Laura Droege’s piece, “The Boundaries of Love,” is so insightful that I must reblog the post to share it with you. My personal boundaries can be at times poor and permeable, so I would do well to heed her wise words:
“Loving others strikes a balance of sorts. We neither identify with other’s pain to the point of being incapacitated (forgetting that we’re separate people) nor do we callously disregard it (forgetting that we are both people, though separate).”
“Forgetting that I’m a separate person and that my emotions are mine and no one else’s isn’t healthy.”
This message bears repeating and for me, thoughtful prayer. Thank you, Laura Droege.
A while ago, I read a historical novel about an insane asylum during the Civil War. One of the minor characters, Eleanor, imagines the pain and suffering of every creature on the planet:
“She would not eat breakfast, as the slab of bacon was once a pig who cringed at a falling ax, and the eggs evoked a vision of the creshfallen hen, her future chicks stolen right out from under her. At night Eleanor imagined kittens calling to her from the bottom of imaginary wells; (. . . ) Dr. Henry Cowell, the head psychiatrist at the Sanibel Asylum, had worked with her patiently and had made considerable progress. But now she was back on the subject of that patient horse she used to see in Baltimore, pulling a carriage full of rowdy tourists in the heat of the summer. ( . . .)
‘The horse was doing its…
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