Moved by Compassion

I thought you might like to see our cat, Notchka. Here, she is sitting on the kids' windowsill, looking bored. This is her normal expression.
Notchka in Hannah's bed, which is where she normally resides. She is also known as Nochums, Nochypoo, the Russian Spy, Preschy, and my personal favorite, Presh-muffin. Don't ask. I don't know. "Notch" in Russian means night.


The LORD's lovingkindnesses indeed never cease, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 2:22-23

I am up early this morning, so I have a few minutes to blog. Marc left an hour or so ago for the airport--Team Engage Russia is heading to Murmansk, which is the largest city in the Arctic Circle. He'll come home late on Monday, be home a couple of days, and then head to a meeting in Richmond for about ten days. Then we hit kids' birthdays, so he's home for a bit. I have to admit to being spoiled by the ten consecutive days he was home this time. It was wonderful, even if it was due to his broken toe. The toe is healing, but it's pretty slow. Please continue to pray for him--he's in quite a bit of pain, and I'm sure the cold where he's headed won't exactly anesthetize the hurt. The kids and I are headed later this afternoon to a birthday party on the north side of Moscow, so we're kind of lazing around right now. The best news of all is that we had Friday off and we also have Monday off for winter break. Yea, us! When you have to hoof it through snow and ice to school every morning, the days off just seem like precious jewels.

Marc and I are reading a book right now that we're both really enjoying. It's called I Once Was Lost, and it's about reaching postmoderns. (Russians are generally considered postmoderns.) It's a really interesting book. One of the things it has caused me to do is go back and read the Gospels, starting with Mark. I don't know about you, but it seems to me that I spend a lot of time everywhere else, but I never spend time in the Gospels. It isn't a purposeful thing...it just kind of happens. And so, I am rereading Mark right now. Mark is a good book--energetic, fast-paced--and I wonder if it were published today how it would do on the New York Times Bestseller List. I'm betting pretty well. I read this week the story of Jesus healing the leper in the very first chapter. He steps up to him, puts His hand on the leper, and heals him. In the margin, I had written, "Jesus could have healed him from six feet away, but He chose to get close and touch him." In another part of the same story, I was struck by four little words..."Moved by compassion, Jesus..."

You know how you can read a part of the Bible that you've read a thousand times, and it can suddenly mean something new to you? I know I've read that story a bunch of times, but this time those four words hit me HARD. Lump in the throat hard. Tears hard. Really, really hard. You know why? Because I'm not sure how much of my life could be characterized by "moved by compassion, Kellye..." Don't get me wrong. I feel compassion for my husband, for my kids, my parents, my sisters, my friends, even my students. But I love those people. It isn't hard to feel compassion for them. But when was the last time God could write, "Moved by compassion, Kellye smiled at the beggar by the metro" or "Moved by compassion, Kellye helped the babushka who had shoved her out of the way to get on the bus"? Here in Moscow, when push literally comes to shove, how often is my reaction to be moved by compassion? Almost never. One on one, I adore the many Russians who populate my life. As a collective, they often tick me off a bit. But the sentence God should be writing about my life is "Moved by compassion for the lost, Kellye..." Marc often reminds me that it's unfair to be angry at lost people for acting like lost people, and it's unfair to be angry at Russians for acting like Russians, and for the most part, I can live by that credo. But making the move from not being angry to having compassion...that, my friends, is a God-sized order. I am not capable of that on my own. But with Him, anything is possible. And so this week, I have been praying to be moved by compassion for those around me. And little by little, I can feel the love of God melting the frozen tundra that my heart has become.

Well, I have to head to the store to pick up some things, and it's pouring snow outside, so I should skedaddle. I don't really mind the snow as much as you might guess, but the ice...some days I just want to throw a tantrum and refuse to get out in it. I'm assuming, however, that becoming a hermit in my own apartment is not God's plan for me this year, so I forge on, doing my version of ice-skating and trying not to hurt myself on the ice. Wherever you are in the world, I pray that you are being moved by compassion for the lost who surround you, and that you don't have to walk a mile to the store in the snow. Blessings to you and yours!

His,
Kellye