The Kindness We Save for Strangers

Odd to think that this whole thing started with a complete stranger.

I’d left the house in a rush that day, trying to squeeze in a few errands before an appointment Matt and I had later that afternoon, and somehow I landed in the slowest line in the grocery store. I peered around the person in front of me to see what the holdup was.

That’s when I saw her.

It took about three seconds to realize this cashier was having a terrible day and had decided the rest of us were going to know it. She rang up each item like it had personally wronged her, then dropped it in the bag with a little extra attitude. Her whole face said, yeah, well, what are you gonna do about it.

I tried to think of my options. None of them sounded very Christian, so I just waited with one eye on the clock, because my day certainly wasn’t over yet.

But the wait turned out to be a gift.

Those extra minutes in line gave me a chance to cool down and actually look at her—to really see her. And when I did, I didn’t see a bad mood so much as worry. Fear. Something that looked a lot like pain.

This looked like more than a woman having a hard day. It looked like a woman whose life was hard.

Kindness, it occurred to me. That’s what she needs right now.

Not my impatience. She could use a gentle word.

So by the time I reached the register, I’d gotten a decent handle on my attitude and greeted her warmly. She mumbled something about everything going wrong, and I told her I was sorry—that it happens to all of us.

She looked up, a little startled that I meant it, and we ended up in an easy conversation the rest of the way through bagging my groceries. Her eyes brightened. She moved a little faster, or maybe I just wanted to believe that.

Either way, it felt like a turning point for her afternoon.

It was one for mine, too.

Except my afternoon wasn’t finished with me yet.

I got home, and the phone rang. Matt—running late. Work hadn’t gone the way he’d planned, and he was going to miss the appointment we’d had circled on the calendar for weeks.

We’d have to reschedule.

I nearly dropped the phone.

How could he do this to me? I’d run around like a madwoman all afternoon to make it home in time, and now it was for nothing. This was the last straw, and I could feel myself getting ready to snap.

Some part of me wanted him to feel exactly as bad as I did.

Maybe worse.

And then—that word again.

Kindness.

I’d just offered it freely to a total stranger who hadn’t done a single thing to earn it. I’d decided she deserved patience and grace, no questions asked. It was the loving thing to do.

But my own husband?

Instant fury.

Yet why on earth should it be any different for him?

Oh. Conviction.

“Babe, are you still there?”

I’d remained speechless for so long that Matt wondered if I was still on the line.

I took a deep breath and responded with something soft, understanding, and gentle rather than the clipped, resentful thing sitting on the tip of my tongue.

I surprised him with kindness.

“Oh, I’m sorry it’s been such a crazy day. No worries—we’ll reschedule. I’ll see you when you get home.”

It was my voice. I was almost as surprised by it as he must have been.

Rather backwards, isn’t it?

I had found understanding for a complete stranger while struggling to offer that same grace to my own husband. The man I loved.

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Somehow it had been easier with her. Maybe because she was a stranger and I expected nothing from her. But Matt? He was familiar. I knew his strengths and his weaknesses, just as he knew mine. And somewhere along the way, I suppose I’d begun to think that made things different.

When really, shouldn’t the people we love most receive the best of our kindness rather than what’s leftover?

I wish I could say I learned that lesson once and never needed it again.

But I still catch myself doing it—using a tone at home I wouldn’t dream of using with someone else. Letting tiredness or irritation make me less gentle with the people I love most.

Maybe you know what I mean.

Maybe, like that afternoon in the checkout line, this is an unspoken opportunity for you too.

It doesn’t have to be a grand gesture.

Sometimes kindness is simply catching the word you were about to say and choosing a gentler one instead. Softening your voice. Giving the benefit of the doubt. Offering the person you know and love so well the same grace you would readily give a stranger.

Even surprising them with it.

And perhaps that’s the beautiful thing about kindness: it has the potential of turning around your - or his - entire day. Maybe for both.

Like it did for a total stranger in a grocery store that afternoon.

And, by God’s grace, it changed the atmosphere in my very own home as well.

In His grace,
Lisa Jacobson

P.S. A few of you will recognize this story — it's an old one, dusted off.

And for those who haven't tried it yet, you can listen to this one in my own voice at the top of the page. Somehow that felt right for a piece this personal.