What the Old Woman on Maple Street Taught Me
There’s something sacred about the kind of compassion that isn’t broadcast. The kind that shows up daily. The kind that asks nothing in return.
In our later years, many of us look back and wonder: Did I make a difference?
But maybe the real question is this: Did I choose to see?
Kindness is never wasted.
It’s not measured in applause, recognition, or reward. It’s measured in the quiet impact it leaves behind—in hearts, in memories, in handwritten letters passed on long after we’re gone.
So the next time you walk down your own Maple Street, look around. There might be someone sitting quietly, just waiting to be seen.
And you might be the one who gives them a reason to believe the world still has gentle corners, and people willing to care.
