Compassion and fear

Where does compassion end?

I have an intellectual fondness for spiders. This fondess was born of respect and fascination: respect for what they do (spin webs, eat bugs (especially mosquitos!)) and fascination for the beautiful and clever ways in which they do it. In calm circumstances, I will go to some effort to rescue a spider from my house instead of killing it. I am a merciful spider relocator.

But when caught by surprise, such as this morning when I realized I was sharing my shower with one, my first reaction is fairly typical, squirmy, creeped-out, kill-that-thing-before-it-touches-me fear. Indeed, this morning, I stood aside so the spray could better reach that little sucker and wash it down the drain.

Fortunately, a calmer head prevailed, and the spider scurried behind the shower curtain where he was better protected. I regained my senses quickly with him out of sight at the opposite end of the tub, and when he ventured out again minutes later in search of even better shelter, I watched patiently to see if he could scale the tub on his own. No. When he began to look distressed from the spray, I grabbed a handy spider elevator (a scrub brush) and boosted him up to the rim, where he remained, curled up in a tired little ball, for long minutes until he realized he wasn't dead.

This aptly illustrates that compassion ends with fear. I can provide dozens of examples from world history, maybe even thousands. There are fewer examples of fear being controlled in order to restore compassion. I suppose it happens from time to time.

But today, I am more concerned with households. What fears have hold of you? How are they limiting your compassion for your kids?