Good morning, dear reader!

This month, I am taking this space to reflect somberly. When I twist my gaze to look at the past month, my cheeks burn with regret. I’ve messed up.

Some months hold triumphs—stretches and streaks of days when I’ve done well. I’ve performed at my best. I’ve achieved a milestone.

But there are also months of defeat.

In the acrid sting of failure, a resolve burns low and solemn in my soul. A vow takes form on the tip of my tongue as I narrow my eyes to surmount the flaw and master the beast.

The apostle Paul worded human failure this way, “For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do”

These words punctuate my regrets.

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Strengths and weaknesses:

The concept of personalities organizes humanity into little boxes. These categories of people peel back a person's layers, like a dissection, precisely exposing a list of strengths and weaknesses.

To give you an idea, this would be my inner layout. . .

• Strengths: detail-oriented, prepared, logical, determined, introspective.

Ah, yes! I love it when I’m in my element. These qualities allow me to bask in the iridescence of my “A-game.” These are my razor-sharp assets that I can brandish naturally and effortlessly.

Yet on the opposing surface lies my writhing tangle of shortcomings and faults.

• Weaknesses: pessimistic, overly sensitive, perfectionistic, control freak, self-absorbed, cold, and (here lies my sorest regret!) uncompassionate.

This month, I felt whipped to the ground as my ugly weakness of Uncompassion bared all of its fangs and snarled in my face. It was from this perspective that I was horrified at my nasty flesh. My flaws and shortcomings are like brutal bloodhounds. Able and willing to maul and maim. They are incredibly lethal and a threat to all those around me.

My failure is that my beast of Uncompassion injured someone else.

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A priest and a Levite:

When I was a small girl, I remember being incredulous at the coldhearted characters in the Good Samaritan parable. “How could they?!” I remember thinking. . .

And now, I’m reflecting on this month and thinking, “How could I?!”

I was the priest. I was the Levite. I was the one who looked into a face full of pain. . . and “passed by on the other side.” I was the busy person, too self-absorbed to care.

The priest and the Levite. . . What were they thinking? Where were they going? Why didn’t they stop and help?

What was I thinking? Where was I going? Why didn’t I stop to help?

Regrettably, I think I understand the Levite and priest. And now that I do, I’m incredibly disgusted with them! And myself. . . because I did the same thing.

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Too busy to care:

All three of us were lost in our strengths. We are motivated, no-nonsense, disciplined, high-achieving people. We filter EVERYTHING through our calendars, our watches, and our to-do lists. To us, anything that isn’t on our to-do list is an interruption that needs to be swiftly dismissed. (For you see, it hinders “maximum productivity.”) We turn away from anything that slows us down, makes us late, pulls us behind. . . even when it’s someone in dire need.

In the beginning, we meant well. We told ourselves that to do all our responsibilities right, we had to become stingy with our time and attention. We’re dependable and organized. We’ll get the job done and do it right! We’ll be in our place and do our best! We are professional. We’re motivated and as focused as bullets. In other words–we take life very seriously!

So, how in the world did we pass by someone suspended between life and death–and do nothing?

I know the answer to this one, too. It’s because we were completely overtaken by empty service.

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A higher calling:

The priest and the Levite had important priorities: ministry, sanctified living, and authority. But what is more important than a human life?

I don’t know where they were headed when they passed by this mortally wounded man. A funeral? Work? A meeting with the elders? Synagogue? Doctor's appointment? I don’t know. . . but they had a chance to save a life! And to spare themselves the cardinal sin of being late, they sentenced a critical man to death.

Is a funeral important? Yes.

Is a job important? Yes.

Is school important? Yes.

Is ministry important? Yes.

Is health important? Yes.

Is money important? Yes.

But the bleeding man is infinitely more important.

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I didn’t make a difference:

The Bible says in Jude 1:22, “And of some having compassion, making a difference:” How many times in my life have I passed by folks without making a difference?

This past month, I passed by three beautiful and devastatingly broken little individuals. But before I realized they were gone, I had passed by my window of influence.

Will I ever see them again?

I don’t know.

The way life flows–the chances are sadly grim. I have cried many tears over these three individuals. I don’t want this feeling of deep regret to leave me. I want its weight to etch its raw sadness deep into the crevasses of my heart.

Because the sorrow overwhelms me, moving me to my knees, the guilt crumples me over, and I need to commit them to the Lord’s safekeeping. This emotion drives me to pray to make a difference—the only difference that I can make now.

I miss them. I miss seeing their shining, happy eyes and broad smiles. They were a bright spot to me, small beams of sunshine.

And yet, all of these feelings are too late—my regret, my tears, and my concern—too late.

I should have made a more meaningful difference a couple of months back.

I’m filled with regret that I didn’t smile at them more.

I’m heartbroken that I didn’t acknowledge them more.

I’m devastated that I never thought to ask how their week was.

I’m ashamed that I never took the time to see where they lived.

I’m gutted that I never slowed down to listen to their concerns or hurts.

I’m overwhelmed to realize how happy and pleasant they always were in spite of their hardships.

I took it for granted that they would always be there. I thought they would just know. “They know that I liked them!”

Did they? What did I do to convey that I actually did care for them?

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Did they feel loved?:

I don’t know. How could they? I hardly made my feelings known to them.

For weeks, these questions have haunted the recesses of my mind. I’ve reached a gut-wrenching conclusion. . .

I didn’t make the difference that I was capable of making.

And I never want this to happen again!

These three small souls have made their mark on me. I don’t know if I made a difference in their lives, but one thing I know is that they have made a profound difference on mine!

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Final thoughts:

For the three, all I can do now is pray—pray hard, pray long, pray consistently.

For all others, all I can do is use this regret to make a difference.

God has used this month to split my heart open. It’s been painful, but I needed it so badly!

I know now that I need to slow down and truly see people. I need to slow down to see how much people are hurting. I need to lay down my to-do list and choose to let people in need interrupt my routine and climb to the forefront of my priorities.

As I close, I have a short one-time request. . .

Today, would you mind mentioning the three little individuals to the Lord? My heart is absolutely broken for their situation, and I would really appreciate it if you could (again, just for today) ask the Lord to intervene on their behalf.

I would appreciate it so much!

With Love,