It was an early morning flight. And by early morning flight, I mean the kind where you wake up at 3:00am to catch it. I was tired. A bit anxious. And I hadn’t had my coffee. Needless to say, as I boarded the plane, I was not feeling like the best version of myself.

I don’t think I was alone in that either. Everyone seemed tired, weighed down, a bit on edge. We all slowly but surely filed onto the plane, put away our luggage, found our seats, and settled in as best we could. We were prepared for takeoff.

In the middle of it all, I noticed one of the flight attendants. Her demeanor was strikingly different, in a good way. Honestly, in a way that felt like a gift to us all. Kind, warm, caring. Quietly offering water to a nervous passenger. Shifting a few seat assignments so a family could sit together more comfortably. Intently looking an elderly woman in the eye as she patiently listened and answered the woman’s questions.

I boarded the plane in an early-morning funk, but by the time we landed, I was inspired. I didn’t learn the flight attendant’s name, but I noticed the small, significant difference she made.

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A week or so later, we were having car trouble—significant car trouble—with both of our cars. It was clear neither transmission was working well, and that was…a problem.

Of the two, Brad’s transmission situation was a bit more severe, so much so that his car was really no longer drivable. We called around to countless mechanics and received one of two answers from each: either their schedule was too full to take a look, or they didn’t do transmission work.

We continued to call around, trying to find someone—anyone—who might be able to help us. And finally, we found a transmissions guy who agreed to take a look the following week. We arranged for the car to be towed to him and tried our best to hope for the best.

However, the following week, we learned that the car never made it to his lot. In fact, we didn’t know where the car was. After a conversation or two with the tow company, we learned it ended up with a different mechanic several blocks away. To say we were OVER IT at this point would be an understatement.

David, the mechanic at this random lot where our car ended up, sensed our frustration and distress. While he admittedly couldn’t solve our problem for us, he did kindly offer what he could. He told us he would take a look and make some calls to see if the issue was possibly covered by the manufacturer. And he said we were welcome to leave the car on his lot for as long as we needed while we figured out next steps. Mostly, though, he treated us with kindness, compassion, and understanding.

We walked into his shop that day feeling frazzled and anxious, but we left feeling a bit more calm and reassured. For us, David made a small, significant difference.

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A few days after, I was at a church gathering. The room was full and bustling. Lots going on and lots I could give my attention to. First things first, I gave my attention to the food. I made my plate, searched for an empty seat, and finally settled on an empty table in the very back corner of the room. As I sat down and started to eat, I also started to scan the room. And my attention eventually settled on two people sitting at a table who I know disagree on lots of things—theology, politics, college football teams—but they were interacting in a way that did my soul some much-needed good.

I watched them share with one another, listen to each other, and occasionally break out into deep laughter together. Nothing about these exchanges seemed fake or forced. Eventually, they stood up and embraced. And before parting ways, I overheard one say to the other, “I’ll be praying for you. Keep me updated.”

While it can be easy for me to get caught up in and be discouraged by the division and contempt all around, that evening, I was reminded of our shared humanity, and the goodness we each possess. What I witnessed made a small, significant difference.

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Each of these is an example of God’s kindness meeting me, through others, in recent weeks. None was a big grand gesture, but each—even in their subtlety and smallness—mattered.

As I’m sure you know, there is so much going on in our world that is heavy and hard. Wars and injustice, hunger and dehumanization, natural disasters and violence and harm. And it can be difficult to know how to approach it all, address it all, hold it all. It’s all so very overwhelming. If we want to be a part of the healing work of the Kingdom of God, where do we even begin?

One thing I’m learning—especially when I sense that overwhelm beginning to build within—is that I might not always be able to make a huge impact. But I can be a steady influence. Here’s what I mean:

My faith was very much shaped by the narrative that in order to be faithful, I needed to do great big things for God. In other words, I needed to make an impact. In my mind, that looked like leading a movement, offering a sizable donation, founding a non-profit, or inspiring stadium-sized crowds. And while all of those things can be wonderful and meaningful and important, I’m learning they are not necessarily the norm.

As I’ve continued to work out my faith with God over the years, I’ve realized the big impact is not always mine to make. Instead, what is nearly always mine to do is to be that steady influence in my regular, everyday life. In the small, the subtle, the obscure, the quiet. Even when it doesn’t seem to matter.  Because it’s true that you have to start somewhere. And it’s true that the work we’re called to tends to start small.

As Scripture reminds us, the Kingdom of God is like a pearl, a penny, a pinch of yeast, the tiniest of seeds.

In the same way, maybe the Kingdom of God begins in our interactions. In our conversations. Through our willingness to see each other and seek to understand. Maybe the Kingdom of God begins with a thoughtful word. A listening ear. A kind encouragement. A warm embrace. A helping hand. Maybe the Kingdom of God starts subtle and small.

As the late musician Ruth Krehbiel Jacobs put it,

“You don’t have to do great things, but the little things you are doing in your sphere of influence can be done with great conviction, great wisdom, great beauty, and great love.”

Yes, God might call us to the big and the great. But I’m learning that the small and subtle is significant, too.

In her poem, Small Kindnesses, Danusha Lameris, writes,

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk

down a crowded aisle, people pull their legs

to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you”

when someone sneezes, a leftover

from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying.

And sometimes, when you spill lemons

from your grocery bag, someone else will help you

pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other.

We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot,

and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile

at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress

to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder,

and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass.

We have so little of each other, now. So far

from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.

What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these

fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here,

have my seat,” “Go ahead—you first,” “I like your hat.”

Today, if you’re feeling overwhelmed by it all and aren’t sure where to begin, remember to start small. That’s where the Kingdom begins. In our spheres of influence, and with the Spirit’s help, may we choose kindness and care, compassion and love, the subtle and small, as we continue to become the people God calls and invites us to be.