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Jim McCrory

Paid in Full

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Thursday 27 August 2026 at 06:55

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Paid in Full

Sometimes people come into our lives who remind us that not everything in this world is negative.

This week, I had my boiler serviced. A next day, the bill arrived. But there was something unusual about it. Where I expected to see an amount owed, it simply said: Paid in Full

I contacted the engineer, assuming there had been a mistake. I told him about it, but his response was simple: “It’s a gift.”

“But I can afford to pay,” I replied.

He wasn’t having it.

During his visit, I had mentioned that I had cancer. He felt that life already presents enough challenges when someone is going through something like that, and he wanted to do something to ease the burden, even if only a little.

It was an extraordinary act of kindness, but it got me thinking about something much bigger.

Some years ago, I was in a European country where a friend of mine visited prisoners in a high-security prison. During one visit, a prisoner asked him a question that has stayed with me.

“I have taken many lives. Will God forgive me?”

We know that feeling when conscience tortures us for our smaller sins.  My friend assured him that if he was truly repentant, God would forgive him.

That is an extraordinary thought, isn’t it?

We all carry a debt. We have all fallen short. We are all sinners. Yet the Christian message is that God did not leave humanity to pay that debt ourselves.

Around two thousand years ago, Christ came into the world and gave His life for the sins of mankind.

As Paul wrote in Colossians 2:

“When you were dead in your trespasses...your sinful nature, God made you alive with Christ. He forgave us all our trespasses, having cancelled the debt ascribed to us in the decrees that stood against us. He took it away, nailing it to the cross!”

There is something profoundly beautiful in those words: He cancelled the debt.

The boiler engineer could have sent me a bill. I could have paid it. But instead, he chose to give me a gift.

And that little act of kindness became, for me, a reminder of a far greater gift.

Christ did not merely reduce our debt. He did not ask us to pay what we could and somehow make up the difference ourselves.

He paid it. And He Paid it in Full.

 

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Jim McCrory

khuloos:The Door is Open

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Friday 1 August 2025 at 09:12

"One kind word can warm three winter months."

Japanese proverb

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A Reflection on Pakistani Hospitality 

I was just a YouTube food blog, Mark Wiens in Islamabad six years ago, smiling, tasting, greeting, yet it stirred something more than curiosity. What moved me wasn’t merely the food though the beef keema nihari, biryani, and seekh kebabs with that mouth watering neurotic sizzled straight off the pan. What stayed with me was something quieter, deeper: the warmth of the people.

In Urdu, there’s a word that carries the fragrance of centuries: nsaaniyati. It translates as hospitality, but it is more than that. It is a sacred duty, an honour to care for the guest in your home as if it was the creator. A familiar saying passed from generation to generation. Whether rich or poor, rural, or urban, Pakistanis open their homes and hearts with an ease that humbles. A plastic stool in a roadside tea shop becomes a throne. A shared piece of roti becomes a feast. The host insists, often with  persistence, “please, have more,” as though refusal were a kind of sadness. The giving comes from the heart. 

One moment in the video stayed with me. Some young students, in their early twenties, invited Mark to join them, farz, the deep, inherited sense of responsibility. This was his chance to be generous. To honour. To give. It was adab, that quiet reverence for others that turns daily gestures into sacred rituals. I found myself wondering how many such young people walk among us, quietly dignified, shaped not by cynicism or performance, but by tradition, by love, and by the belief that insaaniyat, shared humanity matters more than wealth, status, or gain. 

We live in a guarded age. Behind fences and passwords, behind carefully managed small talk and suspicion. In many places, hospitality has been trimmed down to politeness and filtered through the glow of a screen. But in Pakistan, at least in the scenes I saw, it remains visceral, something you can touch, taste, and carry with you. It is born of hardship, shaped by the rhythm of the azan echoing five times a day, calling people to pause, to reflect, to remember. Whatever its source, mehman nawazi is not merely cultural; it is spiritual. It is a form of love. 

And it’s not just about hosting at home. It’s also about what we do when we’re out, when we’re at a café or a food stall, gathered with friends. I’ve seen it in faces and gestures before , a quiet scanning of the room, an awareness that someone nearby is sitting alone. In that moment, hospitality becomes invitation. There is something deeply human, almost sacred, in turning toward the solitary diner and saying, “Would you like to join us?” That small gesture, so ordinary, carries with it the weight of centuries. You are not alone. Come. Sit. Be. 

One could do worse than to live like that , to greet the world not with fear but with chai, to honour the guest not out of obligation but from joy. Darwaza khula hai — “The door is open.” And that’s what I felt, watching from far away. Not just hunger for food, but hunger for belonging.

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Jim McCrory

Firgun and the Path to Happiness

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Thursday 6 March 2025 at 06:56


Firgun (Hebrew): 

The act of sharing in or even contributing to someone else's pleasure or fortune, 

with a purely unselfish heart. It is a genuine, 

selfless delight and pride in the accomplishments of others.




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Firgun and the Path to Happiness

In the lexicon of human experience, certain words transcend linguistic boundaries, embodying concepts that offer us a glimpse into the soul of a culture. "Firgun" is one such word, a Hebrew term that means the genuine joy one feels at someone else's happiness or success. This concept, while culturally specific, taps into a universal truth emphasized in the teachings of Jesus: "Love your neighbour as yourself." Yet, in my encounters with various individuals throughout my life, I've observed a stark contrast between those who embody this spirit and those who do not, particularly among those displaying sociopathic tendencies.

Firgun is not merely an act of passive benevolence but an active engagement in celebrating others without envy or self-interest. It's a concept that feels at home in the teachings of Jesus, who championed love, compassion, and empathy towards all. The failure to practice love in this way, especially when it morphs into sociopathic indifference, reveals a troubling pathway toward isolation and unhappiness.

My reflections on firgun and its absence in certain individuals lead me back to life's encounters with those whose behaviours skewed towards sociopathy—a pattern marked not just by a lack of empathy but by a profound self-interest that views other people's successes as threats or non-events. These individuals displayed a chilling detachment from the joys and sorrows of others, encapsulating a life approach antithetical to firgun.

One might argue that sociopathy is an inborn trait, a wiring of the brain that deviates from the norm. However, the behaviours stemming from this lack can often be observed as choices—choices to ignore the happiness of others, choices to manipulate for self-gain, and choices that inevitably lead to relational ruins. The lack of sharing in the happiness of others, correlates strongly with the unhappy outcomes I've witnessed in these lives. Without the capacity or the will to engage in the joy of others, their world becomes a smaller, self-contained echo chamber of dissatisfaction and unfulfillment.

Contrast this with those who practice kindness. These individuals seem to live in a richer, more expansive world—a world where others' victories are celebrated as if they were their own. This worldview not only fosters a positive external environment but also cultivates an internal sense of peace and contentment. There is a profound psychological benefit to this practice, echoing the Christian ideal of loving and valuing others genuinely. The outward expression of firgun often returns to the giver, multiplied and enriched.

From a personal standpoint, embracing this quality has been transformative. Over time, inspired by biblical teachings and the selfless examples of those around me, I began to practice this quality, initially as a discipline, then as a heartfelt approach to life. The change was palpable: relationships deepened, my community ties strengthened, and a profound sense of happiness and fulfilment replaced the hollow echo of my previous discontent.

In conclusion, the spirit of firgun and the teachings of Jesus converge on a fundamental truth about human behaviour: we are designed to live in community, to share in each other's joys, and to love our neighbours wholeheartedly. My experiences have shown me that those who reject this path, especially out of sociopathic inclinations, find themselves walking a lonely road, marked by relational failures and personal despair. In contrast, those who embrace the joy of others discover a life marked by fulfilment and deep, lasting happiness. In the end, it is is not just a word but a way of life, offering a path that aligns closely with the wisdom of loving one's neighbour—an endeavour that, when embraced, leads to the richest of human experiences.

 


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Jim McCrory

Bienveillance: A Compass for Life

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Edited by Jim McCrory, Saturday 23 August 2025 at 11:00

You may know the story. Perhaps somewhat hackneyed,

One day, a young girl was walking along a beach, picking up starfish that had been washed ashore and throwing them back into the sea. An older man saw her and said, “There are miles and miles of beach, and hundreds of starfish. You can’t make any difference.”

The girl picked up another starfish, threw it back into the ocean, and replied, “It made a difference to that one.”

 

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Bienveillance: A Compass for Life

Several years ago, while embarking on my journey through an MA in Creative Writing, I made a heartfelt vow: my writings would always strive to illuminate the brighter aspects of humanity. This promise wasn't about viewing the world through a glass darkly—life, after all, is a complex tapestry of light and shadow. But I was determined that positivity would serve as my guiding principle.

Recently, during a moment of morning reflection, a particular word resonated with me: bienveillance. This elegant French term defies a neat English translation, capturing nuances beyond mere kindness or goodwill—it embodies an initiative-taking, almost vigilant commitment to the welfare of others. Observing the discord often rampant around us, I realized just how scarce this trait has become.

If granted a single wish, it would be for a world infused with this quality. Imagine a society, friends, family, and workmates that prioritizes understanding over judgment, where compassion comes naturally, and actions are taken not solely for personal gain but for the collective good. Longing for such a world isn't naivety; it is, in fact, a vital necessity.

The path to such a society doesn't begin with a desire for others to change but with a personal introspection. How do I embody bienveillance in my daily life? It's straightforward to romanticize the concept, yet quite another to live it out. Am I patient with those who test my patience? Do I offer generosity even when it's inconvenient? Can I see the best in people, even when scepticism seems a safer bet?

Through my writing, I strive to practice such qualities. Writing, I believe, have a unique power to expand our empathy, allowing us to experience lives vastly different from our own. They highlight our common humanity and the unspoken struggles we all face. Even when my narratives delve into darker themes, my aim is to uncover the resilience, love, and hope that persist.

However, writing about kindness is not sufficient—I must also enact it. Recently, I found myself hurrying past someone in obvious need of help. Caught up in my own urgency, I almost ignored the moment. Yet, a nagging thought halted me: "What kind of world do you want, and what are you actively doing to create it?" I paused, turned back, and assisted. The task was minor helping someone buy a meal for the evening.

bienveillance is not an unreachable ideal; it's realized through countless small actions. Each act of kindness, no matter how minor, contributes to a broader transformation. If we all embraced such moments, allowing kindness to interrupt our routines, imagine how transformative that could be.

I often reflect on the Biblical directive to "love your neighbour as yourself." This simple yet profound command requires deep self-reflection, presupposing that we understand and appreciate our own worth enough to know what love truly feels like. It challenges us to extend that same level of compassion outward.

Like the art of writing, this quality of goodwill to others is a skill honed over time—a lifelong pursuit rather than a destination. While I may not witness a utopia within my lifetime, I passionately believe that each gesture of kindness sends ripples through the fabric of society, often in unseen ways.

So, I commit to this: today, I will treat the next person I encounter with the care I hope for in the world. Tomorrow, I will take another step. While human kindness might seem elusive on a grand scale, it's a quality I can nurture within my own life. In doing so, I can inspire others to follow suit, one small step at a time.

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