The kindness of strangers

Well, that's a bit misleading. They are not strangers, since I have spent many Tuesday afternoons with them over the past few years. Before yesterday, I would have called us good acquaintances, since we have shared bits of our lives as we worked on our projects. We exchanged phone numbers, but I only expected to hear, occasionally, that the group would not be meeting. Five women, united only by an interest in carving wood and the pleasure of each other's company; four who revealed themselves to be the truest of friends.

Recently, by chance, I decided to stop by our meeting place to say hello. I hadn't attended in a few weeks. Hadn't really felt like it, because life dealt me a hand that I hadn't quite expected. A problem with unemployment payments reduced the family bank account to single digits and I've had to figure out how to deal with it and meet my obligations.

Catching them up on my prospects for employment (improving) and the changes I'm making in careers, I mentioned the problem in hopes they might know someone who could help speed up the resolution process. And it felt good to open up my burden to them; they are older and I value their life experiences.

I received support, advice, sympathy and much, much more. We left the building and walked in a group to our cars. I said goodbye and prepared to leave when one pecked on my window. As I lowered it, she pressed a hundred-dollar bill in my hand, saying, "I always carry some mad money with me." I gaped, then protested; she insisted. Before I could say much of anything, she left and two others took her place, also offering money. A fourth invited me to her home, ostensibly to give me a special Easter egg she had made.

All I could do is cry, and promise that I would repay them, when I'm back to work, by passing their kindness and compassion on to others who desperately need it. That's what will stay with me long after the money is gone: how the kindess of strangers creates a family of friends.