A Year Of Humility (XIIL): Compassion

 When traveling to and from The Ranch for my monthly travels, I have taken to using a local private parking lot:  the price is no more than the nearby major airport parking lot and rather than wait endlessly for a bus to come by, I can get a pick up at the lot immediately and a trip back to the parking lot in about 10 minutes after requesting a pickup.  For the slight inconvenience of being farther from the airport, it has worked out well.

Last weekend upon my return from The Ranch, it seemed a different story.

After an initial contact (all done by your phone and texting now), I wait the usual 10 minutes or so.  No bus. To be fair, I think to myself, it is a busy time.  So I wait more, as other shuttles pull in and away and as they do, the crowd waiting for my shuttle became more apparent.

Final, about 20 minutes in, the shuttle pulls in - not at my standing point of course (it never works that way) but about 20 feet beyond me.  The crowd - larger than a single shuttle bus - lurches towards it.  And, sure enough, I was the first one to not make it on.  The driver, looking a little harried, says the next bus would be along shortly.

And so we wait.  And wait about another twenty minutes.  At this point in the program I am tired, cold, and looking at a 30-40 minute drive just to get home.  I watch - we all did - as another round of other shuttle buses come by, load up, and head out.  I begin to question the wisdom of using this parking lot.

The next bus pulls up, a good 45 minutes after I made the request.  The door opens, and out comes a man who is clearly in his 70's, our driver.  Immediately half of my frustration disappears.  He works hard to load everyone's suitcase and everyone up. We manage to get everyone on the second bus.

As he is collecting the parking cards with our spot numbers, he apologizes profusely for the delay.  He just came from a drop off where one of his passengers had a walker, a wheelchair, an electric scooter, and her luggage, all needing to be dropped off at the luggage desk outside the airport. Likely he had to take it all there himself.

And then to boot, apparently she lost her dentures at the desk.

The mood in the bus - and in me - instantly changes. Someone says "Not your fault; it is just life".  

If our tips all were a little more than usual, I would not be surprised.

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It is quite easy for me to look at how the world is impacting my life and make certain determinations about everything else going on around me.  I can get grumpy about the inconvenience of waiting and a perceived lack of service and make certain assumptions about the situation and the reasons why things are the way they are.

Only to find out, at least sometimes, that there is a backstory that should evoke not my criticism or anger but my compassion.

We read that Christ looked upon the crowds and had compassion for them as a sheep without a shepherd. How often do I have the same kind of compassion in not leaping to conclusions based on stories that I have concocted in my head, a narrative that has me as the main staring role?

The proud can only, ever, see the world through their own eyes. The humble have learned that, through compassion, they can see it through someone else's.