I felt sad.
I felt cold.
I felt hurt.
I felt forsaken and lonely.
I felt doubtful and hesitant.
I felt scared and deeply worried.
I felt different, unknown, and unwelcome.
I felt empty and woefully neglected.
I felt weak and intimidated.
I felt withdrawn and shy.
I felt utterly hopeless.
Then you held my hand,
and I felt better.

If we simply imagined that everyone who crossed our path was living out his or her very last day on Earth, we might treat people as kindly as we ought to each day they lived.

Sit with me, and I'll not be alone.
Hold my hand, and I'll not feel alone.
Cry with me, and I'll no longer suffer alone.

A word of consolation
may sweetly touch the ear.
Now and then a quiet song
will clear the mind of fear.

A simple act of kindness
can ease a load of care.
Stories told in memory
diminish all despair.

A whispered prayer of comfort
draws angel arms around.
Counting blessings, great and small,
helps gratitude abound.

These acts, all sympathetic,
will kindly play their part.
But seldom do they dry the tears
shed mutely in the heart.

I'm not asking you to walk in my shoes; I'd never wish my afflictions on anyone. But could you walk beside me on secure ground and reach to hold my hand?

Why must you know the details of my troubles to have compassion? Is it not enough to show compassion simply because you know that everyone has troubles?