Compassion

As Jesus approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother's only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, "Do not weep." Luke 7:12-13

                               "When the Lord saw her, He had compassion on her."

It's still new and raw for me, being a widow; yet my being a widow carries very little of the baggage it did for first century women.  No, Jesus did not raise my husband from the dead as he did in Sunday's Gospel, but I can testify to the Lord's compassion. 

In the first few days, a cloud of prayers buoyed me up like one of those hydrofoil catamarans that ply the waters between Seattle and British Columbia. Family arrived. Casseroles arrived. Cards arrived. Bishop Lee showed up do do the funeral. But after the flurry, the evenings got long. The calls tapered off. The cards stopped arriving, Depression sank in, and with it, despair. It was then when Jesus was most present. 

On the precipice of despair, the phone would ring or an invitation to lunch would be extended, or the gentle kiss of a happy memory would float by. But mostly? Mostly Jesus was just there, stoking my hand, lifting the veil of darkness and whispering, "Do not weep; let me show you hope."  And hope is a gentle balm.