Funny how words come rolling out of your mouth and you know there it was, what they all needed to hear. “If love were money, how rich would you be?”
Aside from teaching math, I have a class a few times a week for one period where primarily we focus on social and emotional learning. A class not for grading, always starting with a reminder that discussions meant to be shared are mutually respected opinions, students ease their minds without fear of judgement or repercussions.
While some days, the lessons, for example, school rules and expectations and why we have them in place, are openly discussed and understood at a logical level, there are prompts that can truly lead to a much deeper conversation.
Recently, the focus of discussion was on compassion. It only made sense to then have the first question to address the class, “What is compassion?”
The first hand I chose got us to go inadvertently into a deep surface of discussion.
“Well, let’s say a very rich person with a lot of money sees a homeless person. The rich person feels bad or guilt and decides to give the homeless person money.”
A thought immediately rolled into my mind and I found myself asking the class, “Interesting. If a person with hardly any money were to give a person in need some money, versus a person with a lot of money giving a lot more, who would have given more?”
The students got the rhetoric of the question right away.
“The person who hardly had any money to give.”
Quite taken by surprise with students seemingly in agreement that compassion had centrally to do with money, I curiously asked, “Does compassion have everything to do with how much money one has to give?”
Following some silent processing, the class answered almost in unison, “No.”
Then, as if I ingeniously had planned out this question ahead, to my own silent awe, the following question rolled right out of my mind as I heard myself asking, “If your love were money, how rich would you be?”
I was quite thrilled by how quiet the room had gotten. I could see the students were thinking and so, I asked in yet another way in hopes to dig deeper into their definition of compassion, “Does guilt equate to compassion? Do they mean the same thing? Do you have to be rich with money to have compassion?”
Once again, the silence. Those thinking eyes. Eventually, that soft-spoken answer, “No” that might as well have been expressed as a “No?” because in moments like these, I could feel minds still trying to truly grasp their own depth of understanding. This is middle school, yes. However, somehow I sense adults to struggle with the true definition of compassion.
To denote the dictionary,
noun: compassion; plural noun: compassions
- sympathetic pity and concern for the sufferings or misfortunes of others.
One could then argue that this could very much lead to why giving money would be a sure factor as to why money must come into play in expressing compassion. However, to take the root of its broken-down meaning, a deeper clarity surfaced to mind:
Middle English: via Old French from ecclesiastical Latin compassio(n- ), from compati ‘suffer with’.
While I did not refer to this denoted definition of ‘compassion’, I reflectively know now what my own heart was trying to understand of the very meaning for my own sake.
I ask myself now, “If I am truly a compassionate person, is me giving money (that I honestly know would not financially impact me) to someone else true compassion?” On the surface for eyes to see, perhaps. However, when broken down to identify that latter piece, “suffer with”, have I done so by merely giving what would not have even hurt me by doing?
The days I have feared to suffer greatly to give, I realize I would be the opposite of one who had little, but to the heart would know they gave a lot.
The class discussion on compassion ended with a list as well as a turn-and-talk with those around you of ways to give compassion to others as well as compassion for oneself- none of which, interestingly enough, had anything to do with money. While such a word is one I am thinking will need to be felt and experienced throughout our individual journeys in life, a fundamental understanding of ‘compassion’ that morning was achieved further and deeper than anticipated.
In my years of teaching or parenting (or ‘wifing’, to be understood here as a word), I find that in my hopes and prayers to always have messages come through me to help one, a few, or multitudes, it seems the moment the message comes rolling out, I am at awe with the actual words formulated into what leads to reflective thoughts and discussions.
Throughout my years as a wife, mother, teacher, and several times, in found moments of mere trivial pursuit, searching for value in moments of conversation, I have always been grateful to have arrived at valuable lessons to take in and reflect upon, either for others, for myself, or both.
It doesn’t matter what subject, lesson, presentation, or project you teach. Those sideline conversations whether to last two to five minutes are ones sometimes most necessary to developmentally grow.
My husband loves to keep talking about our plans for the future, right when our youngest will be off to follow his path after high school. I am grateful for my husband’s zeal to be such a visionary of our tomorrows. I am always reminded of my favorite animated movie, Up, each time I hear him rant about our days when we will get to see all our children grown while basking in the love of our grandchildren as we travel the world.
There are so many temptations to stop what we have planted ourselves to do here, where we reside, and relocate to get closer to those days we have planned for ourselves in the future faster, sometimes both of us jumping out of bed or our seats in excitement to say, “We could if we wanted to right now!”, but our servitude and sacrifice is in our last two children and those who continue to travel along with them in their journey at this moment. We both know those days ahead must wait.
These last years have surely tempted me to find another location, perhaps a much easier teaching place of environment. Then, just like days I feel completely depleted of any strength to parent, to partner as a wife, to teach, love simply takes over. If they suffer, I know in me that I must quietly suffer more. Not because of any social media needing to see it or any crowd in the streets or any listening ears in my school to take note. Simply because, I must in my blessed role.
Just like my husband, I know where I have been planted is where my heart is. Each time I look at my students, I think what would become of them if I were not here in the year they have been placed in my care, even for just an hour each day, to believe in each of them.
My husband and I look at our children, either through pictures or while they have laid before us sound asleep, thinking back to all of what we’ve already done for our first three, whether ever ready, but always willing, to do what we must through the anticipated (and unanticipated) work ahead of us for our last two. I think, just a little bit longer. My husband and I will be on a sandy beach somewhere, together, holding hands, while smiling and laughing. We will have done our part here.
Compassion? Perhaps it is pity that drives many. However, the way I see it, the pity is what can be prevented.
Compassion, truly to me, is concern that if the foundation is not built on solid ground, the worst feared is not the pity we will ever give to our next generation, it will be the pity to their self they would give if they did not arrive to their own destined purpose.
If there is to be any suffering now with others around me, beside me, it is to be quietly understood that it is because I believe in them. They, in me.
To suffer with…
