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For many reasons too complex to explain here, I recently broke off my relationship with my best friend of 16 years. It was a harrowing, heart-wrenching experience. A week after the initial split, I found myself still reeling around in a hurricane of anger and depression, and so for a little solace from the storm, I sat in on a session of "Grace," an on-campus religious group at the college where I teach courses in writing. After an informal presentation about finding one's purpose in life, they held an open time of orison, during which one of the group leaders played the guitar and sang while people came forward to be prayed for. Sometimes I feel such things are a little hokey, and on another day I might have cringed a bit, but all at once, I felt a welling urge to tell someone about my recent tragedy. However, despite my strong need, I knew I could not reveal my soul to some stranger, and so for a while, I stood with my longing, unable to move. It was then that I spotted a familiar figure in the front row of the small auditorium: a student of mine, a young redheaded woman whose name is a rendering of that graceful Latin word for "anointed one." At once, it was as though there glowed about her an aura of openness and understanding, and for that instant, it actually seemed to me that she had come that day only to hear my troubles. I couldn't believe what happened next, but, in fact, I, Mr. Fortress of Personal Strength, found myself bolting down the aisle like a contrite parishioner at a revival, weeping at long last over my loss. Holding her hands and talking through the slow, sweet chords issuing from the guitar, I confessed my deep hurt to my pupil, and she, rather than being shocked or ashamed at her instructor's odd display and incoherent tale of woe, embraced me, held and comforted me. For those few moments, we were not student and teacher (at least not as we usually were), but merely two human beings bridging the "chasm" that William James says lies between one person and another. In her demonstration of uncomplicated compassion, this young woman gave to me a spontaneous act of kindness that I will always remember and that further directed me on the road to healing. An act of kindness, no matter how small or insignificant, is neither small nor insignificant, for it can save the day, or a soul. When I asked John, a friend of mine who is studying philosophy at the University of Washington, what his definition of kindness is, I expected to get something deep and profound, perhaps a passage from Liebnitz about ideal goodness or Bosanquet on social order and justice. What he said was "argyle socks." Unfortunately, John did not have the best upbringing; in fact, it was terrible. His mother was distant, when she wasn't drunk and screaming at him; he never even called her "Mom" or "Mother," but rather "Arlene." His stepfather, simply stated, was a child molester of the worst and most incorrigible sort. Due to his parents' irresponsibility, the boy was often without the basic necessities of life. John's was the kind of background that produces monsters, the inhabitants of cells designed for solitary confinement. At the time of John's childhood, there was no Child Protection Services, and in the town where he grew up, the police were always edgy about getting involved in family situations, especially when children were concerned. There was, however, Mrs. Stamps, a neighbor woman. She was nothing extraordinary in the way of looks; she was a chain smoker, a bit on the hard, bony side, and her hair was a dirty dishwater blond. She had a bad tooth right in front and a thick accent she'd brought with her from Georgia. She did have one outstanding feature, though: a kind heart that was always moved by the sight of little John sitting in the dirt of his lawn or on the splintered boards of his front porch. One morning, after enduring various unspeakable violations at the hands of both his mother and his stepfather, John sat crying on the porch, alone and cast aside, ready perhaps to harden his heart forever against all of humanity. It was winter and cold; his tears stung his freezing cheeks, and his bare ankles were bitten by the harsh Idaho wind. The whole world, it seemed, had lost all warmth and love. There was nothing but cold and pain. But then there was a bony hand upon little John's shoulder. He looked up and, through tears, saw the mottled face of Mrs. Stamps. "Here," she said, handing him a brand new pair of argyle socks. "Them shoes ain't enough; you're going to need these if you're going to be sitting out here in the wintertime." This was the first time Mrs. Stamps reached out to John, but through the years, she was always there for him, to give a gift, to fulfill a want, or just to listen. Gifts of kindness cannot be purchased like a bottle of perfume or a ticket to Hawaii or some other poor excuse for giving; they are crafted by attentive intuition and are distributed only by the human heart moved by insight. As a child, Oksana took her first train ride to Moscow in order to join her parents, who were taking care of an ailing grandmother. At the time, Russian trains were not the safest place to be, but since Oksana's sitter had been called away on a family emergency of her own, the little girl had no choice but to ride the rails alone. When Oksana got on the train, she prayed that she would not have to share a compartment with another passenger, as she was shy and afraid and had never really been around strangers before. As though her supplication had been magically answered, about midway down the car that she had boarded, she found an empty compartment. She made herself as comfortable as she could and before long, the train began to move. Lulled by the steady movement of the car, Oksana was soon asleep. After a while, she was awakened by a rustling right above her head. To her horror, she saw that a drunken man had suddenly reeled into her compartment and was sitting down across from her. As she cringed with terror, the man leered at her; then, slowly, he smiled an evil smile. It was apparent that he meant her no good. Oksana slid over toward the window and huddled against the armrest, but the man followed her with his eyes, still tottering back and forth and leering at her. Then he spat out an obscenity and bent close enough that she could smell the rank stench of vodka on his breath. Just as the drunk came in closer and Oksana shut her eyes and prepared herself for some unthinkable violation, there was another stirring. As quickly as he had arrived, the drunk now scurried out of the compartment like an uncovered rat. Oksana opened her eyes and saw standing in his place another man, a fine gentleman with a cravat and a cane, an anomaly in an economy railway car. "You're a bit small for this kind of traveling, aren't you?" he asked Oksana, grinning at her like some long-lost uncle. She nodded and unclenched her little body. "Perhaps you need a companion, then," he said. "Someone to see that you get where you're going." The man rode with Oksana all the way to her destination, and then waited with her at the station until her parents came for her. As soon as her mother and father were close enough to call out to her, the gentleman tipped his hat to Oksana, rapped the ground once with his cane, and was gone so quickly that she wondered if he had ever really existed at all. For a long time afterward, Oksana believed in guardian angels. Later, she was less sure of this, but because of the kindness and protection of a mysterious stranger, she was able to keep believing in human beings. A kindness can be the telling of a simple, positive truth, an accidental blessing. One evening, as we all stood shivering beneath crystalline stars, Tammy was telling us about how she was going to major in physical therapy. I usually try to encourage my students in whatever they wish to be, but something seemed wrong, or maybe just halfhearted, about her choice. "Too bad," I said when she finished speaking. "With the insight you show in class discussions, I thought you'd be studying literature, or probably psychology." With the assistance of God, I have been able to aid my students at times, but this is an instance I dare to be proud of, for this small kindness, not even necessarily intended as such, may serve at last to benefit many. It is true enough that this world is forever ready to burst wide open with anger and hatred and bitterness of all stripe; but who's to say that we don't keep all of vast creation itself held together with the bolts and hinges of our kindnesses? There is even now within your range some intrepid Noah, sailing upon the waves of uncertainty, waiting for a sign that there is yet life and safety to be had. Won't you fly quickly to this person, delivering the olive branch of your benevolence, assuring him or her that all is not sunk and lost for good? You might save a wandering sailor, and for yourself, you may be assured that in your own simple kindness there is ultimately healing, hope, haven, and progress for all of humanity. |
As limbs proceed from trunks and twigs from limbs and leaves from twigs, so from openness proceeds deep understanding; from deep understanding, empathy; and from empathy, kindness.