“The Everlasting Power of Kindness,” Nov. 10, 2015

The phone message was brief. Martha, my friend since we were little girls, would have preferred to speak with me personally, but I’m not always easy to reach.

She had called to tell me that her mother _ a woman I adored, who had suffered for years from dementia _ had passed away painlessly and at peace.

The news, if not unexpected, was surprising, as it often is when someone is so full of life you thought they’d live forever, and then they prove you wrong.

When I was 7, my family moved from North Carolina, where I was a short walk from the shelter of my grandparents’ home, to South Carolina, where I knew absolutely no one.

I started second grade in a sea of strangers. Some were poor like my family, others were well off. We looked much the same. But children are quick to figure things out. We all knew what was what and who was who.

One day after school, I missed the bus and started walking home in a pouring rain.
Pretty soon a car pulled over, a window rolled down and an arm beckoned me to climb inside. So I crawled into the back seat sopping wet, shivering like a stray dog hoping for a scrap.

Martha sat in front. I knew her from school. We were in the same grade. She was pretty and popular. I was nobody.

Her mother was driving. She smiled at me in the rearview mirror, and I saw right away where Martha got her looks.

“Bless your heart!” said Mrs. G. “Where do you live?”

I didn’t want them to see the place we had rented, so I asked her to drop me off a short distance away. I thanked her for the ride. Then, for no reason, I blurted out something that still embarrasses me to this day.

“Maybe some time I can come over and see your house?”

She and Martha both rushed to my rescue, assuring me they would welcome my visit.

In years to come, Martha and I progressed from school friends to good friends to dear friends. It was, for me, a gift from God, but her mother had a hand in it.

Somehow Mrs. G always made me feel welcome, not just in her home, but in her heart.
Each time we met _ for a sleepover in her basement, a snowball fight in her backyard or a batch of fresh corn in her kitchen _ she always seemed happy to see me, asked how I was, made me feel important and somehow assured me she had great hopes for my future.

When it’s hard to believe in your own dreams, it helps to know someone believes in them for you. I didn’t know what my future might hold. But I knew I wanted to be the kind of mother, the kind of woman, the kind of person I saw clearly in Mrs. G.

After college, Martha and I lived thousands of miles apart, but managed to stay in touch. On every visit to my hometown, I’d always call her mother.

“Got any fresh corn?” I’d say.

Mrs. G would laugh. “We’ll find some! Come on over!”

On our last visit at her new home in an extended care facility, Mrs. G gave me a stack of “inspirational articles” that she’d been saving for me.

“Writers need inspiration,” she said. “I thought these might be inspiring for you.”

I thanked her for the stack of clippings. Then I looked in her eyes and told her that she and all the kindness she had shown me had been far more inspiring than anything I could read.

I’m not sure she heard me. She smiled, then her mind seemed to fill with misty thoughts of other places, other years.

That was the last time I saw her. But I will remember her best as she looked long ago on a cold rainy day, smiling back at me in the rearview mirror.

If you think you can’t make a difference in a child’s life, think again. Children don’t remember all that we try to teach them. But they never forget a kindness.

Kindness begets kindness. It changes everything. Even you and me and the world.


  1. Beautiful. Thank you for expressing my thoughts perfectly. Your last sentence sums it all up beautifully. “Kindness begets kindness. It changes everything. Even you and me and the world.”

  2. Ginette Carrier says

    Oh what a beautiful story! It brought me to tears while it also lit up a smile .
    What a sweet eulogy to a woman with a kind heart. It’s a great reminder to every reader about the powerful impact of kindness. And it has to start with children.
    What a gift she gave you !

  3. Margaret chamblee says

    Sharon , thank you for the reminder of how each if us as Mother’s should extend our love to all children. I remember a very similar experience on my childhood as well. I still remember “that Mom” as well. You always make me smile and frequently make me cry, but always because you trigger a wonderful memory or remind me of an important life lesson. God bless you and yours!

  4. I’m so sorry to hear about the passing of your friend. So often I think people don’t see the profound impact their kindness has on another person, but I’m glad Mrs. G knew what a difference she made in your life. Your story was very touching and brought back memories of my own childhood and a few nice people I met along the way.

  5. Sarah Christopher says

    I am so sorry to hear of the loss of Mrs. G. She was indeed a very special lady with a sparkle that she shared with everyone. So glad you wrote about her. We were lucky to live where we lived and when we lived and to have a safe and fun childhood. Good times live forever in our memories! We were very blessed.

  6. Sharon,
    Somehow I feel sure there are dozens of children who feel exactly this way about you. I never met this caring lady but the love that you put into this tribute makes me feel as if I did. Thank you.

  7. Judith Tinsley Jacobs says

    What a beautiful story about such a lovely lady. She touched so many of us!

  8. AMEN!!! Enough said!

  9. What lovely memories Sharon! Mrs G knew what we all have come to know…the special person Sharon Randall is in the lives of those of us who have the privilege to know her. Thank you for all the wonderful memories!

  10. Carolyn Gibson says

    Aunt Ozelle was a special lady! She always had a smile on her face and love in her heart. Thank you for the sweet tribute!

  11. Lee G. Morgan says

    Sharon thank you for such a nice tribute to Aunt Ozelle. She is missed.

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