Recently my wife and I were flying from Vienna to Bucharest. Seated with us was a young woman from Canada whose flight to Toronto the previous day had been canceled. She was being rerouted via Romania, and she had a tight connection.

When we landed, she worked her way through the crowd as quickly as possible and disappeared ahead of us. We passed a door for connecting flights and assumed she went there, but when we got to passport control she was in the non-citizen line about twelve places back. She told us she’d tried to go to her connecting flight but was redirected here. The line was moving glacially and she would never make her new flight. Frustrated, she began to cry, and my wife and I tried to comfort her.

Then, a woman in the line for citizens noticed what was going on and walked over. She intuited what was happening and went to the front of our line. With gestures, she convinced the people at the head of the line to let the young woman and another man in an identical situation to go next.

When the official at passport control heard their story she left her booth and lead them to the area behind it, where she found someone to take them to their plane. Since there was still close to thirty minutes left, I believe they made the flight.

I’m on my way home and decide to stop at a supermarket near my train station to get some cash from the ATM, so I can grab takeaway on the walk home. That is when I realise that I can’t find my purse. I know I had it when I got on the train and realise that I must have left it on the seat while either taking my book out or putting it back in. I start to walk home, intending to call my bank when it get there, since I don’t want to call my bank in the middle of the supermarket car park.

I haven’t walked more than a few meters when my phone rings with an unknown number. It’s the support line for a youth organisation I volunteer with. I immediately start to panic, thinking something bad has happened, and wondering what else could go wrong today. But to my surprise, she asks if I’ve lost my purse, and when I tell her I have she says that someone has found it, found my ID card for the youth organisation in it, and called them. She then used my membership number to find my record and get my mobile number.

She gives me the phone number of the person who found my purse and I thank her. I call the number. The man had been sitting opposite me on the train and seen me leave my purse, but couldn’t get it back to me before the train doors closed. He apologises for going through my purse and cards to find a phone number. I arrange to meet him in one of the main city train stations, and he hands it to me over the ticket barrier. I have my purse back within an hour of realising I’d lost it.

The whole thing really restored my faith in people, not only that someone wouldn’t just automatically keep my purse but also would go to the trouble of finding a way to return it to me directly rather than just hand it into the station. Thanks to that man, and to the woman on our organisation’s phone that night, I’ve put a business card in there now, so at least next time someone can call me directly — I’d like to say that leaving something like this was a one off, but it really wasn’t!

(Three weeks after the sudden loss of my daughter, I decide it’s time to take off the plastic hospital bracelet that matched hers, and have it replaced with an engraved bracelet. I find a store that carries jewelry, keepsakes, photo albums, dishware, awards, meaningful gifts, etc., that can all be engraved or personalized. I find a very nice silver bracelet and take it up to the counter to ask about having it engraved. There are two women, and the older one gestures to the younger one to help me while she’s with another customer. The younger woman comes over to me.)

Woman: *brightly* “Hi. How are you? What can I do for you today?”

Me: “Hi. I was hoping to get this bracelet engraved, and I’m wondering if there’s a character limit here.”

(The young woman turns to her coworker, and the coworker hands her a catalogue inventory book. The woman turns back to me.)

Woman: *flipping through book* “Thank you so much for your patience. Today is my first day. Okay, what did you want to have put on it?”

Me: “[Daughter’s Full Name], and I was wondering if I’d be able to get a couple of dates on the charm?”

(In addition to the main part of the bracelet, there is a small, heart-shaped charm near the clasp.)

Woman: “Of course!” *pulling out an order form and starts writing* “Okay, so, it was [Daughter’s Full Name]. And then on the charm…”

Me: *gives daughter’s birthdate*

Woman: *writing, pause* “You said a couple. Was there another date?”

Me: *deep breath* “Yes. To [date a few months later].”

(The young woman stops. She looks at me. I can feel my eyes starting to water.)

Woman: *quietly* “Was this your baby?”

(I nod, struggling to hold back tears. She steps forward and wraps her arms around me, giving me a warm hug.)

Woman: *stepping back* “My sister lost her baby. It’s been fourteen years; it’s still hard. But you will get through this.”

(I pulled myself together, and we finished placing the order and agreed to pick up in about an hour. When I returned, the young woman recognized me as I walked in and had everything ready by the time I got to the counter. Everything looked absolutely beautiful. It may have been her first day, but I think she will do very well in this particular shop. Her warmth and kindness gives me hope.)

(While riding the Metro — Washington DC’s subway — one day, my dad and I notice two teenage girls with hiking backpacks looking extremely worried as they stare at a map. Between the few words we can hear and the flags on their bags, we realize they must be Danish. Dad, an army officer in uniform, gets up and goes over to talk to them.)

Dad: *in Danish* “Excuse me, but could I help? It looks like you might be lost.”

Girl #1: “Du taler Dansk?!” *You speak Danish?!*

Dad: *in Danish* “Yes. I lived there for two years. Beautiful country!”

(The rest of the conversation continues in their language. They admit that they can’t make sense of the very bad map they have. My dad marks notations to help clarify things — including drawing on the Metro Lines so they can find which ones are closest to their destinations — and helping them locate major tourist attractions and their hostel. They chat about their other planned destinations, as well, and he gives them some advice, as he’s traveled to all of them. And, of course, they talk about Denmark; where they’re from, where he’d lived, things he misses most, etc. As we near their stop, Dad gets out his business card, writes his personal phone number and address on the back, and hands it to them.)

Dad: *in Danish* “Please call me if you have any more trouble. And if I don’t answer my office number–” *flips it to show them the back* “–please call my house. My wife only speaks a little Danish, but she’s home all day.”

Girls: “Thank you!”

Dad: “My pleasure! I do hope you enjoy the rest of your trip, and let me know if you need anything, even if you’ve already left town. I know folks in each of the cities you’re visiting, so don’t worry. You’ll never be far from a rescue if you get turned around again!”

(We didn’t hear from them again while they were on their trip, but several weeks later, a package arrived from Denmark. Inside was my dad’s favorite brand of chocolate — which he’d mentioned missing — and a thank-you note from the girls and their parents. Apparently, randomly running into a military officer who spoke their language the one time they got lost was the highlight of their trip, and their parents were very grateful he’d stepped in to help. My folks still exchange Christmas cards with them, and write notes about little things special to America, while they catch him up on the news from Denmark.)

(I am unemployed for an extended period of time. I end up getting a ticket for lapsed car inspection. The police officer tells me to get the car inspected and the ticket will be reduced to a parking fine. Two hours after this, my car gets repossessed by my car finance company. This is three days before I start my new job. I am not able to get the car inspected, so I go to court to pay the ticket.)

Judge: “So, we can reduce this to a parking fine if you plead guilty. Did you get the car inspected?”

Me: “Unfortunately, the car got repossessed several hours after I got the ticket.”

Judge: “Oh, no! That’s terrible!”

Me: “Well, I have a job now and I’m doing well, so it could be worse. I’m hoping to get the car back on Friday, and then I’ll have it inspected.”

Judge: “I’m so glad to hear you’re doing better. You have enough on your plate, so I’m dismissing this. You have a good day!”

Me: “Thank you so much!”

(I got the car back and it is now inspected. I’m super grateful to the judge, because if I’d had to pay a fine, I wouldn’t have had enough money to recover my car.)