When I was in the fourth grade my granddaddy still took me to school every day in his green ‘51 Ford truck. It is such a precious memory. He had rheumatoid arthritis and was slowly losing his ability to drive, walk, and just do daily chores. I so cherished getting to be with him on those morning rides.

My mom would drop my brother and me off early in the mornings. Usually, the sun wasn’t up. Our grandmother would be in the kitchen making breakfast. She would have grits, eggs, bacon or sausage, homemade biscuits…a feast every morning.

After breakfast, I would have chores. My Dad had cows that had to be watered. Sometimes there would be a calf to feed. It was so sweet to go to the barn with a large bottle of warm milk. The calf would get so excited. They took the bottle so quickly sometimes I thought they would be sick.

Most of the time chores went quickly with no problems. Sometimes, not so much. It was one of those problem mornings I want to share.

Breakfast had been a little later than usual. The water hose must have been frozen because it took forever for the water trough to fill. The calf was a problem. Nothing went smoothly. By the time I got back to the house, it was time to crank up that green truck and head to school.

It was my custom to brush my hair and finish getting ready for school after chores. If I fixed hair before chores, it looked like I had not done anything to be ready. So this day the kerchief Mama and my grandmother made me wear out in the cold and then to school never came off my head. I went to school with the worst case of bed head you ever saw.

When I took my seat in class that morning and began to remove the kerchief, I remembered! I was so ashamed. To my mind, all the other girls came to school perfectly put together. I was sure they didn’t go to the barn or water cows. I just cringed imagining all the insults I would take. I had no comb either. I couldn’t even ask to be excused to go comb that fuzzy head.

The person sitting beside me must have noticed. Because the next thing I knew, he took his comb out of his pocket and just handed it over. He never said a word and neither did I. I combed through that mess of hair and handed the comb back.

It seems like a silly childhood story I guess. But that one small act of kindness rescued me that day. I didn’t feel inferior. My embarrassment was taken away. Maybe I didn’t look too good, but I didn’t look unkempt. It saved my heart from hurt.

Through the years I’ve wondered how many times in our lives we have done something that seemed very insignificant to us but it changed someone else’s world. Maybe these small acts of kindness are the best. They are given spontaneously…without thought…the love of Jesus oozing out of a heart that belongs to Him. Just one small act…meeting a person at their point of need.