One Christmas Eve, my seventeen-year-old son called me from the bakery where he worked part-time. He was on the evening shift with a couple of co-workers, and the store was about to dose. The person from a local charity who was scheduled to pick up the leftover bread and cakes hadn't shown up. He was worried about what to do with the food, so I suggested he call the manager to ask for advice. The manager told him to throw the leftovers into the garbage—approximately $1,500 worth of fresh baked goods.
It seemed completely wrong for all this good food to go to waste, so we talked about where we could take it. A new homeless shelter had just opened in our area, so I called and asked if they could use a delivery of free baked goods.
An excited staff member said, "Yes, please!" I drove to the bakery and, together with my son and his co-workers, we loaded up the truck and made our way to the homeless shelter. As we walked toward the entrance, a woman stopped and held open the door for us. Thinking we were staff, she thanked us for what we were doing and said she was really grateful for her new temporary home. She introduced herself and told us her street friends call her "Star". We chatted for a while on the sidewalk with light snow falling around us. She said that moving off the streets into the shelter had saved her life.
Star told us she spent her days looking out for those who needed help and trying to do kind things for others whenever she could. Then she asked for a favor. She showed us a phone number. She'd wanted to tell her friend she was okay so he wouldn't worry, but she couldn't afford the long-distance call. I said I would be happy to pass on her message. She wrote his name on a card. Then she hugged us both, and we wished each other a merry Christmas.
注意：
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On Christmas morning, I called the number on the card. A man answered the phone.
A few months later, I was driving when I saw Star standing in the middle of the crosswalk.
