I’m Not a Kindness Expert

It should be crystal clear by now that what I propose in this book is not my natural disposition. Please don’t think this stuff comes easy for me. I’m no kindness poster child. I’d much rather slap Mister Rogers or Mother Teresa on any billboard to represent the simple difference. My likeness is quick to reveal my gross lack of qualifications.

Kindness is all about love, service, and compassion. Me? Take a gander at the qualities on my kindness résumé:

• impatient
• easily irritable
• self-focused
• introverted
• lover of routines and predictability
• concerned with my own comfort

I hope you’re appreciating my intense effort at honest self-reflection and disclosure. I’m doing it so that if you ever get discouraged or feel like you don’t have the right personality or temperament for a life marked by kindness, you can come on back here to my little list and know that you’re not alone.

Just last night my lack of natural kindness was on display. My oldest son, Noah, had basketball practice at a time slot that ends later than his normal bedtime, which I find annoying. Then practice inevitably ran long. When it was finally over, we speedwalked down the long ramp from the gymnasium to the car. The cold night air nipped at the quarter inch of ankle exposed between my cuffed jeans and low boots. A chill shot up my whole body. We got in the car and I blasted the heater as Noah chatted about practice. What time was his upcoming game and did I see his layup? I backed out of my parking spot, ready to whip out of the lot and get home, stat. But I couldn’t. The coach was standing in the middle of the aisle talking to another parent. I slowly scooted forward, expecting my bright headlights and humming engine would be clear indicators that a motor vehicle would like to drive through the driving area. Please and thank you. The coach took one small step to the side. He was still blocking the way.

In this ordinary, Tuesday-night moment, I wasn’t thinking about kindness. I was thinking about me. I glared through the dark windshield, willing the coach to see my dagger eyes, have a little consideration, and MOVE out of the way. He didn’t. I maneuvered my car as close as I could to the row of parked cars and barely squeezed by.

“Seriously?” I seethed through gritted teeth.

I made a sharp left out of the parking lot, irritated and exasperated that my journey home was delayed by a whopping five minutes. (Okay, it was probably more like ninety seconds . . . or less.) Noah was already inquiring about what was for breakfast tomorrow while flipping through radio stations to find a good song. And like a lyric I couldn’t shake, the question rose in my mind, What happened to the simple difference? What happened to living the big impact of small kindness?

And here’s where I emphasize that I’m not a kindness expert but a broken, jaded, impatient fellow human on the journey—who more often than not feels like a kindness imposter. I share this because you’ve got to know this book isn’t written by or for the saintly and sinless (which last time I checked is none of us). This book is for you if in the confines of your own car or house or mind you struggle with impatience and irritation, entitlement and apathy. You’re welcome here if you make sarcastic comments under your breath. Pull up a chair and lean in if it’s easier to think about your own wants, needs, and preferences than someone else’s. If you’re a good person and you want to do right by the world, but when you’re bare-bones honest you have to admit that kindness is not your natural inclination either—hi, you’re in good company.

I lay in bed last night thinking about how that brief parking lot moment was a missed opportunity to not only show kindness to another human but to model it for my son. I’m sure the coach didn’t give it a second thought. My boy probably didn’t either. But what if instead of being consumed by my irritation and impatience, I had taken a deep breath? What if I had viewed that extra moment as a gift? To look my son in the eyes. Ask him a question. Listen to the answer.

What if instead of glaring through the windshield I rolled down the window and gave a genuine smile and friendly wave, and offered a sincere, “Thanks again, Coach! I appreciate you investing your time in our boys. Have a great night!” How might that have changed my mood? How might it have touched the man who just gave over an hour of his time to help a scraggly group of eleven-year-olds learn a little more about basketball?

What if instead of living a message of “seriously, hurry up” in front of my son, I let my life speak of slowing down, paying attention, and valuing each person?

Seeing people as individuals whom God loves instead of obstacles to our own comfort and convenience requires us to intentionally change our agenda and perspective.

Here’s to slowing down.

Opening our eyes.

Giving our lives.

Remembering that we can love others in backyards, coffee shops, airports, and parking lots—because God first loved us.

This excerpt taken from The Simple Difference by Becky Keife, copyright 2021 by Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group. Used by permission.

Becky Keife is the community manager for DaySpring’s (in)courage, a widely followed online community. Through the power of shared stories and meaningful Bible-based resources, (in)courage helps women build community, celebrate diversity, and become women of courage. Becky is also a popular speaker and is the author of No Better Mom for the Job: Parenting with Confidence (Even When You Don’t Feel Cut Out for It) and the Bible study Courageous Kindness: Live the Simple Difference Right Where You Are. Becky is a huge fan of Voxer, Sunday naps, and anything with cinnamon. She and her husband live near Los Angeles, where they enjoy hiking sunny trails with their three spirited sons. Connect with Becky on Instagram @beckykeife or at beckykeife.com.

Photograph © Bryn Beatson, used with permission