So… this is a photo of me being pepper sprayed.
Why? Honestly, there isn’t a particularly funny story behind it. I wasn’t caught in a protest or storming the Capitol. I was voluntarily getting OC sprayed as part of training for our church’s Safety Ministry.
Seconds after this photo was taken, I experienced some of the worst pain I’ve ever felt. I knew it would be bad. I like spicy food, and capsaicin has always treated me well. I thought I had some kind of frame of reference.
I did not. This was far worse than expected.
After being sprayed, our next task was to stumble over to a station and try to read the faces of playing cards—part of the exercise is proving you can still function. I remember thinking very clearly, “I would rather have just been shot.”
That’s obviously not true. OC spray hurts for a few hours; a bullet wound would last much longer. But in the moment, logic wasn’t particularly persuasive. Recall wasn’t that easy for me either, considering I forgot the words to describe “Eight of Clubs.”
There is also no dignified way to go through this. At least not for me. Some of my teammates handled it with impressive stoicism. I did not.
I was gasping for air, coughing uncontrollably, crying, and producing a truly humbling amount of snot. There was also quite a bit of whimpering.
This, understandably, was highly entertaining to the other trainers—all of whom had been through this before.
“Anyone want Thai food?”
“Pass the Tobasco.”
“What’s wrong, fellas—getting emotional?”
And honestly, I don’t blame them. They’ve earned the right to joke. Sometimes you’re the new guy, and part of paying your dues is being laughed at. In the right context, that kind of good-natured hazing is perfectly appropriate. We all laugh about it now that we have officially joined the club.
But there was also someone else- a man I’ve always thought of as having a particularly kind demeanor.
While the rest of the trainers kept things light, he took on a different role. He understood exactly what we were experiencing and what would come next. He reminded us the pain was temporary. He brought us bottled water. When we couldn’t see he sprayed soap into our hands at the eyewash station. He padded our eyes with paper towels. He offered calm instruction and steady reassurance. He coached us.
He didn’t dramatize the moment or minimize it. He simply responded with care.
That stuck with me.
Scripture tells us that kindness is a fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22), that love is patient and kind (1 Corinthians 13:4), and that we are to be kind and tenderhearted toward one another (Ephesians 4:32). We all know these verses.
But kindness shows itself most clearly when pain is present.
My life carries a fair amount of pain right now. And I’m grateful for men in my life who are responding to that pain with kindness—not sentimentality, not performance, but practical concern and presence.
For a long time, I thought kindness was essentially the same thing as niceness. I no longer think that’s true. Niceness is often surface-level and image-driven. Kindness is sturdier. It is rooted in love, oriented toward another person’s well-being, and willing to set self aside.
There’s also something here worth saying about masculinity.
There is a kind of male strength that shows up as endurance, humor, and grit—and there is nothing wrong with that. There is also a kind of strength that shows up as attentiveness, restraint, and care. Maturity is knowing when each is appropriate.
Most men will be both at different times—the one cracking jokes, and the one handing out water. Learning when to be which matters.
I’m glad for the training, and I’m glad I did it (once). But the deeper takeaway for me wasn’t tactical. It was a quiet lesson in kindness, modeled by someone who probably didn’t realize he was teaching anything at all.
Two takeaways:
1. Treat pepper spray seriously. If you get hit with it, your day is over.
2. Be kind. You never know what kind of impact steady, thoughtful care can have on someone who’s hurting.