Earlier this week, we had some work done in our backyard.  The previous owners in the first half of our house’s life (The house is 20 years old, and we have been here 10 years.) had some concrete work done.  Although nothing can be proven, it seems quite likely the “cleanup” from that work found its way into our drainage pipe.  The cleanup for that previous project took place this week.  It was strenuous work.  And, for me, it was made more difficult by not being able to communicate with the laborers–they were all Mexican.  The rest of the blog is largely about how we treat others.

The oldest of the laborers appeared to be blind in his right eye.  He may have been twice the age of the other two workers.  Early in the project, he tore one of his knuckles up working.  (Do I need to even say he was working very hard and definitely not getting overpaid?)   I had misplaced some inexpensive work gloves two weeks ago.  I bought myself a new set of 10.  When I found the gloves I misplaced, I had 3 sets remaining.  The gloves seemed meant to be given to the workers.  The older gentlemen took the gloves without question.  I set the other gloves down where they could quickly be put on.  After I left and returned, all 3 of them were wearing the cheap gloves I offered them.  This made me feel very good!

After the workday nearly was complete, I had the hydrogen peroxide, Neosporin, and bandaids for my injured friend.  I am not sure he received the full benefit of my efforts.  I hope he left thinking, “He cares about me.”  I know I have not always been the nicest of people.  After having kids, friends and relatives make big mistakes, I feel deep regret for those who are the victims of just a few life-changing decisions.  I made some poor decisions when young, but none of them had the consequences of some decisions these men working on my yard had made.  Because of decisions they made or decisions that were made for them, they are in a country where they do not speak the language of the majority or have the means to generate an income where they will ever get ahead.  Instead, they are forced to do whatever is necessary to survive.   While I am pro legal immigration, my heart grows soft when I see people who won’t ever have the opportunities I have.  If I wrote a check to each of them, it wouldn’t change their lives.  The best I can do is try to show them a Christ-like love during the time they are in my life.

Finally, I am not claiming to be better than anyone.  If you have the means to give someone something that benefits them, consider it.  (If people are begging as a way of life, I ask myself, “Will this benefit them?”  Most times, I seem to say, “No.”)  Any kindness I have is traceable to a pre-pandemic life.  Assuming I don’t have any false memories, the size of my heart and compassion for those who are genuinely hurting has grown.  The harder someone works with no proper opportunity to get ahead, the worse I feel for them.  And the lower the person is in the organization, the more I hold back my frustrations.  When a person is just doing what they have been told they can do, the people who sign their paychecks mean more to them than me.

My purpose in writing this?  Being kind takes only slightly more effort than getting angry.  If you need to ask, “What would Jesus do?”, use that as your motivation.  If you need to realize, “My bills get paid today whether or not I work.”, then allow that to push you toward greater compassion.  We share this planet with at least a few billion other people.  If you believe your bad day gives you the right to stomp on everyone else who doesn’t perform the exact way you would like, then you are very arrogant.  Try kindness.  You will like yourself better, and others will like you better, too.