A Gift, Not a Virtue

My wife Debra is a Presbyterian minister known for her cheerful giving, the joy she takes in serving others. I’m a writer—known for obsessive attachment to my work, and vanity about my image.

Debra often said her worst fear was a situation where she would have to depend on me to take care of her. This hurt my pride. So when she was diagnosed with Stage III cancer, and faced a long ordeal of chemotherapy and surgery, I decided to prove her wrong. I dedicated my life to her, and she was first in my mind as we began the battle. I sat with her, prayed with her, cooked for her, helped around the house.

I kept it up for about a month. But then as the chemo began to work and the tumor shrank, my attention slid back toward my own projects and concerns. She felt it, and I could tell. My limited store of compassion was used up; I was running on empty.

So I talked with a friend. And I prayed to the Lord.

And something happened. Suddenly or gradually—I don’t know how—the void of my compassion became a reservoir for a greater power. God’s mercy fell on me, offering all the things I lacked—patience, perseverance, steadfast love.

Compassion is not one of my virtues. It is a gift from God. When God opened my heart, it was there—as it is, and always will be.