Even when no one is watching. . .
The other day, I was riding a bus through city traffic when a man on the sidewalk waved his arm to flag down the driver. This man had his hands full with a baby bassinet and a bag. When the driver stopped to opened the door, the man asked if he could bring the bassinet on board, and the driver agreed.
For the next couple minutes, as the bus stood at the curb idling on a major street during rush hour, the man tried desperately to break down the bassinet while juggling a fussing baby along with that the bag. Only able to manage two out of the three at a time, he became increasingly exasperated.
Then the driver called out, “Let me have her.” The man walked onto the bus and handed the baby over to him before going back and working with the bassinet again. In the arms of the driver, the baby began to frown and cry. “He’ll be right back,” the driver said to her. “He’s right there. He’s coming back.”
When the man finally got the bassinet onto the bus, the driver told him he could put it on the first row of seats along with his own personal stuff. The man dropped it off and went back out to grab the bag, and as he did, a woman came up from the back of the bus to shift the bassinet to the seat across the aisle so the man could have more space to sit. When the man finally corralled the bag onto the bus, the driver handed the baby over to him, and we took off — the man finally having the chance to rest.
As I watched this unfold, I found myself touched by the driver’s willingness to sit at the curb for several long minutes at rush hour, prioritizing this one struggling person over all the other drivers; his willingness to share his personal space with a stranger; his offer to hold the baby, and his attempts to reassure her; and the woman’s coming up to move the bassinet for the man’s comfort. From all this, I found myself moved to help, too, and was disappointed when I realized that reaching over to slide the bassinet did no good because it was already far enough in. I would be denied the joy of helping that the other two felt.
And that weary man, probably just trying to get his child home: How appreciative must he have been for these strangers’ actions? Moreover — something that particularly struck me — how did he have the trust to place such a precious being in the arms of someone totally unknown to him?
You’ve probably heard some variation of C. S. Lewis’ musing, “Integrity involves doing the right thing, even when no one is watching.” After experiencing so many such small, unheralded acts of kindness on my bike ride across America while “no one was watching,” I continue to look out for them today — and I continue to find them. They move me all the more because I know the people doing them never expect anything in return; they just want the satisfaction of helping.
What about you? What’s a seemingly insignificant act of kindness you’ve witnessed that had a disproportionate impact on you? Share it with me, and the world, on my Facebook page so that we can get inspired from your stories, too.
