We Only See in Part
By Alisha Renee
I was seething. How could anyone be so rude? So discourteous? And in church! My righteous indignation was at its peak. And then, a gentle insight from my dad stilled the surge of my rising rage. Judgement retreated like a receding tide, leaving behind a treasure of wisdom on the shores of my heart—we only see in part.
It was a small thing really, but it bothered me because I had expectations—Expectations that 1. People in church should be kind and 2. Pregnant women should be treated with a little more care. I know these aren’t everyone’s expectations, but they were mine.
So, there I was at a small church café, casually walking away from the counter, when a rather robust gentleman shoved past me, whacking me in the shoulder—hard. And it hurt. I get it. Accidents happen. So I waited for an ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ It didn’t come.
No acknowledgement. No apology.
I immediately sketched this man’s character on the canvas of my thoughts. He was obviously an egocentric, self-important, compassionless church goer. The evidence was clear…Or, maybe there was something I didn’t know. Something I couldn’t see.
This was my parents’ church. I was visiting from New Zealand and was about 24 weeks pregnant with our son. Never one to hold back from expressing my emotions, I found my dad. I relayed what had happened and spewed out every unkind thought I had towards this man. After my heated retelling, Dad quietly said, ‘Alisha, he wouldn’t know. He’s had a stroke and can‘t feel anything on that side of his body.’
I stilled.
Glancing in the direction of the gentleman whose character I had just assassinated in front of my father, I noticed a limb hanging loosely by one side. Conviction placed a heavy hand on my heart. I had judged him. And I was wrong. This was not an ill-mannered man. I actually didn’t know him, or his story, at all.
This moment became my classroom, a place for more of Christ’s character to be formed in me. And the day’s lesson—there is always more to a person than what we see. We only see in part.
I was given the gift of humility that day. And that’s really what it was— a gift. Humility acknowledges that we really don’t know it all, and we don’t need to. We don’t know people as well as we think we do. Only our heavenly Father does. We need His insight. We cannot rely on our own understanding. Humbly acknowledging that we only see in part also releases compassion. It removes us from the position of judge so we can release our grip on the gavel to reach out with grace.
It was amazing how quickly my heart changed towards this man once I knew he was unaware of his offence and had a debilitating injury. But it made me think…
What about when we don’t know the injury or can’t see the pain? It’s easy to release judgement and extend compassion when we see a crippled body. But what about a crippled soul? How many times have I hurled judgement or heaped criticism on another person, unaware of their hidden pain, their inner struggle, or their broken story? When I offered a cheerless greeting to a friendly shop assistant after my dad died, what they may have seen as a rude response was actually a grief-stricken daughter. Maybe that person at work or school who we think is a control freak is actually an abandoned child afraid to trust? Perhaps that passive, aloof co-worker is really a passionate soul struggling through burnout. And maybe that shameless flirt is actually a rejected little girl, desperate to feel loved and to know they matter to someone.
We only see in part.
I’m not for one moment suggesting we excuse people for hurtful actions, or release ourselves from the need to have hard conversations. But I do think that our relationships with others will be vastly different if we learn to see others the way our Father does—through the eyes of compassion.
‘Just as a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him. For he knows our frame; He is mindful that we are but dust.’
Psalm 103:13-14 (ESV)
When Jesus walked this Earth, He was moved with compassion. And if I am to align myself with His mission, His heart, His character, I need to be moved with compassion too.
‘When He saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.’
Matthew 9:36 (NLT)
Compassion is a choice, not a feeling. It’s humbly acknowledging that we’re all mistake makers, and it’s choosing to show empathy for someone’s story—even when we don’t know what it is.
In her book ‘Braving the Wilderness’, Brené Brown encourages us to cultivate generosity towards others, which she defines as ‘learning how to set boundaries that allow us to be generous in our assumptions about others.’[i] I love this! And, for me, as I’ve made thinking generously of others my practice, it has helped me to keep my heart soft towards those I might have otherwise condemned.
Nobody needs more judgement in their life, but everyone could do with a little more compassion. I’m learning to leave the judging, along with the redeeming, to the Father. That’s His business. Not mine. He sees what I don’t. He knows what I don’t. And He is able to do what I cannot do in the lives of people.
We only see in part. Our Saviour sees it all. And He loves us anyway.
PROMPT: Is there someone who has hurt, angered, or frustrated you? Journal an honest prayer to God, acknowledging all that bothers you about this person. Then, humbly acknowledge that you only see in part and lay it down. Let it go. Ask the Father to help you think generously of this person—to see what He sees. Note down what you sense Him revealing to you. If a hard conversation is needed, ask Him to lead you in love and compassion.
PRAYER: Father, I humbly acknowledge that I only see in part. I don’t know ______________ as well as I think I do. You alone know their story, their struggles, their pain. Today I ask your forgiveness for playing judge in the life of this child of yours. I lay down the gavel and leave the judging, the redeeming, and the refining to you. May my heart beat with compassion for others like Yours does. Help me to keep my heart soft.
[i] Brown, B. (2017). Braving the wilderness: The quest for true belonging and the courage to stand alone. Vermilion: London. p.150.
Image attribution: Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash
