He had on his Sunday best. He appeared to be in his late 70s or early 80s with soft gray hair on a tall body, a rounded belly beneath his tucked and buttoned shirt. A Ukrainian flag pinned to the lapel of his suit coat. My kids and I had whispered plans during the final worship song of the morning to take the long walk home from church to stop and get smoothies. He followed behind us as we entered the coffee shop, and as we marked our table territory, he hurriedly passed us up to get in line. I approached the line.
I saw him off to the wrong side of where the line was to go, sitting at a stool, seemingly waiting for his turn. I noticed that his rush to get inside must have caught his breath or flustered him a bit as he seemed to be resting and wondering if I was going to allow him to go before me. As the person ahead of me finished up, I finally gave the man the eye contact he had been seeking from me for assurance and told him to go ahead.
“Why would you tell me to go first?” he asked with a warm smile as he stood and approached me.
“You were here first,” I smiled back with the sweeping motion of Vanna White leading him to the register.
“Now let me tell you why I want you to go first young lady, are those your three kids over there?” His voice was deeply aged and weathered. There is something comforting about such a voice. “If they are getting a special treat today, I want to get it for them!” His kindness and enthusiasm were contagious.
Anyone who knows me understands one of my toxic traits is being wildly incapable of accepting the generosity of others. They also know I have a tremendous soft spot for senior citizens. This eager gentleman was an elder to me of a different measure. Direct and firm, yet gentle and kind with that twinkle in his eye only a proud grandpa could carry. He left no room for me to decline. I graciously accepted. “Are you sure? That is so sweet, my gosh!” I uncomfortably began to order my kids’ drinks.
“I’m sorry, we can’t make that one in a kid’s size,” the barista apologized. Of course not. I internally ached.
“Oh make it a bigger one then! She’s getting the next size up!” the man giggled happily in response to her as he stood beside me. As I finished my order, he turned to me and continued, “Just one thing you have to do for me though.” I was all ears. “Teach your kids to grow up to be good people, real good people.”
By this time, my older daughter had wandered over to see who I was talking to, and he quipped about which drink must have been hers. I thanked him again as he stepped forward to pay. I took a moment to share privately with my kids what this gentleman did for us and encouraged them to thank him.
Thankfully, my older two children grew up in an intergenerational preschool—in the basement of a senior living facility, full of residents whom they referred to as their grandmas and grandpas. By spending time with them every day, they were taught how to look them in the eye for a firm handshake and how to hold a conversation with elders comfortably. So they had no trouble popping off their stools to greet and thank our new acquaintance.
“Did Mom tell you to come to thank me? Well, now that tells me what kind of good people she’s going to raise. You know, I saw you walking over to this shop from the sidewalk when I was pulling in, and I had to race to park my car and get in here fast to beat you. Before your mom could place your order!” He smirked as he explained. (And then we knew why he had looked a little winded!)
The sweet man kept getting sweeter. He carried on a conversation with my kids about how “the world is a little tough right now.” He listened to my child share big dreams of going to MIT and finding a cure for cancer and taught her a little more about MIT as he teased me about the cost.
I couldn’t believe the blessing that had just occurred, restoring a bit of faith I have in the kindness of strangers. I seem to be blessed by strangers often, and time after time I wonder why I’ve been such a lucky recipient. Maybe I just look run-down by life, and when these sympathetic souls see me, they think, “Oh Lord, have mercy and bless this mess.” To me, these gifts are nothing short of divine appointments, not to be taken for granted, but to discover the lesson in. They are all around us if we open our eyes to them. I am grateful. What a beautiful moment to share with my kids and this perfect stranger.
There is a purpose for the greater good in everyone we meet. Don’t take chance interactions for granted; be present as intently as you are in your closest relationships. What quiet whispers should you be paying closer attention to?
Originally published on the author’s blog
by Emily Donehoo 
by Stacey Philpot 
