When Plans Trump Compassion: A Mirror to Our Faith
I had plans. Leave work. Hit the gym. Handle a few tasks. Kick up my feet and indulge in some well-earned rest.
But on that drive, I saw him—hands raised, desperation written across his face. His car had broken down. His wife tended to their child in the backseat. And me? I felt my heart close like a locked door.
I reasoned: “I’m not a mechanic.” I hoped my tinted windows would conceal my indecision. I didn’t stop. I didn’t even acknowledge him.
It took me days to realize I didn’t just ignore his problem—I ignored his humanity. Not because I lacked the ability to help, but because I didn’t want to risk my comfort. I could’ve offered five minutes of reassurance. Helped him make a call. Asked if he had someone en route. But I drove away, safeguarding my schedule instead of being a servant of grace.
We claim we live by a doctrine that edifies, uplifts, and reconciles—yet who are we edifying if we never pause to see, listen, or serve? How can we proclaim a self-sacrificing Savior while preserving our own agendas at all costs?
