I passed a set of flashing lights this morning on a mostly empty road. A Sheriff’s truck under overpass with no other car around, wondering what I missed—I looked a little closer.
Against direction of traffic, walking towards, was a teenage boy—pack strung over single shoulder.
From walk I saw him set to jog, front passenger door of the Sheriff’s truck was open. The boy was not in trouble—he was welcomed.
I kept watching in rearview. I saw as he climbed in and door closed by officer behind.
A runaway or in walk from stalled car or wreck somewhere I couldn’t see—it didn’t matter. What mattered was that in whatever the boy was walking from, happening in his life—right then—someone was there and cared.
Everyday, we witness small and common acts of compassion and of care. From witness, I’m writing now before I forget and fail in testimony to the beauty of moments when someone’s there and cares.
