161: Assume the Best
A few years ago, I was making my way home to Florida from Minneapolis, MN. For a variety of reasons, I was not simply flying home to Tallahassee; instead, I flew to Sarasota, which, at the time, was a five-hour drive from home. So, after my flight landed safely, I quickly hopped in my car and began the final leg of the journey.
During this final leg—when I was about 90 miles from home—I got a flat tire. My first, by the way. I made it to a truck stop, waited for roadside assistance to help me put the spare tire on, and decided it probably wouldn’t be wise to get back on the main highway where cars would be going 80+ mph; after all, with the spare on, I could safely go no more than 50 mph. Backroads seemed like the best option. Or so I thought.
It turns out, even on a two-lane backroad, the speed limit was much higher than I expected. So I still had to drive well below that speed limit and let me tell you, IT. WAS. STRESSFUL. Driver after driver after driver would come up behind, seemingly threatening to push me off the road, clearly aggravated when they couldn’t pass and they were stuck behind me, the ultimate slow-poke.
As each driver pulled up behind me, I could feel the pressure and panic pulse through my body—I wanted to speed up and appease their glaring frustration. I knew they couldn’t see the spare tire on the front passenger side, and I wanted to shout, “I’m sorry! I know you can’t see it from where you are, but I’m driving with a spare. I wish I could go faster. I’m doing my best! Please back off a bit. Have a little mercy.”
Needless to say, I was so relieved when, slowly but surely, I made it home safe. And, I might add, with a new, needed perspective in tow.
Here’s the thing: Typically the roles are reversed. When I’m on the road, I’m usually that merciless driver coming up from behind. Aggravated by the driver in front who is holding things up, taking things slow. Much slower than I think is reasonable. But having to sit in the other, slower seat that day reminded me that as often as I think I’m in the right {and that the slow driver is in the way}, the truth is, I can’t see the whole picture. I don’t know the full story—the ins and outs of what’s going on with their car and maybe even what’s going on deep within their heart.
I can’t help but wonder if this reality is not only true on a literal road, but also in my day to day life.
Thanks to a flat tire and some extra time on the road that day, I began to consider how God might be inviting me to live with more compassion. To assume a person might already be doing their best. To admit my perspective is often limited. To acknowledge all I can’t see and the parts I don’t know. And the question I’ve been carrying since then is this: when someone is difficult to love or on my very last nerve, what might it look like to gently back off and, instead, lovingly lean in?
A posture like this is laced all throughout Scripture. I think of 1 Peter 3:8 which encourages readers to “have unity of spirit, sympathy, love for one another, a tender heart, and a humble mind.” Or Micah 6:8, where we are called to act justly and love mercy and walk humbly with God.” Or Philippians 2:3-4, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others.” Truly, this list could go on and on and on.
And it’s not only a posture we see written down on a page; it’s also a posture we see embodied over and over again throughout Jesus’ life and ministry. He is consistently kind, merciful, patient, and curious. And it’s interesting to consider why that might be.
In many instances, Jesus knew more about an individual, or a community, than he initially let on. When interacting with others, he often knew their background; their life circumstances; their stories—their whole stories. Jesus knew them deeply, in ways they often weren’t even aware of. And I wonder if that’s part of why Jesus was prone to love them, to serve them, to connect with them, to consider them. He knew each and every layer of their life; he knew if and when they were driving with a spare on, if you will, and he treated them accordingly.
Of course, as limited beings ourselves, this is a full perspective we are not privy to. And yet, if we are to assume a similar posture, I wonder if part of what is needed is a willingness to assume the best of someone. To consider that there could be more going on in their life than we’re aware of. To acknowledge our limited perspective. And to lead with kind curiosity rather than stale cynicism or harsh criticism.
Now, to be clear: this does not mean we throw caution to the wind; there is wisdom in taking time to discern; and accountability certainly has a place. But caution is not at odds with kindness. And I’m slowly learning that when I am cynical and overly critical, it becomes really difficult to love someone well.
Assuming the best isn’t assuming someone’s life is perfect or that they have it all together. It’s quite the opposite, actually. It’s erring on the side of care and compassion, assuming there are hardships, strains, and struggles we know nothing about. It’s wondering if there might be more to their story. It’s giving the benefit of the doubt. As Scottish theologian and author John Watson famously wrote,
“Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.” More often than not, that is safe to assume.
So, if that is the case, what does it mean to assume the best of someone?
It means we can assume a co-worker didn’t mean to be short or rude with us, but could have been up all night worrying about someone they love.
It means we can assume a friend meant to respond to our text or email, but they were trying to be present with their kids at the time.
It means we can assume a neighbor isn’t lazy, but is up against far more than we realize.
It means we can assume the error was not intentional, but was an honest mistake.
It means we can assume there is some sort of undisclosed wound, fear, or insecurity, and a kind word, listening ear or helping hand might make all the difference.
Assuming the best often requires risk and vulnerability. After all, we might assume the best and then be proven wrong. And yet, as followers of Jesus, we can trust that, with God’s help, love and hope, generosity and humility, compassion and patience are risks worth taking. Risks and gifts each of us and all of us so desperately need.
So today, if someone in your life is proving difficult to love, remember to assume the best of them. To consider all you can’t see and the parts you don’t know. With God’s help, may we choose to err on the side of compassion and care and seek to be gentle and generous with one another, as together, we continue to become the people God calls and invites us to be.