The Weight of Seeing

18 For with much wisdom is much sorrow; as knowledge increases, grief increases. Ecclesiastes 1:18

I took my 12-year-old son out of town for the day recently. We talked about everything: Jesus, girls, sports, music, random stuff. We sat across from each other at Popeyes, and with every question, I found myself watching his posture and that half-second pause before he answered. I could predict almost everything he was going to say before he said it. Nearly batted a thousand.

That isn't just a dad thing. The older I get, the more attentive I've become to what people carry beneath the surface. I hear pain behind someone's words or see a friend struggling behind a smile. Ministry has taught me that the person who says, 'We're doing great,' is often anything but. The further along I get, the harder it is to walk right past things I used to ignore.

Ecclesiastes doesn't pretend wisdom is a shortcut to an easier life. Most of the time, it just makes you more aware of what's broken around you. The more clearly you see the world, the harder it becomes to pretend everything is fine. I'm tempted to pull back when seeing clearly gets uncomfortable. It's easier to stick to small talk and stay hurried enough to go numb. If I don't care as much, it doesn't hurt as much.

Jesus didn't protect Himself from other people's pain. He saw people fully and remained with them. He cried at a grave He knew He was about to open. Understanding grief didn't make Him numb to it.

Wisdom won't bubble wrap us from the pain around us, but it keeps us from trying to carry what was never ours to carry. You don't have to stop seeing. You just need to remember that every grief you notice is already fully seen by Christ. You are never the first one in the room to care.

Father, don't let me numb myself. When I see people hurting, help me hand it to You instead of holding it on my own.