Last year, while cleaning out my daughter’s closet, I gathered a bundle of gently worn clothes—perfect for a little girl around two or three. I decided to offer them to anyone who might need them.
Not long after I posted, a message came through from a woman going through a difficult time. Her words were simple, honest: her daughter had very few clothes, and she wondered if I’d be willing to send what I had by mail.
At first, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure if I should respond at all. But there was something in her message—a quiet vulnerability—that made me pause.
I thought about how hard it can be to ask for help, especially when you’re at your lowest. So I packed up the clothes, paid for postage myself, and sent them off with no expectation of hearing back.
Weeks passed. Then months. I’d nearly forgotten about it entirely.
A tiny part of me wondered if I’d been misled. But I reminded myself: even if I’d been, the clothes still may have brought comfort to someone who needed them.
