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I wrote the following a few years ago, but I thought this revised version might be even more appropriate today.
Kindness
This week has opened my eyes a little bit wider, and hopefully, I see the world a little bit better because of it. Let me explain.
Driving to town to run errands and shop is always hectic and tiring. This week's trip was no different, and as I navigated through the hot afternoon traffic, Donna said to me, "Hold up, I'm going to give this guy a bottle of water."
My knee-jerk reaction was to chastise her for encouraging a bum to be a bum, and me to risk a traffic jam, but I bit my tongue and stopped. Donna ignored my muttering, handed him the bottle of water and apologized for it not being cold. The man took the water, thanked her, and I drove on. The incident faded as we completed our homeward journey.
That evening, as I read to her from a previous musing, my own hypocrisy hit me right between the eyes. I had written about a passage that now felt strikingly relevant: "Then the righteous will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and give you food? When did we see you thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you with no place to stay and welcome you into our home? When did we see you without clothes and give you something to wear? When did we see you sick or in prison and care for you?' Then the king will answer, 'The truth is, anything you did for any of my people here, you also did for me.'" (Matthew 25:37-40)
This passage, addressed to the righteous, our spiritual kin, reminded me of Donna's simple act. Yet it also brought to mind another scripture. In Matthew 15, the tax collectors and sinners gathered to hear Jesus, but the Pharisees and teachers of the law muttered, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them." Jesus responded with a parable: "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.' I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent." (Luke 15:4-7)
Like the Good Shepherd, we should never give up on the lost sheep of our flock. Unlike actual sheep, which remain sheep, men are sheep only in spirit. In the spiritual realm, there are also wolves and sheepdogs: the sheep are the prey, the wolves are the predators, and the sheepdogs are the protectors. Spiritually, each can shift into another, creating an ebb and flow where we never run out of sheep, wolves, or sheepdogs. The war against evil on earth will never be won by fallen creatures like us. For every battle we win, there is another we may lose. Only our resolute resistance to evil, guided by Christ's lantern of mercy and forgiveness, keeps the path to Heaven open before us—if we choose to accept it.
Donna's act of unconditional kindness was a lesson in humility for me. As C.S. Lewis wisely noted, humility is not so much about thinking less of yourself as it is thinking more of others. Her gesture embodied the essence of Christian charity, but it also prompted me to reflect on the nature of kindness itself. In The Problem of Pain, Lewis wrote (and I paraphrase): For a long time, we've focused so much on kindness that we see it as the ultimate good and cruelty as the only true evil. This isn't unusual—every era has its favorite virtues and blind spots. If we must prioritize one virtue above others, mercy stands out, because Christians must reject any attempt to dismiss it as mere "soft-heartedness" or "weakness." The problem is, it's easy to think we're kind when we're just feeling good. People often pat themselves on the back, believing their heart is in the right place because they wouldn't harm a fly. But in reality, they've never sacrificed anything for someone else. It's simple to feel kind when life is easy—it's much harder to see ourselves as truly patient, pure, or humble.
Lewis's words cut to the heart of my initial reaction to Donna's kindness. I had dismissed the man as a "bum," assuming my judgment was justified, while failing to see the mercy in her act. True kindness, as Lewis suggests, requires sacrifice and intention, not just a fleeting sense of benevolence. Donna's gesture was no mere sentiment—it was a deliberate choice to extend mercy, reflecting the love of the Good Shepherd. There's a reason I call her my better half. One might say she's an angel flying too close to the ground, and I'm the lucky devil who caught her.
