Sympathy Smiles

​Sympathy Smiles

“For the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.”
~ 1 Samuel 16:7 (KJV)

I learned something about my blindness recently that I never could have learned on my own.

I spent some time with my daughter, Kaila. As my sighted guide, she was helping me navigate through the day when she quietly leaned over and said,

“Mom… people keep giving you sympathy smiles.”

I laughed.

Not because I didn’t believe her, but because I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about.

That’s one of the strange things about being blind.

I never see the expressions people make when they look at me.

I don’t see the tilted heads.

I don’t see the raised eyebrows.

I don’t see the little smiles that silently say, “Bless her heart.”

Kaila does.

And apparently, there were quite a few. All day long!

Every time she pointed one out, I’d chuckle. It became our little running joke throughout the day. But while I found humor in it, she found herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

She admitted those smiles irritated her because from her perspective, it often felt as though people were looking at me through the lens of what they believed I had lost instead of seeing the woman standing in front of them.

Ironically…

I was the only one who wasn’t affected by those smiles.

I couldn’t see them.

She could.

That made me think about how many messages we communicate without ever saying a word.

To be fair, I don’t believe every sympathy smile comes from a place of judgment. Some come from compassion. Some come from uncertainty. Some come from people simply not knowing what to do when they encounter someone living with a disability.

Regardless of the intention, our expressions communicate something.

Sometimes they say, “I see your struggle.”

Other times they unintentionally say, “I feel sorry for you.”

There’s a difference.

Kindness sees the person.

Pity sees the problem.

As I reflected on this, my thoughts drifted to our own community.

Asheville is grieving.

Families are burying sons.

Parents are trying to understand the unimaginable.

Friends are sitting in silence because there simply are no words.

And now, I’ve noticed another kind of sympathy smile.

It’s the smile we offer when we don’t know what to say.

The smile that attempts to soften unbearable pain.

The smile that quietly says, “I’m so sorry,” even when our hearts are breaking too.

Again, I don’t believe those smiles come from a bad place.

But grieving people don’t always need us to smile.

Sometimes they need us to cry with them.

Sometimes they need us to sit beside them without trying to fix anything.

Sometimes our presence speaks louder than our expressions ever could.

Whether someone is living with a disability or carrying unimaginable grief, people don’t need us to look at them through the lens of pity.

They need us to see them, honoring their humanity and acknowledging their strength.

We as a society need to recognize that every person carries a story we cannot fully understand.

That’s exactly why God reminded Samuel,

“For the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart.”
~ 1 Samuel 16:7 (KJV)

God has never been impressed by appearances.

He isn’t moved by what our eyes notice first.

He sees hearts.

Perhaps that’s the invitation for all of us.

I dare you to see me beyond the white stick and the assumptions associated with it. 

Think about truly seeing people the way Jesus does.

I never saw a single sympathy smile that day, but because Kaila did, I hope I’ll never stop thinking about them.

Consider this - the next time you encounter someone whose life looks different from yours, don’t simply offer a sympathy smile.

Offer your presence.

Offer your kindness.

Offer your love.

See the person.

That is what Jesus does.

A Prayer

Heavenly Father,

Thank You for opening my eyes to something I never could have seen on my own.

Thank You for Kaila’s perspective and for reminding me that while my physical sight is limited, Your vision is perfect.

Lord, I pray for every person whose face I will never see, whose expression I will never read, and whose heart only You truly know. If their smile comes from compassion, bless them. If it comes from misunderstanding or pity, gently transform it into Christlike love. Teach all of us to see one another the way You see us.

Father, our city is hurting.

I pray for every family grieving the loss of a child, a loved one, or a friend. Wrap them in Your comfort. Hold them close when the nights are long and the questions have no answers.

Lord, let Your power fall upon Asheville.

Bring healing where there is hurt.

Bring peace where there is violence.

Bring hope where there is despair.

Let hearts turn back to You, and let the love of Jesus Christ rule and reign throughout this city. May our churches be filled with compassion, our homes with grace, and our streets bring the peace that only You can give.

Father, continue to order my steps.

Guard my heart.

Increase my discernment.

Protect the anointing You have placed on my life, and let it always point people to Jesus Christ. Give me the courage to keep writing, keep speaking, keep mentoring, and keep loving people well… even when I cannot see the road ahead.

May every word I write glorify You.

May every conversation reflect You.

May every life I touch be drawn closer to You.

And may I always remember that while I cannot see every face around me, You see every heart.

In the mighty, matchless, and precious name of Jesus Christ, I pray.

Amen. 

Selah.