The kindness of strangers and friends

My daughter and I stood at a distance, not wanting to crowd the guy just trying to do his job. Although when your job is to offer samples at Costco, crowding comes with the territory.

I hate to hover, which means that the kids and I are often the last to get to the next round of samples or we end up waiting through a couple of rounds. It’s fun and sometimes sad to watch people snatch up a free taste of something they may or may not like. I’m not the aggressive sort, so we hang back and wait.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure what we were waiting for here, but my daughter spotted it and wanted it and since it was just the two of us for a change, I was saying “yes” to almost everything.

The server slid a new tray out to the front of the display and the hot fresh samples disappeared before we even had a chance to take a step forward.

And that’s when the miracle happened.

Another bystander had grabbed two samples, one for him and one for his wife, when he saw my daughter waiting patiently.

“Do you want one?” he asked her. Then to me, “Is it okay?”

I nodded “yes” and he gave my daughter one of the samples. Then he looked at me and said, “Did you want one?”

I usually decline if there aren’t enough to go around because honestly it doesn’t matter much to me. Or maybe it does and I just don’t want to be a source of conflict. I declined, saying, “That’s okay” but he insisted.

“Go ahead,” he said, handing over the second sample, leaving him empty-handed.

“Are you sure? Thank you so much. You might be the kindest person I’ve ever met here.”

No offense to anyone who works or shops at Costco but the vicinity of any sample table at Costco is not a place where I usually see kindness, much less receive it.

Minutes later, after we’d finished our sample of burrito and salsa and checked out another sample, the man and his wife were still waiting for their turn, and gratitude overwhelmed me.

It was the second time that day we had been the beneficiaries of sacrificial generosity.

—

A few hours earlier, the kids and I had stopped at the grocery store, trying to squeeze in a quick trip before my son would join some friends for a birthday party he’d been invited to on short notice. Our Saturday was packed tight with errands and cleaning in preparation for some friends coming over, and I was stressed to the max. I had already yelled once that morning because I just couldn’t see how we’d get everything done in the hours we had.

I needed to get in and out of the grocery store so we could deliver my son on time.

By the time we pulled in to Aldi, we had an hour to get in, get our groceries, and get home before the birthday boy’s dad was coming to pick up my son. We found everything we needed in a relatively short time, but there were four Amish women, each with a cartload of groceries ahead of us, so the line moved more slowly than I would have liked. A second lane opened with a first-time checker, but since we didn’t have a cart full of groceries, it went smoothly. We bagged everything and as we headed out of the store, I started digging for my keys in my bag.

They weren’t there.

I searched again, hoping I’d just missed them in the clutter.

Still, nothing.

I tried to keep calm as I told the kids I couldn’t find my keys and that we were first going back to the van to check to see if they were in there. If not, we’d backtrack and hope I had dropped them.

Sure enough, they were sitting on the cup holder inside the locked van.

Now was the time for panic.

I couldn’t remember ever having done this before and I wasn’t sure what to do. My husband was at work. He had the other set of keys. We only have one vehicle, so it’s not like he could have run them to us. I texted him first just to let him know of our dilemma. The wind chilled us on the coldest day of the week as we huddled near the van with our grocery cart.

Not knowing what else to do, I started dialing people from our church. I started with people who lived nearby and might be home on a Saturday. No one answered the first two calls, but on the third one, I connected with someone who was home and willing to come to our rescue. I thanked him, and we hunkered down to wait.

My son was worried about making his birthday party so I got on the phone with his friend’s mom and explained our situation and we worked out a solution. I figured our church friend would take us home and my son could be picked up for his party and then my daughter and I would figure out how to get back to the van from there.

This was our plan until our friend showed up. The kids scrambled into the van to warm up and I transferred our groceries. I sat in the passenger seat with a sigh and then it dawned on me: I couldn’t get into the house either. All of my keys were in the van.

So, I asked our friend if he would mind driving us to my husband’s workplace to pick up the extra set of keys and then bring us back to Aldi to get the van. He graciously agreed, and I let my husband know we were on our way.

I wish that was the end of the story.

It is October and we live in Amish country, plus it was a Saturday, so what I’m trying to tell you is that our backroads “rush hour” happens when these factors align. Our trip to my husband’s workplace in the heart of Amish country was slow going. But we got the keys and headed back toward the grocery store.

A few minutes into our return trip, my daughter said, “Mommy, my tummy doesn’t feel so good.” She has a history of motion sickness that we think she’s growing out of, but the car was warm and the traffic was stop-and-go and all she’d had for breakfast hours before were apple slices. I calmly asked our driver friend if he would pull over.

My daughter got out of the car, took some deep breaths of the cool air and let her stomach settle. She was refreshed and thought we could continue our journey. We lowered the temperature in the van.

But a few more miles down the road, her face paled and showed red splotches. She was not going to make it this time. Had we been in our van, I would have handed her the plastic bags we keep for just such an emergency. But we were not in our van. Our van was sitting in the parking lot of a grocery store with the keys inside. So, I did the only thing I could think of that would prevent her from puking all over the inside of our friend’s van (which might have killed me from embarrassment had it happened). I asked her to puke into her sweatshirt that she had taken off.

And she did.

By the time we reached our van, I was ready for the whole day to be over. And hoping this was the low point.

We transferred everything back to our van, thanked our friend again, and headed on our way. We pulled into our driveway just in time to meet the birthday boy’s dad, and in seconds, my son was on his way. My daughter and I regrouped at home, then got on with our day.

Which included a girls-only trip to Panera for lunch. That was already in the works before the keys-locked-in-the-van fiasco, but it was the best decision after a morning that did not go according to any kind of plan.

Surprisingly, that detour was the very thing I needed to calm down about the rest of the day. Our quick trip to the store turned into a two-hour adventure, so there was no possibility of getting everything done. I had to scale back my plans and just do what was necessary.

It was a lesson I didn’t know I needed.

—

The other lesson I didn’t know I needed was the one about kindness. I aim for kindness. Usually. When it suits me. When it doesn’t cost me anything. I can allow someone ahead of me in the grocery line when I’m in no hurry, but if I’m stretched for time, forget it. I might let someone else get a sample at Costco, but only after I’ve calculated whether there will still be enough for me and the kids. Otherwise, I’m no better than those who hover. I don’t want to take someone else’s turn, but I sure don’t want to give up my spot, either.

And I have to wonder how I would have responded if I had been the one called. If someone needed me to come pick them up and take them to get their extra set of keys. I’d love to think I would have said “yes” without hesitation. But I know myself. I know that even if I did say “yes” it would be reluctantly, counting what it would cost me in gas and time and inconvenience.

That, there, is the hard truth: I am consistently kind when it is convenient.

If kindness carries too high a price, I will not automatically say “yes.”

(I should note that it’s not always my job to say “yes” to every need, either, but I say “no” much more than I say “yes,” and that is not okay.)

Kindness that costs me nothing is still of value in a world where everyday kindness is scarce. But kindness that actually costs me in the way of time or energy or gasoline, well, that’s a variety of kindness even rarer in this world, and I saw it twice in one day–once from a stranger and once from a friend.

And this I think is the third lesson: Sometimes it is easier to be kind to strangers and sometimes it is easier to be kind to friends, but on that Saturday, I needed both and was encouraged by both. So, when I feel the urge toward kindness, I need to yield to it.

Because maybe there’s someone having a rough day on the inside but holding it together on the outside and maybe a small act of kindness will be the one bright spot in their day. Or maybe there’s a bigger, more obvious kindness to pass along and it will be a message of hope delivered straight to their heart.

And even if it is neither of those things, can kindness ever be the wrong move?

Have you ever experienced the kindness of strangers? What about friends? How do you respond to being the recipient of kindness? And how do you deliver kindness?