serving cannot be a purely physical thing, and worshiping God cannot be totally cerebral either. It’s to be done with the whole self–mind, spirit, and heart. So, yes, I still have some work to do when it comes to love and how I express it towards my Heavenly Father and those wonderful things and people He’s placed in my life. I’ve asked Him for it, to enlarge my faith and my sensitivity towards others no matter how uncomfortable it may make me.

I know I’m going to bite my lip a lot, clear my throat often, and pretend to have something in my eye on more than one occasion. I have a feeling my eyeliner and mascara’s days are numbered. However, if a little awkwardness and a smudge or two are all that is required of me to grow closer to God and to be conformed to the image of Jesus, I’m ready for it.

That being said, I refuse to cry over chick flicks, ASPCA advertisements, or anything other vapid plea designed using only pathos-driven appeals. In that regard, my heart will remain like the Grinch’s originally was—two sizes too small.