The day was cold and gray, the kind of day when even the strongest hearts feel a little weary. On the side of a lonely road, an elderly woman stood helpless by her Mercedes, stranded with a flat tire. For more than an hour, cars sped past without a glance. Fear grew heavier with each passing minute. Would anyone stop? And if they did, could she trust them?
At last, a small, sputtering Pinto pulled up in front of her. Out stepped a man, his clothes worn, his face rough, and his smile thin but genuine. To the lady, he didn’t look safe. He looked poor, hungry, and tired. But when he spoke, his words carried warmth.
“I’m here to help you, ma’am,” he said gently. “Why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm? By the way, my name is Bryan Anderson.”
Her problem was simple—a flat tire. But to her, it might as well have been a mountain. Bryan knelt in the dirt, scraping his hands as he worked the jack, his knuckles bleeding as he tightened the bolts. Still, he pressed on, determined to help a stranger who needed it.
When the job was done, she rolled down the window, relief softening her eyes. She told him she was from St. Louis, just passing through, and couldn’t thank him enough. She reached into her purse, insisting she pay him for his time.
But Bryan shook his head, smiling as he closed the trunk. “Ma’am,” he said, “this isn’t a job. God knows there were plenty of times when people helped me, and I’ll never forget it. If you really want to pay me back, the next time you see someone in need, give them the help they need. And think of me.”
The woman drove off into the twilight, her heart lighter than it had been all day.
A few miles down the road, she stopped at a small, dimly lit café. She ordered a meal, grateful for the warmth inside. Her waitress arrived with a towel to dry her wet hair, her smile soft despite the exhaustion written across her face. The woman noticed the swell of her belly—eight months pregnant—and the ache in her steps. Yet, even with so little, the waitress radiated kindness to strangers.
The lady thought of Bryan.
When she finished eating, she paid with a $100 bill. The waitress hurried to make change, but when she returned, the woman was gone. On the table, under the napkin, she found four more $100 bills. Her hands trembled as she picked up the note scrawled across the paper:
“You don’t owe me anything. I have been there too. Somebody once helped me, the way I’m helping you. If you want to pay me back, here’s what you do: Do not let this chain of love end with you.”
Tears blurred her vision. With a baby due in just weeks, money had been tight. Her husband had worried endlessly about how they would manage. Tonight, she could finally whisper hope into the darkness.
Later, as she slipped into bed, she kissed her husband softly and whispered, “Everything’s going to be all right. I love you, Bryan Anderson.”
The chain of kindness had come full circle.
