When Life Tests You — Do You Win or Lose?
When life tests you for kindness, and you fail, that means you are broken, and many times, only kindness can repair you. Annelise Lords
Lynden Walker hurried out after doing his regular morning chores, hoping to catch the bus in time. This morning’s exam would determine if he got the scholarship to go to the University of North Carolina, more than two hundred miles away. That’s how far away he wanted to get from his Aunt Edna and Uncle Mitchell. He was their male Cinderella for the past eight years after a drunk driver killed his parents. The money they got for him was spent on their children and themselves, living it up. He got what was left and doggy bags, too.
Today, the final light was at the end of the tunnel, and he was ready to go towards it. He hurried towards the bus stop, as he had three minutes to catch the bus, which would get him to school ten minutes before the exam was to begin.
As he slowly strolled towards the bus stop, he saw his math teacher a few yards away.
“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson. Are you ok?” Lynden asked her as she kicked the right punctured rear tire of her car, about a mile away from school.
She paused, then slowly turned around to face him and said, “I got a flat.”
Lynden removes his backpack, resting it in the back seat of her car, which was already open, then ordered, “Open the back.”
“Your bus is here,” she informs, staring at him, pointing at bus #37 as it slowly edges towards the bus stop a few feet away.
“I know,” he said, staring at it as it stopped to pick up several schoolers.
“If you don’t get it, you will be late and unable to sit that exam,” she reminds him.
“I know,” his fear and sadness said as he turned away so she couldn’t see it.
“Go and catch your bus,” she suggested.
“I can’t leave you here, Miss,” he said.
“But they might not allow you to res-it it if you miss it,” she protests.
“I know,” he admitted. “Please open the back,” he repeats.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she persists.
“I can’t just leave you here, Miss,” he repeats.
In twenty minutes, he was finished.
“Why did you really stop?” she asked. “I haven’t been really kind to you.”
Lynden smiled, then said, “It’s a bad habit, but I am working on it.”
“Kindness is never a bad habit, child,” her guilty conscience said as she started the car.
“I am being sarcastic, Miss,” he said, smiling.
As they arrived at the school, Lynden exited and hurried out towards his class. He was prevented from entering.
“I am sorry,” Mr. Gordon, the invigilator, said, “but I can’t let you in. You are ten minutes late.”
“I stopped to assist Mrs. Wilson. She had a puncher on her way here,” he explained.
“That old witch. She isn’t worth you missing this important exam,” he cursed. “Sorry, but that is the rule.”
Lynden nods, then walks to the office to plead his case. By the time he got inside the Principal’s office to explain, the exam had ended. Apologies came in from every direction as Mrs. Wilson fought for him.
“Doesn’t kindness have any value to you?” she screamed at them. “He is a good student. He is never late. It’s the first time he is late, and it’s because of kindness!”
“Maybe it’s who he is kind to,” VP Dave Khan taunts.
“You think kindness care?” Mrs. Wilson fought back. “Both of you passed me, and none of you tried to help me. When life tests us, it’s always for a good reason!”
“Sorry, but the Harris Foundation set their rules, and we have to obey them,” Principal Melbourne reminds.
“Life is testing all of you now! He is a good kid with a good reputation!” she screamed. “He has never gotten into trouble all of his life in this school and in our community!”
“Sorry, but everyone only gets one chance. He lost his by stopping to help you!” Principal Melbourne reminds her.
“Isn’t it their aim to reward kindness?” Mrs. Wilson demands.
“One chance,” she repeats, her index finger in the air.
“Life tested that child this morning, and he didn’t fail. Life is testing you now!” her anger screamed.
Both the principal and the Vice Principal nodded.
“You realized that you just failed one of life’s most significant tests?” she bellowed in rage. Slowly, she smiles, sending the anger and shock back, then opens the door and yells, “You may come in now, Mr. Harris!”
Jason Harris Jr. strolled in with anger in his eyes and rage pouring from his heart. He got to the point quickly, reading the shock and fear that raced from their heart to their eyes, “I am in charge of the Foundation now. A new generation comes in with better ideas. Words in essays on how to make our world better with kindness are no longer accepted. But kind actions are. I was across the street this morning, witnessing everything. Both of you passed a teacher in distress without stopping to offer assistance. Other students pass her, too. He was the only one who stopped, risking his only opportunity to get a scholarship to help someone in distress.”
He waited to read the shame and pain rising from their hearts in their expressions. He nodded when it showed, then shared, “Where is your heart? Or do you have one? What he did is the winning story! He is showing all of you how kindness really makes our world better. Kindness is more important to him than an exam on it. He is telling us that he would rather show it than write about it. You should be learning from him instead of punishing him for risking his future to help someone!”
“But she wasn’t very nice to him either,” jumped from Principal Melbourne’s conscience.
“Doesn’t that tell you how damn good that child’s heart is? Kindness doesn’t care who you are or what you did. But humans do, and that’s what has helped to destroy humanity and the earth, pushing our world into crisis after crisis!” Jason Harris screams.
Silence tells its own story, while demanding understanding as the truth beats hearts like a drum.
After many sighs, apologies were given.
“Mrs. Wilson,” Jason Harris turned to her and said, “You saw the kindness in him and fought to have it recognized.” He turned to face the others, “You couldn’t see the kindness, and that says a lot about what’s in your heart. The Harris Foundation is removing itself from hearts and hands like yours.”
Turning back to Mrs. Wilson, he asked, “You are close to retirement, interested in heading our department here?”
Mrs. Joy Wilson smiled, then said in tears, “I am over sixty, and today, I learn that Kindness doesn’t care who you are from a seventeen-year-old child. It’s time humanity starts learning from children. Yes, I will.” Turning to Lynden, she said, “Only if he will help me. Kind hearts like his must stay that way, and humanity has a responsibility to see that it does!”
When life tests you for kindness, and you fail, that means you are broken, and many times, only kindness can repair you. Look at this broken cup. Is it worth putting back together? A kind heart thinks it is. Annelise Lords
Giving back the kindness you take is the best way to maintain kindness in our world. Annelise Lords
Kindness can and will repair all of humanity’s cruelty, but humans must know what kindness is first. Annelise Lords
Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoyed it.
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About the Creator
Annelise Lords
Annelise Lords writes short, inspiring, motivating, and thought-provoking stories that target and heal the heart. She has added fashion designer to her name. Check out https://www.redbubble.com/people/AnneliseLords/shop?asc=u
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I Never Chose the Easy Path; I Always Chose Hardship
From the earliest memories I can recall, life presented me with two roads. One was smooth, inviting, and well-trodden—a path that promised comfort, approval, and ease. The other was rough, rocky, and uncertain—a path of struggle, obstacles, and lessons that demanded effort, patience, and resilience. I never chose the smooth road. I never took shortcuts. Not because I was fearless, but because something deep inside refused to let me live a life that wasn’t earned. The easy path whispered promises of fleeting satisfaction, fleeting success, and fleeting recognition. It was tempting. Many around me chose it, and I often wondered if I was foolish for ignoring it. But I learned early that true growth is rarely convenient. The easiest choice often leads to emptiness, to regret, to a quiet knowing that you could have been more than you allowed yourself to be. Hardship became my teacher long before success ever noticed me. The lessons it offered were harsh, uncompromising, and often lonely. There were days when choosing the hard path felt like choosing isolation. While others were celebrated for small accomplishments, supported by friends and family, I walked in silence, with doubt as my companion. Progress was invisible to the world. Failures were frequent and relentless. Many nights, I returned home tired, my heart heavy, my mind questioning why I even bothered. Yet even in that silence, I was being shaped. I was learning the value of persistence, of dedication, and of refusing to give up on myself. The hard path forced honesty. It refused to allow excuses. It stripped away illusions and pretenses. I was left face-to-face with my limits, my fears, and my own humanity. On this path, I discovered strengths I never knew I had: patience I had never cultivated, resilience I had doubted, and self-respect that grew every time I stood up instead of walking away. These were not lessons that could be taught in comfort. They were only learned in struggle, in challenge, and in the quiet persistence of refusing to quit when no one was watching. I remember one time vividly. I had a goal that seemed impossible—one that required me to sacrifice comfort, leisure, and social approval. The easy path was right there: a way to avoid the challenge, to be “okay,” to follow what others had done before me. Many advised me to take it. “It’s safer,” they said. “It’s simpler,” they said. But I could feel, deep inside, that taking the easy way would leave me empty. I chose the hard path. The journey was grueling. Every step felt like pushing against gravity. But with each challenge, I gained more than I ever would have on the easy road. I gained endurance, confidence, and an understanding that real achievement is never handed—it is earned. Strength, I realized, isn’t loud. It doesn’t announce itself. It grows quietly, in the moments no one sees—the early mornings, the long nights, the repeated failures, the times you push forward when giving up would be understandable. Resilience is not simply surviving; it is deliberately choosing to continue, to stand again, to pursue the path that tests you the most. It is knowing that walking away is easier but will never lead to the person you are capable of becoming. I have walked many hard roads in life. Each one was different, yet the lessons were the same: comfort cannot teach endurance, shortcuts cannot teach discipline, and fleeting success cannot teach respect. Every struggle, no matter how small, adds to your character. Every failure is a mirror that shows you who you really are. And every choice to face hardship instead of fleeing builds a foundation that lasts long after temporary victories fade. There were times when I felt truly alone. People around me often misunderstood my choices. Friends, family, colleagues—they all questioned why I refused the easy way, why I worked harder, why I pushed myself beyond what seemed necessary. They didn’t see the growth happening quietly inside me. They didn’t see the small victories, the lessons learned, the resilience being forged. But eventually, the results spoke for themselves—not in a loud announcement, but in the quiet confidence and self-respect that I had built from the inside out. Life, I have learned, rewards those who endure hardship. Not always immediately. Not always visibly. But it rewards those who persist, who face struggle head-on, and who refuse to settle for anything less than becoming their fullest selves. Success that comes without effort is temporary; strength and self-respect are eternal. Hardship tests us, but it also teaches us. It shows us the depth of our own courage, the strength of our will, and the power of refusing to surrender. The lessons of the hard path are subtle, often invisible, and always lasting. I learned that failing is not shameful; failing is a necessary step toward mastery. I learned that enduring pain, even when no one notices, builds a type of strength that comfort never can. I learned that the more difficult the path, the deeper the reward—not measured in wealth or fame, but in character, wisdom, and self-respect. Every choice to embrace struggle instead of avoiding it shaped me. Every sacrifice, every extra hour, every moment of doubt faced instead of ignored, added to the foundation of the person I am today. My life was not easy. It was messy, unpredictable, and often overwhelming. But it was authentic. It was mine. And through hardship, I became resilient. I became someone who can face challenges without fear because I have faced them before. I became someone who respects themselves because I have honored my own effort. I became someone capable of growth because I refused to choose comfort over character. I often reflect on the people around me who chose the easy path. Many of them achieved quick victories, immediate recognition, and temporary peace. But over time, I noticed something important: the victories were shallow, the peace fleeting, and the growth minimal. They lacked the depth of resilience, the quiet power of self-respect, and the profound satisfaction that comes from knowing you endured, you learned, and you became someone stronger. Choosing hardship is not glamorous. It is not celebrated in real-time. It is often lonely, exhausting, and demanding. But it is transformative. It shapes your mind, your heart, and your spirit in ways comfort never can. It teaches discipline, patience, humility, and courage. It makes failure meaningful, effort valuable, and success earned. The hard path is where true people are made—people who understand that life’s challenges are not punishments, but opportunities. Opportunities to become better, stronger, wiser, and more capable. I never chose the easy path. I always chose the harder road, the one that tested me, the one that demanded effort, and the one that required me to face myself honestly. I walked through fear, doubt, exhaustion, and setbacks. I fell, and I got up. I failed, and I tried again. I cried, I questioned, I endured. And through it all, I became someone I could respect, someone who knew the value of persistence, someone who understood that hardship is not the enemy—it is the greatest teacher. Today, I measure success differently. I do not measure it by comfort, convenience, or ease. I measure it by growth, resilience, and the depth of self-respect I have cultivated. I measure it by how I faced challenges I could not ignore, how I embraced struggles that seemed unbearable, and how I refused to take shortcuts at the cost of my own becoming. I never chose the easy path. I chose the one that made me resilient. I chose the one that taught me self-respect. I chose the one that allowed me to become the person I am today. And if I had the choice again, I would choose the hard path every single time. Because the road of struggle is not only a journey—it is the making of a human being.writing...
By Ihtisham Ulhaqa day ago in Motivation
Comments (1)
I liked this story. Kindness always wins.