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Every believer eventually faces this dilemma: how do I help someone change when I cannot control their heart, nor grant repentance? Love wants to help; fear intends to manage. Love says, “How can I cooperate with what God is doing?” Fear whispers, “How can I make this stop?” The difference between those two questions reveals whether we’ll move with God or work against Him.
Most of us try what seems obvious first. We explain. We argue. We warn. We raise our voices or lower our tone. We plead with tears or go quiet with icy distance. Sometimes, for a day or two, something shifts: promises are made, emotions run high, routines change, but then the old gravity returns, and we realize we never touched the heart. You can influence circumstances, but you can’t force repentance. Only God can grant it. That simple truth is both humbling and hope-giving. You are not the Holy Spirit. Your job is not regeneration or making them mature in their sanctification; your calling is participation: cooperating with how God changes people rather than counterfeiting His work with your own pressure.
When someone doesn’t change as we expect, a handful of predictable methods emerge. We rarely name them aloud, but they are evident in our tone, our timing, and our choices.
It’s uncomfortable to admit, but these are the ways we often try to move people toward change. If you’re unsure whether any of those methods live in you, ask those closest to you how your attempts to help feel to them. Invite your spouse, your children, or a trusted friend to describe your “helping style.” It may be one of the most sanctifying conversations you’ll ever have.
Why do these approaches seem to work—at least for a while? Because they lean on fear. In authority–subordinate relationships (parent-child, boss-employee, teacher-student), fear can produce outward compliance. A child will clean his room to avoid a spanking; an employee will meet a deadline to avoid a meeting. But fear always withers intimacy. It grows resentment in secret. And when children become taller, smarter, and more independent, fear loses its leverage, and relationships fray. In a marriage, shots of sarcasm and doses of disapproval may create short-term behavior change, but the cost is long-term distance. The apostle Paul warned parents not to provoke their children to anger (Ephesians 6:4). That warning applies to any relationship governed by criticism rather than compassion: you can win the moment and lose the person.
Let’s say that your observations about the person are accurate. They really do need to change. That doesn’t permit you to use the wrong tools. Discernment divorced from love becomes manipulation. Truth without grace may be right in content and wrong in method, and wrong methods rarely lead to right ends. There is a biblical process for change, one anchored in the gospel, and it looks different from pressure. It looks like kindness.
“Be nice.” It sounds too simple, perhaps too cultural, and even naïve. But the word kindness in Scripture isn’t sentimental or weak. It is moral strength clothed in compassion. It is redemptive love that refuses to be overcome by another person’s sin. When Jesus says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father” (Matthew 5:44–45), He’s describing family resemblance. The Father is kind to the ungrateful and the evil (Luke 6:35). His kindness is not permissive; it is persuasive. Paul says God’s kindness leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). This is the deep logic of the gospel.
At this point, someone says, “I’ve tried being nice. It didn’t work.” Listen to the hidden assumption. If kindness “didn’t work,” you were still using it as a tool to get something for yourself. You weren’t imitating the Father; you were bargaining with your spouse or child: “I’ll be pleasant as long as you perform.” Conditional kindness is manipulation with a smile. Gospel kindness isn’t about managing outcomes; it’s about magnifying Christ. It says, “I will love you because I have been loved.” If God blesses that posture with visible fruit in the other person, praise God. But don’t turn the result into an idol. The moment you require a reaction to keep being kind, you’ve slipped from worship into control.
When believers abandon kindness, the problem is rarely that they’ve changed their doctrine. It’s that they’ve forgotten their story. Jesus illustrated this with the unmerciful servant (Matthew 18:23–35). Forgiven an impossible debt, the servant immediately throttled a fellow servant for pocket change. The master’s indictment was simple: “Shouldn’t you have had mercy, as I had mercy on you?” That is gospel amnesia: receiving mercy and refusing to extend it.
Our functional gospel—what we actually believe in the moment—drives our method. If I’m more aware of what you’ve done to me than what Christ has done for me, I will default to shame, guilt, threat, and cynicism. Those methods have never transformed a heart. Grace does.
There is a biblical method for changing that your Father intends you to use: The Encouragement Approach. Before you apply it to anyone else, trace its line through your own life. How did you change? What softened your resistance? What drew you Godward? Not threats. Not public humiliation. Not the rolling eyes of contempt.
You changed because God was kind to you. I changed because God was kind to me. He regenerated me in 1984. I didn’t know John 3:16 or a single verse by heart, but I knew this: a holy God was moving toward me with mercy. He offered His Son as my substitute. It was full payment for every sin I had committed, and for every sin I ever would commit. That kindness disarmed my rebellion. It wasn’t permissive; it was persuasive. The change process began then, and it hasn’t stopped. The method hasn’t changed because the Savior hasn’t changed (Hebrews 13:8).
Paul assumes we know this: “Do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?” (Romans 2:4). Notice the richness of the words: kindness and forbearance and patience. God doesn’t sprinkle niceness like sugar over sin. He applies the robust wealth of His character. He moves toward you with goodness, He holds back the judgment you deserve, and He waits as His Spirit does deep, slow work. Those are the currencies He spent on you. Those are the currencies He calls you to spend on others.
If you refuse, if you continue to pay out shame, criticism, and threats, you’re essentially whistling in the wind. You might get behavior management for a week. You won’t get repentance. And your relationship will sputter like an engine starved of oil.
Kindness doesn’t ignore sin. Encouragement isn’t flattery. Truth without grace crushes; grace without truth deceives. The Encouragement Approach holds both together. It refuses to make sin the centerpiece of the relationship, and it refuses to pretend sin isn’t there. It brings truth across a bridge of love.
Most of us are naturals at fault-finding. We notice what’s wrong with almost no effort. Encouragement requires retraining the eyes. It’s the habit of catching people doing right and naming the grace you see. Think of it as a “Got-It-Right antenna.” When your spouse extends patience where there used to be sharpness, say it. When your teen interrupts a complaint to take ownership of a small part of the problem, acknowledge it. When your friend perseveres one more week in a hard obedience, say it. Identify the moment, connect it to God’s work, and give thanks aloud. You’re not congratulating human willpower; you’re praising divine grace at work.
What happens in a soul when you do this with sincerity and regularity? Hope grows. People begin to see themselves as participants in God’s active story rather than failures stuck in an old one. They learn, by experience, what good looks like. You and they end up praising God together. Trust deepens. And when it’s time to bring a hard word, you have earned the right to be heard. Encouragement is not a soft alternative to correction; it is the soil in which correction can take root without defensiveness.
The kindness of God does more than spark change; it creates safety for confession. Grace doesn’t merely give you the courage to repent; it gives you the confidence to approach God when you’ve failed. Because of the daily encouragement you receive in the gospel, you know your Father will not lash out at you or weaponize your weakness. The cross settled the question of His posture forever: Christ bore wrath so you could receive welcome. Believers who understand this begin to develop a new reflex when they fall; they run toward God, rather than away from Him.
It’s perfectly logical to expect continued kindness from the God who saved you. His kindness isn’t random; it’s rooted in who He is. The cross didn’t make Him kind; it revealed His kindness. Past grace guarantees future grace. What He was to you in salvation, He will be to you in sanctification. He will not punish you for what Christ already paid for. He will convict, but to restore. He will discipline, but as a Father. He will help you change not by threatening your identity but by reminding you of it.
Now translate that logic into your relationships. Does the person you most want to see change believe you are for them (Romans 8:31)? When they fail, do they expect your compassion or your condemnation? Do they know, deep down, you have their best interests in mind (Philippians 2:3–4)? Have your patterns trained them to be honest with you or to hide from you?
Prior encouragement sets the stage for future honesty. The way you handle the present—both successes and stumbles—either opens or closes the door for confession later. You have experienced this with God: past mercy makes present repentance a possibility. That is what a “context of grace” looks like in human relationships. It is not permissiveness; it is safety for truth. “Be imitators of God, as beloved children” (Ephesians 5:1). The order matters: you imitate Him because you are loved, not to get loved. When your identity rests there, you are free to extend the same patience you receive. People stop performing when they learn they won’t be punished for being honest. They start opening up. Confession becomes normal, and restoration becomes faster.
Imagine two couples. In the first, a wife feels convicted about the way she spoke to her husband earlier. She wants to ask for forgiveness, but she hesitates because she knows what’s coming: a recap of her history, a sarcastic sigh, and a question that starts with “Why can’t you ever…?” Her husband is accurate in his assessment, but his approach is harsh. She decides to say nothing, and repentance dies in silence. In the second, the same sin occurs. The same conviction follows. But this husband has a different reflex. He listens. He asks questions without interrogation. He prays with her. He speaks truth gently. She comes more quickly the next time, and more deeply the time after that. Why? Not because her sin was smaller or her theology bigger. Because his posture made confession safe, the distance between those two marriages is not the size of the sin. It’s the presence of kindness.
Ask yourself a few questions without hurry. Am I the kind of person others feel safe confessing to? Would my spouse or children say I’m approachable when they’ve done wrong? Would my friends describe my default tone as gentle or as critical? Would those I counsel say my presence makes telling the truth easier or harder? If the Spirit convicts you here, that’s grace, not shaming. Confess your failure to reflect the Father’s heart. God’s kindness toward you can reshape the way you relate to others. The same Father who was patient with your slow growth will teach you to be patient with theirs. The same mercy that drew you back for the thousandth time will train your responses the next time they fail.
Kindness is not a one-time strategy; it’s a way of being in relationships. It’s a daily ministry. Every interaction—disappointments, disagreements, the ordinary rub of life—becomes an opportunity to demonstrate the character of your Father. Your response either reveals or obscures His heart. When grace sets the tone, your home or small group, or church begins to feel like a refuge, not a courtroom. People stop hiding. They mature faster. They learn that repentance leads to embrace, not exile.
If encouragement doesn’t come naturally, start small and specific. Pray in the morning, “Father, help me see evidences of grace today,” and expect Him to answer. Keep your eyes open for tiny glimmers: a soft reply where there used to be a sharp one, a pause before a complaint, an effort made in weakness, a confession started but not finished. Name it when you see it. Tie it to God’s work: “I saw patience there that looked like Jesus.” Thank God for it aloud. Let gratitude bleed into intercession: “Lord, keep fanning that into flame.” You’re discipling in real time.
When correction is necessary (and it will be), let your pattern of encouragement carry the weight of your words. Truth will land as care rather than condemnation. If you need to say something hard, say it with tears, not with triumph. Speak to the heart with the gospel’s categories—thoughts, desires, fears, hopes—rather than hammering only the behavior. Invite the person into a bigger story: what would it look like to trust the Lord in this pressure rather than control it? How might love, not fear, govern the next decision? Remember: kindness is not the absence of exhortation; it is the atmosphere that makes exhortation fruitful.
If kindness feels too slow, it’s because we are addicted to speed. Shame and threat produce immediate movement; kindness cultivates deep roots. Shame creates actors; kindness forms disciples. Threat wins moments; kindness wins decades. If your aim is a quieter week, control might help you achieve it. If your aim is a soul that loves Christ and hates sin, you will need the Spirit’s way. God has tied His transforming power to His character. That’s why reflecting His character is not optional in helping people. It is the work.
Let’s bring this home. You want someone to change: your friend, your spouse, your child. You cannot regenerate them. You cannot schedule their repentance. However, you can create an environment where repentance becomes plausible, and confession is a safe option. You can embody the patience you’ve received. You can cooperate with God’s way. Here is your call to action—clear, simple, doable.
Rick launched the Life Over Coffee global training network in 2008 to bring hope and help for you and others by creating resources that spark conversations for transformation. His primary responsibilities are resource creation and leadership development, which he does through speaking, writing, podcasting, and educating.
In 1990 he earned a BA in Theology and, in 1991, a BS in Education. In 1993, he received his ordination into Christian ministry, and in 2000 he graduated with an MA in Counseling from The Master’s University. In 2006 he was recognized as a Fellow of the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC).
