“Be ye kind one to another” (Eph 4: 32 KJV) was the first Bible verse that either I learned in Sunday school or that stuck with me the longest. Maybe it was because Mother reinforced the notion by using the word kind a lot with me when I was growing up. I wasn’t the kindest kid on the block. Stubborn, strong willed, and opinionated, being kind was at the bottom of my list when something or someone bothered me.
Granny used the word sweet to appeal to my better nature for the same reason: “be sweet” and “act as sweet as you look.” I have no idea how many times she quoted the nursery rhyme: “There was a little girl who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good, she was very, very good; and when she was bad, she was horrid.” It took more than one telling for me to realize that she was talking about me. It took longer to soak in.
Kindness oozed out of Granny like sap from a maple tree in spring. Rarely saying a negative word, she weathered lows and highs with kindness and grace. She had plenty of both. After she died, cousins living in her small town told of how people on the street and in stores came up to say how kind and sweet Lennie Homesley was.
Mother told about days when she’d come home from elementary school and Granny would give her a couple of nickels. “Mary Lynn, go to the store and get cold Cokes for us. We’re making dresses for the orphans today.” Cold Cokes in hand, patterns chosen, and working together to assemble a couple of dresses for the little girls in the orphanage their church supported, they laughed, sipped, and sewed the afternoon away.
Cloth, thread, buttons, and trim weren’t bought with fat in the family budget. There was no fat. These were Depression years when even the two nickels for Cokes were accounted for. No, the dresses came from sharing scarce resources, in love and kindness, for those who had less.
Mother inherited Granny’s kindness, but not her taste for Cokes. I remember helping her make chicken noodle soup for sick friends and taking blankets to folks whose trailer homes had washed away in a flood. Like with Granny, after Mother died, dozens of people told me of her many kindnesses of which I had no idea.
I, on the other hand, inherited a mighty thirst for Cokes from Granny but not her innate kindness, or so I thought. Although slow in coming, during my mid-years and beyond I finally developed a thirst for kindness while developing a deep thirst for God.
As I drew closer to God I began to unpack the gift of kindness, a gift so important Paul honored it as being a fruit of the Spirit (Gal. 5:22-23). I realized that, born of love, kindness seeks nothing for itself but offers blessings to all who offer and receive it. I began practicing acts of kindness by consciously being kind. That led to seeking ways to be kind every day. Now I wake up each morning and ask God to lead me to where kindness is needed. God never fails to produce this fruit in me.
Being kind to others has become my way of life, but sometimes I struggle to be kind to myself. It’s not easy. When in doubt about God and God’s ways in us, I often turn to Anne Lamott. A woman of my heart, she seems to know about everything about living in God that I don’t. In Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy she writes, “Kindness toward others and radical kindness to ourselves buy us a shot at a warm and generous heart, which is the greatest prize of all.”** I’ll take that. I hope that Granny got a warm feeling about blessing those children with the dresses. I know she had a generous heart.
Lately I’ve learned that we’re supposed to accept kindness from others, not just give it. Receiving kindness has become a topic of discussion among girlfriends. We agree about the goodness of extending kindness to ourselves and others. But accepting it from others??? Whoa! That’s something else entirely. Aren’t we here to serve and not receive?
Recently, I learned my lesson about receiving kindness when I stopped by my local convenience store to get my daily fix with a 32oz. icy Diet Coke. Standing in line at the payout counter, I started talking to a man behind me who also held a soft drink. It’s not unusual for me to talk to random folks in line, but in my time with him I noticed that he was unshaven, not so clean, and almost ragged. I hoped he could spare the $1.50 for the drink.
It's also not unusual for me to pick up the tab for a cold drink now and then for folks who are behind me in line following a good conversation. When I got to the counter, I tried to buy the man’s drink. “No,” he said, “I’m going to buy yours.” “Oh, no,” I responded, “I said it first, and I’m buying yours,” (Where is Anne Lamott when I’m acting like a third grader on the playground?). At that, God poked me on the shoulder. “Let the man buy your drink!”
I thanked the man and said I’d love for him to buy my drink. “Good,” he said, “I haven’t blessed anyone all day, and I want to bless you.”
Blessed I was! Not only had I been blessed, but I’d also learned that kindness is a two-way street of blessings. You extend kindness. You receive kindness. If that weren’t enough, I realized that the two-way street goes around and around in ever widening concentric circles like when you drop an ice cube into a cup of Coke and watch the ripples spread.
Bless, be blessed, and watch the ripples.
Karen
* Adapted from, Kaigler-Walker, Karen. “Kindness in a Cold Coca-Cola,” in House of Kindness, Gretchen Martens (ed.), Dallas: Independent. 2025. All rights reserved.
** Lamott, Anne. Hallelujah Anyway: Rediscovering Mercy. New York: Riverhead Books. 2017.
