What to Do When You've Lost Your Sense of Compassion

Esther Smith spends her workdays in a small room

listening to people tell her their worst things that have

ever happened to them. She's a Christian trauma counselor

trained to remain calm while others share their pain hour

after hour, week after week. And she's very frank about what

years of that can do to a person who cares deeply. The same heart

that pulls you into this work can slowly go numb until you

catch yourself nodding along to someone suffering and feeling

almost nothing at all. There's a clinical name for it. They call

it the cost of sharing. Now, that's not the clinical name for

it, but by the way, I'll get to that a little later. The strange

part is who it hits the hardest. feels it the most and what

refills them. But

welcome to Daily Devotions for Busy Lives. I'm Bart Leger. If

you've ever noticed yourself going numb to other people's

pain lately, feeling less than you used to, I want to walk you

toward getting that back. I'll tell you where I experienced

this. During my years in law enforcement, I made over 1,000

death notifications. You knock on a stranger's door and hand

them the worst news of their entire life. And you do it again

and again. There comes a point where the next one is just

another call. I went long stretches where I was only going

through the motions, present in the room, but not really feeling

much of anything. It scared me a little how emotionally numb I'd

gone. What brought my compassion back wasn't trying harder to

care. It was resting and reconnecting with the calling

God gave me until my heart could feel again. That's the thing

about that numbness. It can happen to anyone who cares for

others over a long stretch. It's called compassion fatigue. And

it's not only a counselor's problem or chaplain's or a

nurse's or someone that's in first response. A parent of a

child who struggled for years can hit it. So can the friend

who's always the strong one. You give and you give. And one day

you notice the news shows another tragedy and you barely

register it. Or someone tells you what they're going through

and you find yourself nodding without feeling it. The caring

is still in there somewhere. The well it draws from has just run

dry. That's compassion fatigue. And it doesn't mean you become a

cold person. It means a warm person has been pouring out

faster than they've been being refilled. Now look at Jesus

because he shows us where the refilling comes from. Matthew

tells us about a moment in the middle of relentless ministry,

crowds pressing in from every side. Listen to Matthew 9.36.

When he, or Jesus, saw the he had compassion on them because

they were confused and helpless like sheep without a shepherd.

He saw the crowds and he felt for them. Stop and notice how

remarkable that is. This was after long days of healing and

teaching and being grabbed at by people who all wanted something

from him. The exact conditions that leave most of us left with

nothing to give. And Jesus still looked out at one more crowd and

was moved with compassion. How did he do that? Well, the

gospels keep showing us the same habit again and again. He

slipped away from the crowds to be alone with his father. His

compassion for flowed from those hours with God and it kept

flowing because he kept returning to the source. That's

the key for you too. Your compassion isn't gone for good

and it hasn't been destroyed. It's been depleted and depleted

things can be refilled. But you won't refill it by gritting your

teeth and ordering yourself to care more. You refill it the

same way Jesus did, by getting alone with the father and

letting him do for your heart what you can't do by force.

Compassion is downstream from communion. When the river feels

dry, you don't fix it at the riverbed. You go back to the

spring. It hits the most devoted ones, the people who pour

themselves out for everyone else and never stop to be refilled.

Esther had seen that up close, which is why she now spends part

of her time caring for other worn-out counselors, pointing

them back to the one well that doesn't run dry. It's the same

rhythm Jesus kept. Matthew tells us that when he saw the crowds,

he was moved with compassion for them, confused and helpless as

they were, and even then he kept slipping away to be alone with

his father. His compassion flowed out of those hours and it

kept flowing because he kept going back. Here's today's

challenge. If you've gone numb, stop treating it as a character

flaw to muscle past and start treating it as a tank that needs

refilling. Carve out time this week to get alone with God with

nothing to produce and no one to help. Just bring him your

numbness and tell him the truth about it. God, I've got nothing

left to feel with. I need you to refill me. Then, let yourself

rest without guilt and watch for your heart to soften again. And

it will. The spring you've been drinking from doesn't run dry.

Father, you see the ones listening whose hearts have gone

numb from caring too long. They've poured out for everyone

around them and there's little left. Thank you that numbness

isn't the end of compassion, only a sign that the well needs

refilling. Draw them away to be with you the way you drew your

son and refill what years of pouring out have emptied. Let

them feel for the people in front of them and for you. In

Jesus' name, amen. If this episode encouraged you today,

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Simply go to DailyDevotionsForBusyLives.com

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might make a real difference in someone's day. Thanks for

joining me on Daily Devotions for Busy Lives. Remember, a numb

heart isn't a dead one. It's simply a depleted one. And the

same Father who refilled Jesus is ready to refill you. Come

back next time for more encouragement to help you live

grounded in God's truth. Until then, God bless and have a great

day. Thank you.