Kindness
Written by Emma McCoy
4 minute read
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Hey everyone! Welcome back to a fun and fictional blog series for the next chunk of time. In this series, I’ll be writing fictional short stories following various familiar characters as they try to walk along the faithful path.
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The point of these short stories is to illustrate our big idea: Jesus grows our hope through uncommon friends. But in order to get to this big idea, we first need some scaffolding. Think of these stories like handholds as we’re climbing toward our big idea. A lot of the time, stories that demonstrate an idea are more helpful than just talking about it, so that’s where the fiction comes in. And the handhold (also called an outcome, or learning target) I’m focusing on in this series is this:
We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
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We notice and name signs of hope, and learn to receive it too.
If I could put a huge neon sign around that, I would. In this season at Spring Church, we’re going to be using the language of the fruits of the Spirit (like joy, patience, and faithfulness) as we recognize these gifts in our friends. So follow along these stories as I illustrate what it might look like to notice and name these good things in our friends, and how the naming can give us hope. See if you can spot the fruit of the Spirit that comes up!
You can listen to this story narrated like an audiobook on your favorite podcast app!
Harold had been going to Bible study for a few months, but it might as well have been one week for all that he was learning. He felt no closer to understanding what anyone was talking about at any given time. How his wife would laugh if she could see him now, at nearly sixty, fumbling his way through simple stories. But they weren’t simple! Apparently, the Bible was split up into all these different books, and the plot made no sense. There were all these names, and times, and events, and some of them happened but others were made-up and the other men in the group could jump back and forth and all around without getting lost.
It felt like learning a new language and Harold, who had been the front desk man at an office building for most of his life, did not have a head for languages. At times, it made him feel stupid. But he kept coming back because he’d been so lonely since his wife died, and Luke, a worker in his building, had befriended him and stuck by his side even when his other friends and stopped calling. So if Luke spent his time studying a very confusing, very old book, then Harold would do that too.
The home-cooked meal every week didn’t hurt, either.
— — — —
Luke loved Thursday nights. They were different from the usual Wednesday night community group he and his wife ran in their home. This wasn’t to say he didn’t like Wednesdays; he did quite a lot. But on Thursdays it was just him, Harold, Gabriel, and Alan. He hadn’t thought Harold would say yes when he invited the older man to Wednesday nights, and it became immediately clear that a room full of Christians of all ages was too overwhelming for him.
Hence, Thursday nights. Luke asked Gabriel, an older man from group to host, and Gabriel asked if his friend Alan could join. It quickly became a very small men’s Bible study group, where Gabriel would cook fabulous meals, Alan would make clever mocktails, and they’d try to walk through the Bible with Harold as slowly as they could. It got Harold out and meeting new people, and Luke’s wife got a night at home alone. Every time Harold asked a question, or Alan smiled slightly, or Gabriel laughed, Luke’s heart felt warm and solid as a brick fireplace.
This was one of the things he liked best about life: being with people.
— — — —
Even though Gabriel was only ten years older than newcomer Harold, he knew exactly what the other man was feeling. Gabriel had come to Christ in his fifties and spent most of his first few years feeling like he was hopelessly behind, struggling in the deep end. How did everyone know so much? He’d thought that he knew enough about the Bible, but it turned out he knew very little. Every Thursday that Harold continued to come, he tried in some small way to make him feel welcome. Making a dish he’d mentioned a previous week, or stocking his favorite beer, or explaining something without him having to ask.
Every time Harold’s brow wrinkled, Gabriel wanted to cross the room (no matter how much his knees hurt) and place a hand on the man’s shoulder and say it’s alright. You don’t have to know everything.
– – – –
“I’m here! I’m here! I hope I’m not too late!” Luke called from the front door.
“Right on time!” Gabriel’s voice came from the kitchen. “The pasta’s just about done.”
“Little Simon threw up right as I was about to leave.” Luke plopped down heavily on the couch, and Harold wasted no time.
“So Luke,” he said, “Alan was just telling me that when Jesus is talking about that one story, the one with the servant and the money and stuff, that didn’t necessarily happen.”
“Right?”
“It’s another one of those parables. But then the flood that happens earlier in the Bible isn’t a parable.”
“It kind of depends on how you look at it,” Luke replied. “Some people think it’s a historical event, and others view it more as…an important story. Because nearly every culture has a flood story.”
“It feels like every answer is ‘it depends on how you look at it,’” Harold grumbled.
“That’s reading the Bible,” Alan smiled.
Just then, Gabriel came in bearing a tray of plates piled high with pasta. It must have taken all of the old man’s years as a server to balance it, but he managed. As the four men started eating, Alan paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.
“What is it?” Gabriel asked.
“Nothing,” Alan replied. “It’s just…you’re usually so good about pointing out things. I want to try. I love how kind this group is. I really do.”
Everyone replied through mouthfuls of pasta, either thanking Alan, trying to tell a story, or refuting it. Harold wasn’t sure if the compassion he felt from these men counted as kindness, Gabriel completely agreed, and Luke tried to launch right into a story about the moment he knew he was going to marry his wife. It took them quite a while that night to get into the actual studying of the Bible, but it was still time well spent.
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About the author
Spring Church member, Emma McCoy (M.A.), has two poetry books: This Voice Has an Echo (2024) and In Case I Live Forever (2022). She’s been published in places like Across the Margin, Stirring Literary, and Thimble Mag. She reads for Chestnut Review and Whale Road Review. She’s probably working on her novel right now. Catch her on Substack: https://poetrybyemma.substack.com/