In my mind’s eye, there’s a room full of beautifully wrapped boxes. Inside each box is one reason I believe in miracles. This week, the week before Christmas Day, I’m unwrapping one box at a time. The reasons so far have been: presence and innocence.

In a gas station buzzing with people, a woman stands in front of the refrigerators staring at an entire menu of choices. It’s been a day of nonstop activity, and a million decisions. The faded blue Atlanta Braves shirt she wears might have been a small mutiny against the pressure she’s been under: it might not be the most stylish piece of clothing, but it’s comfortable.  She occasionally finds herself stuck for a few moments, paralyzed by choices. Sometimes the responsibility of making one more decision, particularly a small, meaningless one, arrests her. Without warning, she stares at all the choices, and thinks, “I don’t know what I want to drink ” and, for a few moments, indecision grips her. She’s heard the phrase “lost time”, but she only understands it when moments like these happen, and the world around her simply vanishes.

The door chimes; a man walks past the Snickers and bags of chip to the row of refrigerators at the back of the store. For everyone else, it’s a random day. The birds sang when he awoke; today is the start of something big; today is the start of the next chapter in his life. After fueling up, and grabbing a snack and a drink, a long drive to Georgia stretches ahead. Anticipation hums through him; at the end of that drive lies the fulfillment of years’ of dreaming. With the adoption finalized, they could pick up their new baby girl.

The woman stands for a few moments in front of the glass door; indecision clouds her face. A slight shift in the man’s movements catches her eye, and she snaps out of it. Flustered, she opens the fridge door, grabs a juice, and apologizes, dropping her eyes, and trying to hurry out of his way. He smiles. “No hurry at all. That’s a good choice,” nodding towards the watermelon juice she holds. She blinks, “Oh — it is? Oh, I – I – thank you.” Her Atlanta Braves shirt brings back memories: memories of watching the baseball team as a boy and cheering them on through good and bad seasons, and the memory that that’s where he’s headed now, on the biggest day of his life.

He checks out first, notices the woman in the blue shirt coming behind him, so he slows down a few seconds, and holds the door open for her. She smiles, says, “Thank you again.” He winks, returns her smile. ”Have a good day, Atlanta.” Something flashes in her eyes, a spark that maybe wasn’t there five minutes ago; an idea forms in his head as he says it. He doesn’t know it, but she’ll remember his optimism and kindness for a long time. He’ll relay the coincidence of seeing someone in an Atlanta Braves shirt to his wife as they drive two hundred and fifty miles to pick up a baby girl they’ll name “Atlanta.”

The story above is based in truth: I was the woman; the man was real. I don’t know why he was so happy, or why he took a few extra seconds to be so kind. I don’t know why the faded, old t-shirt was something he commented on. What I do know is that that brief interaction caused a seismic shift that day: he could have easily made me feel rushed, or belittled for standing too long in front of drinks. Instead, I left feeling uplifted and encouraged. A homeless man named Joey reminded me that there are others far worse off than me who are still happy. A stranger held a door open to a restaurant for me when I was about thirteen; his random, small act of courtesy told me kindness still existed. It breathed much-needed hope into me when I didn’t know where to look for it. Another time, also at a gas station, a stranger knocked on my window as I was preparing to leave. Did you fill up? he asked, glancing at my meters. No, no, I only got about a half tank for now. He nodded. So, let’s fill her up. Readers have messaged me: they are complete strangers to me, but they tell me things like reading your book was like reading my life. The ironic part is that they think I helped them when they are the ones who have made me believe things like I was never crazy; others do understand. Life-transforming stuff. From strangers.

Strangers nurture my belief in miracles because they have been proof in my life that kindness is still real. Evil screams, but kindness changes lives. That day at the gas station when I felt overwhelmed and incapable of making a single decision about what I wanted seems small in the grand scheme of things. The day the man held the door open to a restaurant for me seems smaller still. But they weren’t because they gave me a reason, when I was feeling small, to trust that things would get better. They gave me a tangible reason to believe in people again. Being fed those tiny crumbs of hope encouraged me to actively seek out the whispers of kindness, and when I embarked on that journey to keep tabs, I discovered that kindness really does overpower evil. Every encounter I have creates a domino effect: what I say, what I do, will leave someone else with some sort of emotion. Whatever that emotion is, they’ll carry it into their next encounter. We are all so fragile; if a random, “meaningless” conversation at the gas station can be the catalyst to shift a discouraged spirit into an encouraged one, or accelerate an opposite effect, then may I remain cognizant of my every action and word. 

Christmas is fast approaching. While it brings me immense joy, I know it is the most challenging season for others. Joey, that homeless stranger, said he couldn’t tell others his name because “when they see a homeless person, I want them to see my face.” The passion he carried for the plight of the homeless reminds me of the passion I have for children and survivors of abuse. When others see me this season, may they see a joyful spirit, hear an encouraging word, and feel the spark of change strangers can ignite.