Perhaps it’s a widening lens where I see more because I care more, but it feels as though humanity is sliding sideways more than ever before. As I grapple with how to navigate the people and the expressions I witness in my community, on the TV, on social media platforms, in news stories and blog posts—while keeping peace in my heart—it feels as though we have two options: join the opinion slinging, slaying vitriol or lean into compassion. Toward everyone.

A Backyard Pocket in Time

The music swirled through the cool night air in the evening of one of the most perfect weather days in Spokane. Attendees and their joy danced to the rhythm of the backyard music festival tunes as beer and wine swirled to the rims of happily held glasses. It was the kind of night that makes you smile at everyone you see and everything you hear. The kind of night that makes you breathe in a little deeper, slow down and hold on to the sweetness, stretching out time just a little longer.

A man who had been proudly sharing his carved wooden art creations settled in next to me. As we chatted, he explained he had been homeless for many years, but had recently found a job and an apartment with a shop, which allowed him to begin creating—and selling—his art again. It felt good, he said, to rebuild his life after many troubled years with the law, primarily drug-related offenses. But there was a bigger offense, he confessed. One that haunted him, although he had paid his dues, and had “done the time.” The guilt of the crime emotionally layered between the judgment of the world kept him feeling subpar and worthy of the mistreatment he often received from others.

He entertained my curiosities and eventually shared the story, which was unpleasant to hear. I witnessed his pain and how he allowed it to define much of who he was. The spark that had been present in his eyes as he shared his artwork was no longer visible through the tears that welled in its place. It was difficult to hear an offense so dark from the perpetrator’s perspective, and be witness—from a place of compassion—to the turmoil and resulting oppression that resided within him.

Even the shortest blips in time become part of our story, the light and the dark aspects are pieces that collectively, not individually, define who we are. We are complex and diverse, and as we travel through life and dance along the human spectrum of possibility, we become a multitude of little and big, light and dark blips of time. Society’s “lock them up and throw away the key” methodologies (whether someone breaks the law, or believes in something we don’t believe in, or acts in ways we don’t favor, or expresses pain and oppression we couldn’t possibly comprehend, or doesn’t match the aesthetic reflection in our mirror) don’t honor the complexities of humans, and the value of a life—nor all future lives who will be touched by others and by ourselves. The inclination to case aside the lives of those we don’t understand or who don’t align with our value systems encourages those on the receiving end to cast themselves aside. And that detachment from humanity doesn’t bode well for anyone. I ask us this: is the way we are relating to and treating one other improving and enhancing our community—the world?

The man and I parted, but he returned a short time later with a different set of tears in his eyes. “No one has ever been so kind to me,” he said. “I am a good man, but that’s hard for people to see after they know my past.” I placed my hand on his shoulder, smiled, and said I believed he was a good man. “You have a lot of life left to live and you are worthy of leading a good one,” I said. “As soon as you begin to believe it, you’ll have it.”

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From the heart,

Stephanie

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