Devotional | Cultivating Kindness

CULTIVATING KINDNESS

In October this year, I chose kindness. There were other options. I could have gone with joy, or faith, or love, or happy. No, that isn’t a typo or an errant autocorrect. I don’t mean happiness. The exact word was happy. I wasn’t deciding what emotion to feel, but which to buy. The table in front of me at the market boasted a selection of pretty teacups filled with cacti (the only plant I can keep alive for longer than a month), each bearing a tiny tag clipped to the edge with a word on it. Kindness. Faith. Joy. Family. Love. Happy.

Choosing which one to take home was surprisingly difficult. Which word did I want to be reminded of each time I remembered to water my plants? Which one would I mind less if it died despite my (admittedly inconsistent) care? Which one would I possibly tend better, prompted by the word on the tag?

Eventually, I let my shallowness decide. Kindness had a pretty, pink-toned flower just beginning to open. I wanted to see if I could tend this plant well enough to coax the bud into full bloom.

Once home, I settled my new succulent onto the “miracle bench” – an eclectic collection of cacti I have so far managed not to kill. On the next watering day, as I gently wet the little plant, my thoughts took over. What does it take to allow kindness to flourish? Acts of altruism? Words of care? Empathy? Is intent enough to overcome our base natures and self-centredness? Can we be kind, even when we don’t think we’re naturally that way inclined? Can we be kind when others aren’t? Can we be kind without being walked over? Is the desire to not kill a plant enough of a reminder to myself to show kindness to others?

Part of Dorothy Frances Gurney’s poem “God’s Garden” floated into my mind: “The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, One is nearer God’s heart in a garden, Than anywhere else on earth.” For years, I’ve found that whenever I engage with whatever plants I have managed to keep alive, I hear God’s voice clearly. Is that because when I water my plants and consider their needs, I stop obsessing over my own? Is it that I stop, possibly for the only time all day, allowing God to get through to me?

I wondered what He was trying to tell me in that moment. Was this lesson about being kind, or about listening to God in a place that holds His diverse creation?

It’s now the end of the year and my little plant is chugging along nicely. The recent heatwave didn’t kill it, nor did my neglect during the weeks when I was too busy running from event to event to water it regularly. The flower has doubled in size despite my erratic care. I guess you could say that Kindness is still winning against everything that could make it cease. That’s not a bad thought to keep in mind.

As we say goodbye to this year and head into the next, my aim is to keep listening to the lessons being taught to me by a pretty, persistent little flower growing in a teacup labelled Kindness. And, while I water it and any surviving bench mates, to appreciate the conversations I have with God in those moments when I am quiet enough to clearly hear His still, small voice.

I wonder, for those reading my words, which plant would you have chosen to take home? And where is it that you hear God most clearly? In a garden, like me, or some other special place? I’d love to know.