The Kindness of God
On November 26, 2014 | 0 Comments | faith, parenting, Will |
“I am the LORD, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight.” -Jeremiah 9:24

The Bible tells me that God is kind.

This, of course, among a multitude of other qualities that He doesn’t so much possess as He defines by virtue of His existence.
(And that is enough to think about for days.)
But His kindness is what is on my mind this morning. 
“I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them.” – Hosea 11:4
I think God’s being kind gets a little lost somehow in the midst of everything else we might believe or perceive about Him. It gets lost in thoughts on His love, on His holiness, His power, His sovereignty, His justice–even His beauty. In all of those perhaps larger, more unsearchable qualities, His kindness might be a little overlooked.
Especially, maybe, in our culture, where we can control so much: we live with the sense of having provided for ourselves. Often, even, we can get what we want. The deal we found on a pair of shoes, the house we were able to buy, even that proverbially elusive parking place–these can mark personal triumph. Not so much an opportunity, sometimes, to mark the kindness of God.
“He has shown kindness by giving you rain from heaven and crops in their seasons; he provides you with plenty of food and fills your hearts with joy.” – Acts 14:17
I think it’s far easier to notice God’s kindness when we perceive that He hasn’t been kind–and this is true of all of us in all interactions, isn’t it? I am bothered longer by the guy who cut me off than I am grateful for the guy who let me in. You know what I mean.
But–as it should be–with God, it’s far more extreme. When we perceive His kindness, it is often through the lens of that quality’s absence: we perceive Him to have been unkind. And often, when we are attending at all to His kindness–or, in this case, the perceived absence of it–His unkindness seems quite severe, as is (therefore? understandably?) our censure of it.
The deal that didn’t come through, even though you really needed it. The job you didn’t get, even though you were desperate. The child–God help us–who didn’t live.
How, in these contexts, is God kind?
“Consider, therefore, the kindness and sternness of God: sternness to those who fell, but kindness to you, provided that you continue in His kindness.” – Romans 11:22
Last Wednesday morning, I put my firstborn, barely eighteen-year-old child on an airplane to a developing nation by himself. He arrived safely, I am grateful to say, and is already happily engaged in his work in Madagascar.
But watching his retreating back move through security at the airport, knowing that I wouldn’t see him for five months, was one of the strangest and most appalling experiences I have had as a mother.
Because I know that thousands of flights take off and land successfully around the globe daily; that younger people have successfully traveled alone to distant shores their parents have never seen; that some children are reared in orphanages or on the streets. And that I am not so unique, so special as to be the parent whose child’s plane went down.
But what parent doesn’t imagine it all–at least once in awhile: that this time her child won’t come home? 
This happens. We know it. And these were among my fears as I watched Will disappear through airport security.
It was enough to make me reckon yet again with what I believe about God. Do I believe He is kind? Even though planes go down, even though people suffer abuse, even though parents (sometimes, appallingly) bury their children? 
Because in letting my son get on that plane, in letting my younger son ride home with a friend at the wheel, heck– in bringing a child into this world, I am opening my palm to the horrors of unbearable loss.
The only way I could let my son get on that plane is through my belief that God is kind.
Not that His kindness will spare me pain. That were a fool’s belief. That would mean I wasn’t paying attention. 
No, I could let my son get on that plane because I believe that the worst and kindest thing that ever happened in the history of mankind was the death of a Son. Deliberate, willing, and buying me back–along with countless others–to the certain truth that every other loss–Every Other Loss–will someday be untrue.
And that, in the midst of the losses we suffer, He suffers with us. That the suffering of the cross extends–miraculously and sufficiently–in all directions through time. And that the kindness of the One who has suffered, meted out in His grace and through the love of others, is in the meantime miraculous and sufficient comfort.
I believe this.
Last Saturday, the daughter of friends was hit by a car. Her injuries were severe; the message I read on Saturday night suggested that her parents were staring the worst in the face. There was nothing for it but to pray, and we sent the request out to others who would pray, too. Pray and wait.
The news that has come in over the last few days has been good. This morning we had the best news yet: that the worst and the worse are not realized, and that this young girl will soon be released from the hospital. The sense of gratitude is overwhelming.
I wanted to mark it: this kindness, here. The kindness of our God in the way we prefer it. In the case of this girl and her dear family, God Has Been So Kind.
As ever.
“With everlasting kindness, I will have compassion on you.” – Isaiah 54:8

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