That Really Is Best: A Story of Kindness

Please welcome my friend, Nathaniel Dunigan, today to our series on "Hold Kindness Close." 

Nathaniel, a Harvard Reynolds Fellow, is the founder of AidChild, an organization that serves orphans living with HIV/AIDS who do not have the support of extended families in Uganda, East Africa.

Nathaniel's words often challenge my thoughts on compassion, kindness and, yes, even loss, as he joins the staff at AidChild in raising a family of children with HIV/AIDS. While reading his story about his son, Kasumba, please understand the complete loss that is the background of Kasumba's story. Thankfully, complete loss is not the final chapter.

That Really Is Best

Three sweeties climbed down from my friend’s Land Cruiser.  Godfrey, Charles, and Viola.  Their friend, Kasumba (pronounced “Kuh-SOOM-baw”), is my son.  They adore each other, and my friend brings her little neighbors to visit us whenever she can.

I had not told Kasumba (age 10) that they would be coming.  In a land of unpredictable weather, severely bad roads, and unexpectedly-expected trauma, one never knows if plans will actually come about.  I didn’t want to disappoint him.

But they came!

Very happy.  Big smiles.  Expectant spirits.  Excited.

The reunion was grand, as usual. They brought Kasumba’s favorite homemade snacks for him.  A huge cluster of bananas and a jackfruit for us.  And a hand-woven wall hanging for me.

The day was spent with three extra sweethearts mixed in with our gang.  I think it’s safe to say that a good time was had by all.  Good food.  A nice nap.  Gifts, laughter, and celebration.

Too soon it was time to leave.  Standing near the Cruiser, saying my goodbyes to my friend, I watched as the three heads popped out of the house, one by one, and came to the car.

Viola first.  She was holding one of Kasumba’s toys.  A Christmas gift to him, now given to his “sister” (as he refers to her — though they are not related).

Then Charles.  Also carrying one of Kasumba’s finest.

Lastly, Godfrey.  His face was radiant, for in his hands was Kasumba’s favorite of favorites: a big semi-truck, complete with trailer and lights.

My aunt had given me money for my birthday, so I was able to buy each of my kids a big toy like this for Christmas.  Oh, how Kasumba loves his!  He has played with it constantly, running it across the squared tops of our driveway curbs, down imagined highways, up termite hill grades, and across bustling sidewalks.  He has regularly cleaned it with the pride of a real long-hauler.  And, every night for the last two weeks, he has repacked it into its molded plastic wrapping.

It’s his treasure.

And now it’s Godfrey’s.

"Oh!" my friend said. "Should they be taking your toys?"

Our toys? These are more than toys!   I thought to myself.  These are our best!

And I was so proud of my Kasumba.  He also knew that these were more than toys.  They were the very most he had to offer.

So he did.

"Yes, of course."  I said.  "They must take them."

I patted each head on its re-ascension into the vehicle.  I helped with the seat belts.  I closed the door and waved goodbye.

Another inside-smile. 

Of course they should take them.

That really is best.

Nathaniel's thoughts: I wrote the above in my journal many years ago, and as I was reflecting on the theme verse for this blog series, I was reminded of it. I am afraid that kindness did leave me--at least for a split second that day--as I worried about Kasumba's choice. But then as I wrote the above in reflection, I quickly saw the extreme beauty of his heart.

And as I frame this scene with Proverbs 3:3, I see how important the intersection of kindness and truth really is. Kasumba was not simply offering a nice gesture (that could have been achieved with the gift of a lesser-enjoyed toy, or even a simple, handmade card). Any notion of a mere gesture was completely swept away by the intense sincerity of the gifts, particularly the truck.

Kindness without sincerity, not rooted in truth, is vacuous, empty, and dangerous. I worry that we are often guilty of this. We can be super-sweet and super-"kind," but when not rooted in genuineness, we become fake, false, and superficial. We say we love unconditionally and that we love everyone, but often that simply is not true. And then the kind words result in damaged spirits when the truth is finally revealed.

But then, there are also times when we are a lot like Kasumba as well. And that is always beautiful.I vividly remember standing next to that Land Cruiser as the kids climbed in. While I didn't have these words for the scene then, I now know that Kasumba had bound kindness and truth around his neck, and had written them on the tablet of his heart.

May the same also be said of me. One day.