It was just an ordinary day, and I was on my way to the gym, my mind set on the workout ahead. The weather was clear, traffic was light, and I was only a few minutes from merging onto the interstate when something caught my eye — a car pulled over to the side of the road, hood propped open.
I might have driven past, but in that quick glance, I noticed who was inside — an older woman, sitting behind the wheel. Her face carried that unmistakable look of someone both frustrated and defeated, the kind of look you get after you’ve tried everything you know and still come up short.
Something tugged at me. I slowed down, missed my turn onto the interstate, and put the car in reverse to pull back toward her.
I rolled down my window and called out, “Ma’am, you okay?”
Her response was barely more than a whisper, her voice trembling like she was right on the edge of tears. I knew that feeling — the kind where it’s not just about the problem at hand, but about being stuck, alone, and not knowing if anyone will show up to help.
I smiled and decided to break the tension. “Well, duh, obviously you’re not okay,” I said lightly. “Your hood is up and you’re sitting in the middle of the road!”
That did it — she let out a laugh, and for a moment, the heaviness in her expression lifted.
She explained that she had just bought a brand-new battery, but her car had died right at the traffic light. I listened for a bit, then shook my head and said, “Ma’am, it’s your alternator.”
Her eyes widened in surprise. “You must be a country boy!” she said with a chuckle.
I told her to pop the hood, grabbed my jumper cables, and got her car started again. Then I looked her in the eye and said, “Skip the errands today. Go straight home. That alternator’s not going to get you much farther.”
I didn’t just let her drive off — I followed her. Sure enough, halfway to her apartment complex, the car sputtered and died again. We pulled over, and I gave her another jump. Finally, we got her parked safely in front of her building.
She tried to press money into my hand, but I waved it off. She told me how long she’d been sitting there on the road, helpless, trying to call someone — anyone — with no luck. Hearing that made me think about how different the world feels now. Too often, people are in a hurry, their eyes on their phones or their own problems, passing by someone in need without stopping.
I told her, “I grew up in a small city. It’s just second nature for me to stop and make sure you’re okay, or at least wait with you until someone comes.”
Then I introduced myself: “My name’s Maurice.”
She smiled and said, “I’m Fannie.”
I stopped in my tracks for a second and grinned. “Ms. Fannie — that was my grandmother’s name. Maybe she’s reminding me from heaven to be a gentleman today.”
She laughed again, softer this time, and I realized the truth — helping her wasn’t just about getting her car started. It was about reminding someone that kindness still exists, that there are strangers who will stop and help for no reason other than it’s the right thing to do.
In a world that moves fast and feels busy all the time, it’s easy to forget. But sometimes, you just need to take a moment, slow down, and be the blessing someone else is praying for.
