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Compassion

I was reading today on Mathew and how Jesus had compassion on the multitudes of people. His cousin, John the baptist, had been beheaded not long ago and he had just received the news of his death. Because of that, he went to a solitary place to pray( and possibly process the pain). However, the crowds did not care, they followed him ,they wanted their sick healed. And he had compassion and healed them, without having much time to grieve the loss.

I was thinking today of this. Where did he find the compassion and the patience to do this?
If someone close to me had died, and a few people would request my service, what would my reaction be?
I know very well how I would react (at least inside). "The hack with your many needs, I need time for me. I don't care if you are struggling with x psychotic episode, or mania, or depression, I don't care if you have relationship problems, or your dog died, or that you have been given x months to live due to cancer. I don't care that you are homeless or that as soon as you leave x program you will pick up the bottle or use."

At school,we were strongly encouraged that if somebody close to our families died, we would take days off and process first. Clearmindedness was and is key to helping the other person: not bring the 'junk' with you,but make it all about the other. Separating from and distancing the self from intense situations for a while.
Such a strength of spirit that Jesus exerts in the scriptures, to serve when this distancing process hadn't quite fully happened for him, I find it is quite hard to have. Yet it says he was moved by compassion.
I find compassion is such a muscle. It is a spiritual muscle that if not put to practice and trained it dies. I also feel like it is a continuum. You can never have too much of it and never, very little.

The only stories that pull at my heart strings these days,are the men and women surviving unspeakable trauma,that somehow,in some way shape or form ,they made it through, with obvious emotional scars,but they did make it through. And that's what truly counts. It's quite inspiring and quite rewarding to be part of their healing process. To be the quiet eye in the storm.
But at times I second guess myself: Do I really need these extreme stories to make me feel compassionate toward fellow men and women? Isn't " my dog died" sad enough for me? At times it feels like I could care less and that I need to look deep within to find a string of compassion toward some people with their silly demands and minuscle complaints.

If it were left up to me, I would choose not to grow in compassion much; it's annoying to always try to understand the other's point of view or be in the other person's shoes. However, if it were also left up to me, my lack of compassion would lead to a calloused heart. And I am not a cryer (no matter how much I have worked into expressing my emotions), I don't express what's happening inside, I can fool people easily into believing whatever I want them to.

Because God is compassionate, I feel inspired and challenged to grow in compassion, it leads me to be honestly humble, to reveal the struggles, writing helps me be soft, praying helps me be soft, Jesus' example, the Scriptures, my friends, and lastly the people I serve because I do see a lot of broken humanity, and I see things for how they really are.

Isaiah 49:15
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast
and have no compassion on the child she has borne?
Though she may forget,
I will not forget you!-says the Lord