The kingdom of kindness
From his car seat, my toddler grandson calls to me. Something in his steady tone tells me he is sure of what he wants to say. 'Nana, when I went to get the doll, I couldn't see you, and I was really sad.'
'Yes,' I reiterate. 'You went to get the doll to bring in the car but then you couldn't see Nana or Papa and you thought you were all by yourself.' He joins in, 'I couldn't see you and I was crying and I was really sad.' I continue, 'And then you found me.' He adds, 'And I was running and I was crying ...'
Our sentences overlap each other now. 'And Nana gave you a big cuddle and told you we would never leave you all by yourself ...' The little one says with certainty, 'And you cuddled me.'
I did cuddle him, my heart banging in my chest to see how utterly bereft this confident little three-year-old looked. One moment on his sturdy legs purposefully heading towards his babushka toy and suddenly alone, he is overtaken by the terror of abandonment.
I've been thinking about what this tells me about being human. How fragile we are, how we need one another, how hard it is to be a child. But this is not just about independence or even resilience. I am not sure that this fear of abandonment ever really leaves us. It might change shape in adulthood, but there is still the anticipation of being bereft in the absence of those we love.
It is not hard to give reassurance to a beloved grandchild; it actually helps me be gentler towards myself and others, to recognise vulnerability rather than push it away.
Australian theologian Sally Douglas calls the kingdom of God 'the Kindness'. This naming redirects us from masculine images of a god taken up with power and kingship and calls out a clarity and generosity of care. In her book, Jesus Sophia, Douglas explores the feminine images of Woman Wisdom in the biblical record that speak to the strength and dignity of this plenitude.
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Her writing also addresses 'the lie that will not die' – that all pain will be alleviated by belief in some sort of 'Sky Bestie'.
So, when I comfort my little one, I am not telling him there is nothing to fear in this world. There is too much to fear. Our current descent into atomised individualism wreaks havoc with our capacities to care as neighbourhoods, communities and countries. But I also know that there is the possibility of the Kindness, of people finding care within and beyond themselves, and offering it to one another.
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The kingdom of kindness
From his car seat, my toddler grandson calls to me. Something in his steady tone tells me he is sure of what he wants to say. 'Nana, when I went to get the doll, I couldn't see you, and I was really sad.' 'Yes,' I reiterate. 'You went to get the doll to bring in the car but then you couldn't see Nana or Papa and you thought you were all by yourself.' He joins in, 'I couldn't see you and I was crying and I was really sad.' I continue, 'And then you found me.' He adds, 'And I was running and I was crying ...' Our sentences overlap each other now. 'And Nana gave you a big cuddle and told you we would never leave you all by yourself ...' The little one says with certainty, 'And you cuddled me.' I did cuddle him, my heart banging in my chest to see how utterly bereft this confident little three-year-old looked. One moment on his sturdy legs purposefully heading towards his babushka toy and suddenly alone, he is overtaken by the terror of abandonment. I've been thinking about what this tells me about being human. How fragile we are, how we need one another, how hard it is to be a child. But this is not just about independence or even resilience. I am not sure that this fear of abandonment ever really leaves us. It might change shape in adulthood, but there is still the anticipation of being bereft in the absence of those we love. It is not hard to give reassurance to a beloved grandchild; it actually helps me be gentler towards myself and others, to recognise vulnerability rather than push it away. Australian theologian Sally Douglas calls the kingdom of God 'the Kindness'. This naming redirects us from masculine images of a god taken up with power and kingship and calls out a clarity and generosity of care. In her book, Jesus Sophia, Douglas explores the feminine images of Woman Wisdom in the biblical record that speak to the strength and dignity of this plenitude. Loading Her writing also addresses 'the lie that will not die' – that all pain will be alleviated by belief in some sort of 'Sky Bestie'. So, when I comfort my little one, I am not telling him there is nothing to fear in this world. There is too much to fear. Our current descent into atomised individualism wreaks havoc with our capacities to care as neighbourhoods, communities and countries. But I also know that there is the possibility of the Kindness, of people finding care within and beyond themselves, and offering it to one another.
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From his car seat, my toddler grandson calls to me. Something in his steady tone tells me he is sure of what he wants to say. 'Nana, when I went to get the doll, I couldn't see you, and I was really sad.' 'Yes,' I reiterate. 'You went to get the doll to bring in the car but then you couldn't see Nana or Papa and you thought you were all by yourself.' He joins in, 'I couldn't see you and I was crying and I was really sad.' I continue, 'And then you found me.' He adds, 'And I was running and I was crying ...' Our sentences overlap each other now. 'And Nana gave you a big cuddle and told you we would never leave you all by yourself ...' The little one says with certainty, 'And you cuddled me.' I did cuddle him, my heart banging in my chest to see how utterly bereft this confident little three-year-old looked. One moment on his sturdy legs purposefully heading towards his babushka toy and suddenly alone, he is overtaken by the terror of abandonment. I've been thinking about what this tells me about being human. How fragile we are, how we need one another, how hard it is to be a child. But this is not just about independence or even resilience. I am not sure that this fear of abandonment ever really leaves us. It might change shape in adulthood, but there is still the anticipation of being bereft in the absence of those we love. It is not hard to give reassurance to a beloved grandchild; it actually helps me be gentler towards myself and others, to recognise vulnerability rather than push it away. Australian theologian Sally Douglas calls the kingdom of God 'the Kindness'. This naming redirects us from masculine images of a god taken up with power and kingship and calls out a clarity and generosity of care. In her book, Jesus Sophia, Douglas explores the feminine images of Woman Wisdom in the biblical record that speak to the strength and dignity of this plenitude. Loading Her writing also addresses 'the lie that will not die' – that all pain will be alleviated by belief in some sort of 'Sky Bestie'. So, when I comfort my little one, I am not telling him there is nothing to fear in this world. There is too much to fear. Our current descent into atomised individualism wreaks havoc with our capacities to care as neighbourhoods, communities and countries. But I also know that there is the possibility of the Kindness, of people finding care within and beyond themselves, and offering it to one another.
