Unlaced and Undone

There was a “Kindness Assembly” at my daughter’s school today. One kid from each class was chosen to read an essay about something kind that they did, or a time when someone showed kindness to them. My 6-year-old was chosen from her class. She marched up to that mic like a pro and read her (4-sentence) story. While her friends waved like mad from the Kindergarten section.

Don’t get me wrong—I was proud. It is no small thing to stand up in front of hundreds of people and say what’s true. There she was, her tiny self in her pink cowgirl boots, just barely learning to read, and she did not bat an eye. She was a rock star, and I told her so.

But hers was not the one that got me.

Her ‘kindness’ story was about how dad let her watch cartoons when she was supposed to be cleaning her room. (Side note: This was a TREND, y’all. I cannot tell you how many kids read “kindness” essays about the fun things that dad allows when mom is not home. Seriously. Even though, in our case, Dad was the one who told her to clean the room in the first place, so there’s that).

But listen. There was this other kid.

He talked about going with his church to volunteer at a homeless shelter. (WHAT CHURCH??? I am not shouting but want to from the back row of bleachers).

A homeless man came up to the boy and told him that his shoes were untied… And then asked if he knew how to tie his shoes. The boy said that he did not.

And then, according to the legend-of-the-4^th-grade-essay-winner—the homeless man knelt down, and proceeded to tie the boy’s shoe. And then taught him how to tie it himself.

And I had a vision, a sudden flash—of Jesus kneeling down to wash the disciples’ feet. And for a second I could not breathe.

While I furtively looked around for kindred spirits who were as much a hot mess as I was about to be, the boy went on to talk about all the reasons this man might not have helped him; had no reason to help him.

“And I will never forget how I learned to tie my shoes,” ended the story. (AMEN!!  I am not shouting but want to from the back row of bleachers. PREACH).

Holy smokes. That kid just undid me for the day. I don’t know why.

But maybe yes I do. For one thing, when he started out, I thought it was going to be a story about how he learned the importance of helping others. I was ready for the conversion story that happens when privilege encounters poverty for the first time and begins to question the system. Most of us have one of those stories. But this kid took off another way. He headed into that transparent human place where poverty extends kindness to privilege, when there is no earthly reason for it to do so. We’ve heard that story before too, but we don’t know what to make of it. It’s an upside down legend that questions everything. And answers everything. Because most days we just wonder if we are letting Jesus wander around homeless out there. But some days, we know it for sure.

I thought we were on our way to the Good Samaritan. But actually, we were going straight for Holy Week.

Of all the kids who shared their stories (maybe 20 in all)—he was the only one who did not read his own. He introduced himself, and then let one of the older kids on stage read it for him. He did not appear to be overly shy. And the story was wonderfully written, so presumably, he does not have trouble reading.

So it could just be that the story completely undid him, too. That even now, in his older and wiser, knowing-how-to-tie-his-own-shoes age, he can’t quite tell it out loud. I get that.

Because sometimes the truest things are the hardest ones to say out loud.  You get that close to something holy and it costs you something to share it. Maybe that’s why Jesus was always keeping secrets.

“Kindness is Contagious—Catch It!” That was the theme of the day. It’s an important message.

But the message I heard was about much more than kindness. It was a scalp-tingling reminder that prophets and preachers are among us, everywhere; bringing the gospel to life and questioning everything. Some of them are small boys who don’t read their own essays. And some of them are homeless guys who tie the shoes of a stranger.

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