What Compassion Needs To Grow
My biggest learning about compassion is simple and stubborn: compassion thrives when I move slowly.
When I rush, when I’m fixated on the next task or the next crisis, my compassion evaporates, and anxiety, fear, and sharp words take over.
I’ve learned I have to create space in my life for compassion to grow.
When I do, fear, anxiety, and anger slip quietly to the backseat.
Compassion and hope move up front.
The number-one way I create that space is surprisingly simple:
A gratitude journal. Every morning. No exceptions.
I fill a whole page with things I’m deeply thankful for.
Some days, the list pours out:
A dog who loves me (SWEET PEPSI!)
children full of joy
a job that brings deep fulfillment
Other days, gratitude is slower:
coffee
the creamer that cuts the bitterness
breath in my lungs
The miracle of skin holding bones together
“I’m thankful I have a job… period. That’s all I got today, ok” (the last part is to take up room…)
Gratitude doesn’t measure the size of the gift.
It simply notices.
This practice shifts me immediately.
It reminds me to hug my kids — even when we should’ve left for the bus two minutes ago.
It reminds me to hear the squirrels scampering through the leaves, tiny reminders that we’re part of a bigger, wilder creation.
Gratitude doesn’t demand a Pollyanna view of the world.
But it does carve out space — space to breathe, to hope, and to show up with compassion.
My 8-year-old can be a whole tornado during homework time, and I was losing it every single night.
Gratitude helped me remember what’s true:
He doesn’t have to ace his math worksheet to be a beloved child of God.
He simply is one.
And that truth circles right back to me.
I don’t have to:
nail gentle parenting every day
craft perfectly balanced meals
or perform my way into worth
I am loved.
I am held.
I am worthy of compassion, too.
Compassion isn’t something I can muscle my way into.
It grows best in the spacious places—
in the pauses,
in the deep breaths,
in the sound of squirrel feet on leaves,
in the smell of my child’s sweaty hair,
and in the pages of a gratitude journal.
From a desolate jail cell, Paul wrote to a young and fragile church in Colossae:
“Devote yourselves to prayer, being watchful and thankful.” — Colossians 4:2
Paul knew what I am learning:
Gratitude makes room for compassion.
And compassion makes room for grace.