Are people doing the best that they can in life? Those were the words that challenged me from the latest book I’m reading. It was a simple yes-or-no question, but the answer is anything but simple to me. My initial reaction was a hands-down, no-questions-asked, unequivocal yes. Yes, I believe that people are doing the best that they can in life. I like to think that I believe in the best of people.
The homeless guy on the street? I’m able to reserve my judgment. I think he’s walked through some pretty dark days and my heart hurts for him. The single mom with out-of-control kids at the grocery store? I think she’s doing all that she can to hold it together and I’ll graciously let her cut in front of me. The disgruntled elderly man who talks down to me every time I wait on his table? I imagine he’s a little lonely. I empathize with strangers for some reason, even the ones that do horrible things. I make up a story in my head about the roads they’ve had to walk down, the people they may have lost along the way, or the devastating circumstances they surely must have faced. With strangers, I’m able to make up a story. I make up an excuse to justify any unbecoming behavior and then yes, I can believe that they are doing the very best that they can given the circumstances, the past, given all they’ve had to walk through.
I’d like to say that my heart settled the question then and there but my mind was compelled to keep re-visiting the question, especially on the days that weren’t so good for me. The question challenged me but more than that, it was haunting because I knew that my overall view of humanity and society was rooted somewhere in the answer. Did I believe that people, all people—despite their poor choices, despite their unjustifiable behavior and despite their tendency to hurt the people around them—were doing they best they possibly could? I want to say yes but my human experiences, my patched-up wounds, my encounters with hurtful people, my ten-hour waitressing shifts interacting with ill-mannered customers, and the front-row seat I’ve had to watching people make one bad decision after another, all keep pushing me to say no. And I know that as you read this, your mind has reluctantly drifted to someone who has hurt your deeply and it feels unlikely—maybe even impossible—that they could perhaps be putting forth their best effort to live and love well.
Why is it so easy for me to have compassion for a complete stranger, but difficult for me to find it for the people that I love? I can’t make up a story for them, that’s why. The story is one that I already know. And so I’m left with an ultimatum: If I want to believe that people were doing their best, then I had to believe that all people were doing their best—strangers, friends, family, customers, co-workers. It was a yes or no question, after all. No gray areas. No exceptions. That included the people who I knew were living on the system because of their choices, not their circumstances. That included the people who I knew were cheating on their significant others. That included the people who had harmed the hearts of people that I love. That meant the people on the six o’clock news who have stolen the innocent way in which I used to see the world. All people.
I couldn’t wrap my head around that. I could feel my once-wholehearted yes fading away as I intensely thought about some of the ways I’ve watched people treat other people. The yes became more distant when I recalled situations when I’ve witnessed friends or family make one poor decision after the next. And the more I think about it, the yes is now non-existent. No, not everyone is doing their best.
What I appreciate most about my relationship with God is that He always meets me where I am. He never hesitates to enter into my skepticism, my doubts, my vulnerabilities, or the ugly parts of my heart. And this was certainly an ugly part of my heart. I answered half of the question with optimism, compassion, and faith in humanity, and answered the other half with bitterness, pride and judgment. And when God ventured into the unforgiving places of my heart, He reminded me that not only will I never know the answer to the question, but it’s also not my business who is or isn’t doing the best that they can.
When I take it upon myself to decide that, I step into a position of judgment, a role that’s reserved for God and God, alone. I shouldn’t have to write someone a made-up story to give them the grace that I’m called to give. And no one should have to live their life according to me. How I treat people should never be based on someone’s personality, choices, failures or faults. How I treat people shouldn’t be based on a story that I make up or on a set of standards I’ve created. How I treat people should be based on who God is. That means I choose kindness over indifference, patience over exasperation, and mercy over judgment. Every time. No questions asked.
What matters—the only thing that matters—is that I’m at my best when I live life holding tightly to the belief that everyone else is doing their best. When I go into the world, all of my interactions are better when I choose grace—for everyone. What would your world look like if you began to assume that the people around you were doing the best that they could? Could you forgive quicker? Could you finally let go of the anger you’ve been holding on to for far too long? Would you have more patience? Would grace step in where judgment used to live?
I know that some may say that giving people the benefit of the doubt is naive. But I would say it’s Christ-like. All I know is that I would hate to treat someone as though they weren’t weren’t doing their best and find out that I was wrong, wouldn’t you?