"You may learn more about something by picking it apart, but you usually have to kill it in the process"

My friend Segina and I were talking the other day. He is as much of a scientist as I am-- actually more so. And he's a lot smarter than I, which is part of the reason we're friends.

There's a section in the Sherlock Holmes tale "A Study in Scarlet" which I think perfectly describes us both. In it, a friend of Watson's is describing Holmes prior to introducing the two. He says in the manner of warning to Watson,

"Holmes is a little too scientific for my tastes-- it approaches cold-bloodedness. I could imagine his giving a friend a little pinch of the latest vegetable alkaloid, not out of malevolence, you understand, but simply out of a spirit of inquiry in order to have an accurate idea of the effects. To do him justice, I think that he would take it himself with the same readiness. He appears to have a passion for definite and exact knowledge."

Segina and I both tend toward being what I call too "clinical". Our bedside manner, if you will, is lacking. In our pursuit of pure unadulterated knowledge, we all too often slaughter beauty and art. Eventually, though, we hit a brick wall.

Because even though Science has the potential to answer every "how" question we can come up with, it can never answer the question "why?"

Why is our world so full of seemingly useless beauty?

Why are we attracted to things that are beautiful?

Why do we feel pain when we lose someone?

Why does heartbreak hurt so much?

Why why why?

And these "why" questions are really the most important; they are the ones that lead us to God.

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Over the years, I've come to know myself as someone who doesn't sympathize very well. It makes me unable to tolerate other people's pain. "Get over it," "You're better off now," and the (n)ever-popular "Just don't let it get to you," were my mantras.

I've been very hard over the last few years. My encrusted soul locked itself behind steel walls to protect from being hurt.

But in the process I have lost some dear friends. Even the ones who have stuck around have been severely hurt by my surgical attitude toward emotions. I had convinced myself that they were cancers, to be excised without damaging the surrounding tissue. But as I tried to remove them, I realized that the cancers had metastasized into all my organs, and whenever I tried to cut out my emotions, make them go away, I would get physically sick.

So over the last year or so I have been learning to allow myself to emote. It really began with my last breakup, which was at the end of August, 2008. I was nearly engaged to a guy who didn't emote. At all. Didn't even get upset. Didn't even care when I got upset. Just ignored me.

Why were you dating this loser? you undoubtedly ask. Ah, that's a long story. Suffice it to say, I was sure that it was God's will. And sometimes God asks us to do things we don't want to. However, I now believe that God usually won't ask you to date and/or marry someone you don't want to.

Anyway, after I ended that relationship, I decided to let myself mourn. I wasn't mourning the loss of a love, but rather of a friend. Caleb had been the only stability in my life for the year that I had been in Kenya. Everything else had changed, except him. We had become close, good friends. And when I realized that I just could not convince myself to marry him, I knew that I was losing my closest friend also. So I let myself grieve.

I didn't miss work. I didn't let my roommates down. I didn't lapse in any of my duties. But I did cry myself to sleep several nights in a row. And as I allowed myself to feel, to express my pain, I also allowed others to minister to me. Some girls knew that I really missed the beach, so a week after my breakup they called me in to one of the bedrooms and showed me a "beach" party that they had assembled-- a chair, towel, umbrella, and pineapple juice in a big glass... the scene was completed by the girls wearing coconut bras.

It was the happiest I'd been in a very, very long time. I felt loved, respected, and nourished.

It was then that God pressed upon me the need to be more compassionate. I realized for the first time how much of a difference it makes to someone, just to feel their pain with them. To commiserate (this is one of my favorite words). As I felt God pushing me toward empathy, I realized that there was a room inside my soul that I had never visited. A room where I could feel what others feel. A warm, comfortable room well-stocked with Kleenex.

Eight months later, I had forgotten about this. I spent the last several months of my time in Kenya emotionally preparing to leave. I was worried about my own health, my own problems, my own life. I didn't have much time to practice my newfound compassion, ironically enough.

When I arrived home, I started attending my Tuesday-night Bible study again, to find that there was no one there with the gift of encouragement. Now, I don't have the gift of encouragement, but I do believe that we should try to cultivate all the gifts within ourselves as much as we can (some are just easier than others). So, I saw the need and decided that this was my chance to step in and help. So, I started small. Little encouraging things to the leader. And to the girls. And as I began to do this, I revisited that warm, comfortable room in my soul.

All of this was a preparation time. Because God knew that Deanne would need me come October. God knew that she would go through this hard time, and He knew that she would lean on me. And so I needed to be a strong but soft support.

I have a long way to go. But as I grow softer, I see the work God is doing in my life and in others' lives. It's a glorious renewal of my heart. It's a joyous reawakening.