Before I am asked to show compassion toward my brothers and sisters in their suffering, God asks me to accept God’s compassion in my own life, to be transformed by it, to become caring and compassionate toward myself in my own suffering and sinfulness, in my own hurt, failure and need. The degree of our compassion for others depends upon our capacity for self-acceptance. When I am most unhappy with myself, I am most critical of others. When I am most into self-condemnation, I am most judgmental of others. It is a truism that the saints, like Christ, are the most unjudgmental of Christians. They get on very well with sinners. They are not severe with human weaknesses…
When the compassion of Christ is interiorized, made personal and appropriated to ourselves, the breakthrough into caring for others occurs. In the mystery of divine wholeness, the way of compassionate caring for others brings healing to ourselves, and compassionate caring for ourselves brings healing to others…
”—Brennan Manning, The Relentless Tenderness of Jesus
Hello Honor. I visited this blog of yours last year. I've had a passion for Photography ever since.. I just wanna thank you for everythin, i mean for posting your pictures and not feeling afraid that people might not like your photography. It gave me confidence to showcase my talent too, not thinking about what others might say. I hope I can share with you my photos soon! I am just using an entry level Canon DSLR and still learning it. Thank you thank you, honor! You are an inspiration!
oh my goodness, can we please be friends? your message made my day:) i am so humbled, and i can’t wait to see what you capture:) let me know where i can see your work:).
I receive remarkable letters. They are opened for me, unfolded, and spread out before my eyes in a daily ritual that gives the arrival of the mail the character of a hushed and holy ceremony. I carefully read each letter myself. Some of them are serious in tone, discussing the meaning of life, invoking the supremacy of the soul, the mystery of every existence. And by a curious reversal, the people who focus most closely on these fundamental questions tend to be people I had known only superficially. Their small talk has masked hidden depths. Had I been blind and deaf, or does it take the harsh light of disaster to show a person’s true nature?
Other letters simply relate the small events that punctuate the passage of time: roses picked at dusk, the laziness of a rainy Sunday, a child crying himself to sleep. Capturing the moment, these small slices of life, these small gusts of happiness, move me more deeply than all the rest. A couple of lines or eight pages, a Middle Eastern stamp or a suburban postmark … I hoard all these letters like treasure. One day I hope to fasten them end to end in a half-mile streamer, to float in the wind like a banner raised to the glory of friendship.
It will keep the vultures at bay.
”—Jean-Dominique Bauby, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
When Larissa met Ian at college in 2005, she never dreamed she’d one day be his wife … and his caretaker. After a tragic accident left Ian without the ability to speak, walk or care for himself, she did what any woman in love would do: she married him.
“You raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences. The goddam ‘unskilled laughter’ coming from the fifth row. And that’s right, that’s right — God knows it’s depressing. I’m not saying it isn’t. But that’s none of your business, really. That’s none of your business, Franny. An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.” -JD Salinger (Franny and Zooey)”—