Every day as my feet hit the ground, I experience Jesus in my slippers. I decide what to carry to my waking world and who to show a lavish love. It’s then, I radiate the light of God’s love. When I choose service over selfish I become the extended hands of His grace. If God delights and wants the desires of my heart, then I must untangle it from unforgiveness. And so yes, as I obediently walk in His path, I experience Jesus in my slippers.
Compassion That Compels is an extension of my heart and our leaders are a collective and diverse group of women committed to giving HOPE to women, where there is none. There’s no back biting or even a little gnawing going on, because we have each other’s backs. A confidence in knowing that we are in this to serve a greater purpose. We hold a diverse range of beliefs from political, social, and religious. But in our our shared space we breathe together and inhale a fragrant aroma of God’s love.
For years, I was a Pilates instructor and taught this class with a combined exercise and Bible study. It was called among different sessions, “Compassion That Compels.” As a side of this, I would hand out Compassion Bags for women fighting cancer and Agape Bags to the homeless. I worked years to launch this writing dream and on June 30, 2013 created a Facebook page. Only one thing. No one cared about the study but they cared about the Compassion Bags. Yes, Compassion That Compels evolved to what it is today because I knew God had called me to something more than what I had planned. If I weren’t walking with Him and remembering His promises, I might have missed my calling.
I gave a necklace to a dear friend. On a nickel sized charm, next to a dandelion is inscribed: Breathe, Believe, Be. To me, it meant this. Breathe in the beauty of humanity, believe in the good in others, and be you. I believe we complicate relationships by withholding these very things from ourselves and others. We are stealing from ourselves, an inheritance of a beautiful life. Let your hearts be a workspace for God’s grace and goodness. Your claylike heart, perhaps moistened with His own tears, is held in the hands of the potter by His grace. The clay is a formless lump, the pain a void, until it’s molded by God’s vision for your life and repurposed for His glory.
When I was a kid, I would lay my head on my Dad’s chest and listen to his words reverberate tones from his ribcage. I envision that one day, when I meet Jesus and hear, “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” that it will sound that same way. In the arms of my Heavenly Daddy, molded in an eternal embrace.