Life has a way of placing people in our path at the exact moment we need them — sometimes for their sake, sometimes for ours.

It was just an ordinary evening. I had finished handling some personal business and decided to stop by Stater Brothers to grab a few groceries for the next day’s lunch. It was one of those routine errands, the kind you don’t think twice about. I walked in, filled my basket, checked out, and pushed my way through the sliding doors. The warm California air hit me as I stepped back into the night.

That’s when I saw him.

An older man, sitting quietly in his wheelchair, bags at his side. His long white beard was striking, almost Santa-like, and his plaid shirt hung loosely against his thin frame. There was a heaviness in his movements, the kind that speaks of years of carrying burdens most people never see. I noticed he was struggling to manage his things — simple groceries, but clearly a challenge for him to handle alone.

Without thinking twice, I walked over and asked, “Hey, do you need a hand getting your stuff to your car?”

He looked up at me with tired but kind eyes and gave a small smile. “I’m not waiting on a car,” he said. “I called for a taxi.”

That’s when he introduced himself. “My name’s Joe.” His voice was soft but steady, the kind of voice that holds a thousand stories behind it.

As we spoke, I noticed something about him that immediately humbled me — Joe was an amputee. He shared this without complaint, almost as a simple fact of life. He didn’t wear his challenges like a badge of pity; he wore them with quiet dignity.

Something stirred in me in that moment. I thought of the long wait he’d have, sitting there alone for a taxi, groceries by his side. And before I even knew the words were coming, I said, “Joe, why don’t you call the taxi company back and tell them you’ve already got a ride?”

His eyes widened, surprised. I could see the weight of independence and hesitation in him, but also relief. After a moment, he nodded. “You’d really do that?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Hop in. Let’s get you home.”

The drive was short — no more than four miles. But in those few miles, something unforgettable unfolded.

As we drove through the quiet streets, Joe began to open up. He told me bits about his life, about the challenges he’d faced, about how he managed day to day. He didn’t complain, didn’t dwell on what he had lost. Instead, he spoke with gratitude for what he still had.

What struck me most wasn’t his words, but the way he carried himself. Here was a man who had every reason to feel defeated, and yet he radiated a quiet strength. His appreciation for a simple ride was so genuine, so deep, that it touched me more than I can explain. By the time we pulled up to his home, I realized this wasn’t just about helping Joe — this was about Joe reminding me of something I had forgotten.

As he gathered his groceries and thanked me again and again, his voice cracked just slightly with emotion. His gratitude was more than polite manners; it was raw, real, and deeply human. I squeezed his hand and told him it was no problem at all.

But as I drove away, my chest felt heavy — heavy with the weight of perspective.

How often do we go about our lives counting the things we don’t have? The bills, the stress, the aches, the disappointments. We carry our struggles like chains, forgetting that for every chain, there is also a blessing. Joe reminded me of that.

Here was a man who had lost a limb, who had lost mobility, who sat outside a grocery store waiting for a taxi because he didn’t have the simple freedom of a car. And yet, when given just a small kindness — a ride home — he lit up with gratitude as though I had given him the world.

It made me think of my own life — my health, my ability to walk, the family waiting for me at home. How often do I stop to count those blessings? How often do I let gratitude outweigh complaint?

Joe taught me a lesson that night without even trying: Don’t count your struggles. Count your blessings. Because no matter how heavy life feels, it could always be worse. And if we focus on the good we still have, we realize we’re richer than we think.

I share this story not for praise, but because I believe these encounters are meant to be passed on. They’re reminders that kindness doesn’t need to be complicated. Sometimes it’s as simple as offering a ride, holding open a door, or sharing a smile. To Joe, my act may have seemed big. But to me, it was small — and yet it gave back to me something priceless.

That’s why I say to you tonight: love others. Be kind. Hug your family. Tell them you love them. None of us know how many more chances we’ll get.

And if you find yourself sitting with someone like Joe, take the time to listen. Help if you can. Because in those moments, you might just discover that the blessing isn’t only what you give — it’s what you receive in return.

God bless that man. May he always know that his quiet strength and gratitude touched a stranger’s heart forever. And may we all strive to be the reason someone else remembers the goodness that still exists in this world.