compassionate curiosity
One of the ways I’ve been passing the short, cold days this winter is reading. I like novels best because I can really get lost in a good story. My own experiences are limited, but by inhabiting a well written character and his or her story, I can grow in understanding and empathy. Even if the circumstances are far different that my own, the best stories contain universal truths that give voice to feelings I’ve felt or thoughts I’ve had but struggled to articulate. I stumbled across one such gem in a book—The Long Island Compromise by Taffy Brodesser-Akner—this past week.
For context, the father in this story, Nathan, struggles with compulsive anxiety; he is certain of danger and disaster around every corner. He’s cultivated a good amount of self-loathing because of this trait, compounding his own fear with a huge dose of shame about that fear. One night he’s putting his young son, Ari, to bed and Ari confesses some garden variety bedtime anxiety to his father.
Nathan lay down next to Ari. There are few things more validating than to see someone who is like you and love them instead of hate them. That was a surprising thing about fatherhood that Nathan had not anticipated. (p. 238)
The father sees himself in his son: his worst traits reflected back to him. Yet instead of being repulsed and disgusted, he draws near. The father is surprised by his own capacity for love and acceptance. Its eluded him for a lifetime in regard to his own struggle, but suddenly he is able to access tenderness for his son. Its as if his perspective has changed and he is able to see dignity and personhood where once there was only depravity. If you hold your palm and inch from your nose, all you can see is your palm. If you extend your arm however, your palm is still there, but so is an entire landscape.
A client described a similar experience last week. She joined a support group and they did introductions and brief explanation about what brought them to the group. As the women told their stories, my client heard variations of her own struggle echoed in a variety of ways. While she regarded her own struggle with shame and frustration, she found herself drawn to the women in the group with empathy and care. We are sometimes able to access love for another even when we can’t find it for ourselves.
I want more of this for myself and for the ones I love and care for. I want a lens of compassionate curiosity when I examine both my own actions and others’ actions. I want to be drawn in like Jesus is, not repulsed or scared away by humanity. I believe this is how God views us as well. His face toward me is love, all my sin covered by Jesus’ work on the cross.
Caroline Chambers joined The Barnabas Center in 2020. She earned her undergraduate degree at Wake Forest University and a Master’s in Counseling at Gordon-Conwell Theological Seminary in Massachusetts in 2002. Since then, she’s worked with clients and families throughout the life span from early education to end-of-life issues and has recently taken additional coursework in counseling and theology at the Gordon-Conwell campus in Charlotte.
She lives with her husband, Matt, and their three children. Over the years, Caroline has been blessed by being part of many different faith communities, leading and participating in women’s Bible studies and Spiritual Formation groups. She also enjoys running, yoga, and a good novel.
