My 5-year-old son, Josiah, and I were sitting at Waffle House when he spotted a man outside.
The man appeared fatigued, his clothing was ancient, and he carried all of his stuff in a little, worn-out bag.
“Mom,” Josiah said quietly, softly pulling my sleeve. “Who is that?”
I looked over and said, “I think he might not have a home, sweetheart.”
Before I could stop him, he sprang up and raced to the man, waving for him to come inside like they were long-time friends.
“You don’t have a home? You can eat with us!” he said with a big smile.
The man paused, looking at his worn-out shoes. The entire restaurant fell silent. I could sense everyone looking, waiting to see what would happen.
I smiled and nodded. “Please, let us buy you a meal.”
When the waitress arrived, she asked what he wanted. Before he could respond, Josiah excitedly exclaimed, “Get him the biggest burger we have!”
But what happened next moved my heart.
Before the man could take a bite, Josiah interrupted him. “Wait! We have to pray.” And there, in the center of Waffle House, my young kid lowered his head and prayed.
Eleven people in the restaurant, including the man, were in tears. The waitress cleaned her face while a truck driver in the corner smiled and shook his head. The man looked at Josiah as if no one had ever seen him before.
Watching my son impact so many people’s hearts that night was one of my finest moments as a parent.
Kindness does not require money. It does not require fancy language.
Sometimes, all it takes is a five-year-old with a huge heart.
But it was not the end.
As we sat there, Josiah speaking with the man as if they’d been friends forever, something incredible happened. Other customers at the restaurant began paying for their meals and left extra money with the cashier.
“For anyone else who might need it,” an elderly woman remarked, placing a twenty on the counter. The truck driver from earlier added some bills of his own.
“Make sure he has enough for breakfast tomorrow,” he told the waitress.
The waitress appeared overwhelmed and shook her head in amazement. “I’ve worked here for twelve years,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
The man gulped, and his eyes shone. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he said, his voice full of emotion.
“Ma’am,” he said quietly. “I used to have a little boy. He would be about his age now. I haven’t seen him in years.” He paused, his voice thick with regret. “I made a lot of mistakes. But this kindness your boy showed me tonight—it gives me hope. Maybe it’s not too late to try and make things right.”
As we prepared to depart, Josiah did something that made me—and everyone else—feel upset all over again.
He took off his small red hoodie, which he insisted on wearing regardless of the weather, and offered it to the man.
“So you won’t be cold,” he said simply.
The man took it and held it to his chest as if it were the most treasured thing in the world.
And perhaps, just maybe, my young boy’s modest act of compassion had sparked something bigger than any of us could have predicted.
That night, we left with full hearts. As I snuggled Josiah into bed, I embraced him tightly.
I kissed his forehead. “You did something wonderful, sweetheart.”
He smiled, his eyelids closing. “Good. I want to do it again tomorrow.”
At that moment, I realized that compassion isn’t something we do once. Every day, we make this choice.
