Compassion. It's what I want

Compassion.
I know that Jesus had it.
And I know that I don't have it enough.
But I want to. I want to be a person who lives a compassionate life.
I want to be released from this prison called my own skin so that I can finally be the hands and feet of Jesus.

But for now, for whatever reason, I have to admit that compassion has been very hit or miss in my life. I am usually satisfied with sending a few dollars every month to Africa. Or handing over a backpack, that I didn't even purchase, to a child in my classroom.

But do I really know people? Do I know their needs and their hurts?
Do I know about their little victories? Do I even care?
Or, am I an ignorer of the ignored?
Do I push people down, not by words, but by my obvious lack of interest?
Am I a stealer of joy because what is important to them is not important to anyone, including me, and they know it? Can joy be experienced in a vacuum?
Who in my circle have I allowed to remain lost and alone?

Jesus was so the opposite of me. He could read people like a book. He knew about their physical agonies, and He knew about the agonies of their hearts as well:

Seeing the people, He felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dispirited like sheep without a shepherd. Then He said to His disciples, "The harvest is plentiful, but the workers are few. Therefore beseech the Lord of the harvest to send out workers into His harvest."

What will it take to stir the embers of compassion in my heart until they are ablaze?
I already know that I cannot do it on my own, so I am depending upon You.
I beseech You, Lord of the harvest, transform me into a harvest worker for Your glory.
Help me to see with Your eyes.
Help me to read people and enter into their story with gifts of encouragement and love.
Help me to be a woman of compassion.
It's what I want.