An Injured Squirrel and an Airport Girl

I recently saw an injured squirrel in a parking lot, slowly hobbling away from me to hide. His tail was missing, perhaps torn off by a hawk. My heart broke for the little creature as he tried to find shelter in a pile of pine straw next to a parked car. My desire to help him was strong, and even as I drove away, I fought the urge to return to try to capture him and take him to a vet.

But as the impulse to help that little animal overcame me, the memory of an incident from earlier that week rushed back to my mind.

I had been waiting at a crowded airport gate, crammed in with a horde of other travelers. I felt a mild undercurrent of "crowd stress," a seemingly-universal malaise, a side effect from years of pandemic living, and a two-year stream of scary information about the virus. Though I didn't think of myself as very fearful about getting COVID, it was the month after Christmas when one of the many variants had taken hold and spread like wildfire. And, like all of humanity, I had been conditioned to be wary.

Finally locating a seat after spending an hour trying to find some breakfast, I had to pull my mask down to take each bite, then cover it again while I chewed. It was all quite aggravating, and for the millionth time, I found myself wishing for a return to "life before COVID."

That's when I heard the coughing. Looking up, I saw a young woman, just one seat away, and quickly took in her disheveled appearance, red nose, and watery eyes. She kept trying to drift off to sleep, but her noticeable congestion and apparent discomfort prevented slumber. At her feet was a new bottle of Advil.

She was traveling alone and was obviously sick. Her head bobbed as she slumped in the chair, a picture of misery.

Yet, as I observed this twenty-something’s suffering, I didn't feel much empathy – I was too busy feeling worried for the rest of us. And I was irritated that she would be in a crowd with such symptoms during the pandemic. Plus, my son was with me, and my maternal instinct to lead him away from her was strong. At that moment, it felt like all of my fears from two years of dealing with COVID converged, and I just wanted to escape.

Discreetly asking the gate agent to check on her, I moved to a seat further away, bringing my son with me. Soon, I boarded my flight and flew home, putting the ailing woman out of my mind.

But just a few days later, when my concern for the parking lot squirrel brought the memory of the airport girl roaring back, I experienced a deep sense of conviction over my lack of compassion for her. It wasn't that I believed I could have helped; it was the fact that I didn't even feel the urge to offer. I realized that fear from the prolonged pandemic had numbed me to the suffering of a fellow human, and I didn’t like it. Galatians 6:9 says to not grow weary of doing good, but clearly, I had.

The world is full of things to fear, and the past couple of years have provided endless opportunities to be afraid. Most recently, Russia's actions against Ukraine have the world on edge. It can feel terrifying to put oneself in harm's way to aid another, and it can be dangerous to help other people. Like the South Carolina boater who recently pulled a drowning couple to safety, only to have the rescued man attempt violence against his rescuer.

Being a Christian means emulating Christ. It means putting aside concerns for self and leaning in to show mercy because that's what Jesus taught us to do. Of course, there is a place for wisdom, but it would have caused no harm to me to ask the airport woman if I could get her something to make her more comfortable.

Fear can wreck our empathy and derail our compassion. As Good Friday approaches, I wonder what would have become of us if Jesus had been too afraid to show compassion…if He had not gone to the cross. Though He was fully God, He was also fully human and must have felt extreme anxiety knowing what was coming. In fact, in the garden before His arrest, Jesus was so distressed that He sweated blood.

Jesus knew that, in addition to being flogged, ridiculed, and hung on a cross for countless hours, He would face a brutal separation from God while He conquered death in the depths of hell. Yet despite knowing the cost, He had so much compassion for us – even for me – that He endured the shame, the pain, and the darkness so that we could live in the light.

If Jesus could do that, how could I not offer a sick girl a tissue in an airport? Shouldn’t I at least have had as much compassion for a suffering young human as I did for a tail-less squirrel? I know that people can be hard to love - so broken or full of hate that they struggle to receive love. The woman in the airport might have ridiculed or rejected my assistance. But my concern about getting sick that day cost me an opportunity to exemplify Christ to a hurting world.

Scary times call for more profound trust in God to give us what we lack so we can overcome genuine worries to love others well. I'm so thankful Jesus didn't let fear dictate His choice to put Himself in harm's way for me as He approached the cross. He gave such an incredible gift that day, laying down His life, overcoming fear and death, to pour out love for all people.

The desperate world doesn't need to see more fear in action; it needs to be shown the overcoming love of God through the cross. Unfortunately, I can't point people to Him when I'm running in the other direction.