People who know how to lift up others without losing themselves in the process understand sustainability. They naturally draw upon what I think of as boundaried empathy. Let’s face it, our reserves are low and a lot of us are feeling tapped out. I am. These last few years have been a bit of a slog. Yet, I notice there are still those who are able to give with thought and intention while accounting for their own deeply held limitations, then teach from that example. I pay close attention to these people.
I met Violet as she slipped into the fabric room shortly after the door to the quilt shop opened for the day. Earlier in the week, Violet had been shopping for thread and by happenstance, mentioned to Iris, the clerk who helped her find just the right shade of cotton candy pink, that she’d been making small quilts for Ukrainian babies and children. Iris knew that Claire, a co-worker who held sacred space for the most tender gestures, would especially love to see the quilts Violet made for the children. Claire would be in on Saturday. So Violet returned on Saturday, looking for Claire, who wasn’t feeling well and was not in the shop that day. But all was not lost, the rest of us were grateful we could see the gift so worthy of celebration before Violet gave her quilts to Father Patrick to pack up and send to traumatized children in a war-torn country.
“When I first saw the news reports and those precious faces, stricken and scared, I had to do something.” Violet began softly. “It broke my heart to see the children in such danger. I wanted to wrap them in care and safety so the best thing I could think of was to make these quilts. They’ve lost everything, these babies. I hate to think of them laying on a dirt floor in a tent.” Violet’s voice began to break, she was clearly distressed by reporting the pain of others. The rest of us were so moved by her emotion we circled around her, creating a sanctuary of compassion you can often find among menders. Eyes misty, Kitty asked if she could take a few pictures for Claire, she could send them right away. Violet loved the idea.
“Oh yes, that’ll work!” Violet continued,
“I don’t have a machine so I did everything by hand.” She gingerly pulled five meticulously forty-eight-inch square, handsewn quilts out of a large shopping bag and arranged each on the expansive cutting table, one at a time, gently hand-pressing the fabric as she told us how she whispered a prayer with every stitch for a child she did not know. We leaned in a little closer to examine the delicate stitches, cooing over her spacing, choice of patterns, and cheery fabrics. Overwhelmed by the attention and close to tears, Violet said,
“Father Patrick asked for help and donations and is arranging shipping. I couldn’t donate much money, I cannot take in a refugee, but I can use what I have and do this for them.” And with that, Violet lovingly gave herself a hug.
This is how Violet helped me remember boundaried empathy. She took what she had and created a small portion of outreach, within her means, with no timeline other than to do it as quickly and carefully as she could. She set aside what she could not do and thought of something she could do, within her own threshold.
These days it feels to me like it takes more energy to extend myself to others as if although we are moving around more freely, I’m not fully recovered from the social contraction of the past few years. I may never be. I still help, it just feels less involuntary. Almost as though I’ve wrapped myself in a self-protective pose and a small portion of my mercy muscles have atrophied. It’ll take a little stretching to remember who I am. I look for people like Violet to remind me the balanced economy of grace, a boundried empathy, is completely possible. Inaction no longer feels acceptable.
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