In another life, I would have enjoyed running Sheth’s Repair Shoppe.  I would have a small building outside of town where I’d take in dilapidated lawn mowers, sputtering sewing machines, and off-kilter kitchen tables; and in a few short hours I would have them repaired and running good-as-new.  I’d take hour long breaks each afternoon, sit in my rocking chair out front and thumb my overall straps while I waxed poetic about the town politics with passersby.

At my core, I am a fixer.  I enjoy fixing things: cars, tables, lamps, tractors, computers, couches, sinks – if it’s broken, I will gladly dive in with my hands and try to repair it.  I enjoy fixing things because I can see a problem, work towards finding the solution, and in the end receive a small amount of satisfaction knowing I took something destined for the trash pile and made it usable again.

The truth is, this desire of mine to fix things is both a blessing and a curse.  It’s a blessing because I can usually make things last a long time.  But, it’s a curse because I try to fix things I cannot fix.  I try to apply my ‘fix-it’ attitude to people.  I see people in the brokenness of their lives and I want to fix what is wrong.  I want to take them out of their situation, brush them off, hug them, tell them they’re loved, and help them move on.  Nothing distresses my heart more than seeing someone hurting, and I desire nothing more than to jump into the thick of it all and save them.

A friend of mine, many years ago, reminded me that I am not the savior.  I cannot take someone out of their brokenness.  I cannot repair their life and make them whole.  I cannot heal their wounds.  As hard as I can try, I cannot save them from their situations.  How difficult it is to live life knowing I cannot save another person!

But!  But what I can do is show them compassion.  This word comes from the late Latin compati meaning ‘to suffer with’.  How often do we do that any more?  How often do we get down on the ground with people and sit with them as they weep?  How often do we visit with another’s poverty of the soul?  How often do we move from our level of ‘fixed’ to their level of ‘broken’?  How often do I suffer alongside my friends, family, and world?

Instead of throwing my hands into the situation and trying to fix it, I need to throw my soul into the situation and be with those who are suffering.  Honestly, I believe this is what people desire most!  They don’t want us to fix the problem; they want us to be present with them in the thick of it all as they fix it themselves.  In other people’s lives, the best I can do is show them compassion.  I can climb down into the hole with someone and be present in their life.  I can cry alongside them and share tears.  I can be vulnerable and open, and I can be willing to relate my life to theirs.

As I put my arms around others, wipe away their tears, and offer words of encouragement, I know I can’t fix those who need fixing.  But I can be the compassionate person they need and suffer alongside them.

.much love. sheth.

I called my parents last night to check in, and after talking with my mom for nearly forty-five minutes the phone was passed to my dad, who started the conversation with, “It’s so good to hear your voice – you’ve really been weighing on my heart lately.” This is not the way we normally talk – ever – so to hear this from him was a bit of a shock.

When I talk to my dad on the phone, to the untrained ear it may sound like we are two strangers who have just met at a party: the conversation may feel halted, bland, and at times uncomfortable. We usually don’t express emotions and we usually don’t say how we’re feeling – we talk about action: what we’ve done, what we’re doing, what we’re going to do, what we’re going to fix and how we’re going to fix it. So when my dad started with, “It’s so good to hear your voice…” I was unsure of what to say.

My dad started the conversation with an unexpected expression of emotion, and I was surprised by the moment. But as I said my goodbye I realized how expected this moment should have been for me. The truth is, within my inner-most being I am understanding my Father’s unexpected expression of emotion for Me, and I am walking in joy and contentment of this fullness of understanding. With every passing moment I’m realizing how much I am loved and how much I am in love with the people in my life.

It hit me a few nights ago, apropos of nothing, and I was filled with a feeling of deep love for everything and everyone. It was as if peace and joy and love were poured into my soul and mind and heart and I had a sudden urge to give all this love away. It is overflowing and I don’t desire for any to fall on the wayside – I want to give it to others. I want to greet everyone with a hug, a kiss, and a boisterous “I love you!”

It’s a weird thing, this new found love, and I’m not sure what to do with it. I’d sound like a lunatic to tell the clerk at H-E-B that I love him, that he’s doing a great job, and that I’m so glad I picked his check-stand. I’m sure my classmates would report me to the Dean of Students if I just ran around hugging everyone I saw on campus. I’m sure my professors would fail me if I greeted them with a holy kiss at the start of class.

How do I express this love? I can start by having a huge smile on my face when I see my friends for the first time today, and for the second time today, and for the third…I can show them how truly excited I am to have them in my life. I can tell my classmates how grateful I am to have them walking with me on this journey. I can ask that H-E-B clerk how her day is going and truly thank her through the tone in my voice.

I can tell my classmate that it’s okay to ask me ‘what the professor just said’ a million times more. I can empathize with my friend’s failed plans and uncertain loves and say, “I understand, I’ve been there, too.” I can tell the ones in my life who are hurting that I will drive them to the doctor, the clinic, or the ER. I can tell my dear friend who is burdened that yes, the weight is heavy, but that she’ll only have to carry it a while longer. I can tell my friend how wonderful the daily texts of jokes are for me.

I can see – actually see – the homeless woman on the street corner, and I can offer her up in prayers to God. I can sit and listen to the struggles of strangers and let them have someone to talk to. I can be comfortable in the presence of my married friends and not feel like a 3rd, 5th, or 7th wheel. I can compliment my professor on their depth and breadth of knowledge and strive to emulate her. I can encourage my friend as she struggles to understand her faith.

In the words of Brennan Manning, “I have been seized by the power of a great affection,” and I cannot help but pour out this affection into the world. I can write letters, send texts, make phone calls, sit in hospitals, laugh with, lift up, buy lunch, give high-fives, tell jokes, and truly express my love – and God’s love – to others.

much love. sheth.

I miss home. I miss my people. I miss my church. I miss my mountains, and snow, and bitter cold. I miss familiar voices, familiar laughs, familiar touches. The truth today is that I miss home.

Don’t get me wrong – I love the people that I know here at school. I have met some of the most genuine, honest, caring, helpful, and compassionate people here. I couldn’t ask for a better group of people to be with, and I am surrounded by a great family that I love. I am so thankful for this family.

But I miss my family. My parents and their questions about technology. I miss my grandma and her familiar hands holding mine. I miss my brother and sister-in-law and working with them in the hay fields. I miss my nephew and his hugs and laughter. I miss my pastor and her gentle spirit and our long talks. I miss my kids at youth group and their passion for living. I miss my church and the warm hugs and handshakes each Sunday. I miss my friends and their crazy stories about Star Wars, cartoons, rafting, skiing, hunting, fishing, snowmobiling, and road trips.

I miss my Rectangle. I miss the icy cold river, fed by the melting and freezing snowpack. I miss the familiar high-desert with its pinion trees, cacti, and sandy soil. I miss the fourteen-thousand foot peaks reaching to the heavens. I miss the days upon days of blue sky and sunshine, without a cloud to speak of. I miss the solitariness of being in the forest. I miss the lodgepole pines packed densely together in the higher elevations and not being able to see 50 yards ahead. I miss being in a small valley with the smell of the sage lingering in the air. I miss seeing deer, elk, bighorn sheep, beavers, coyotes, rabbits, bears, eagles, cutthroat trout, prairie dogs, weasels, rattle snakes, and chipmunks.

I know I’m supposed to be here in Austin, doing this seminary thing – this ‘preacher school’ stuff. I know I have countless people I can reach out to at a moment’s notice and they would be at my door in 30 seconds. I know Texas has its own sights and smells and adventures, and I know I will become more comfortable with this location and these people. But today, I miss home.

much love. sheth.