Delivering Kindness
Snow fell in soft, quiet whispers the week before Christmas as Emily trudged up the walkway of Pinecrest Lane. Her job as a mail carrier meant long days and cold fingers, especially during the holidays, but she loved the lights, the laughter, and the letters, especially the handwritten ones.
At the end of her route was 47 Pinterest Lane , a little blue cottage with a crooked mailbox. It leaned forward like it was trying to tell her a secret. Every day, without fail, Emily found a card and a note inside.
Please deliver these cards to someone who needs a bit of cheer.
Inside each card was a single line:
You matter more than you know.
Or
You’re doing better than you think.
Or
The world is brighter because you’re in it.
She never saw who lived there, just the handwriting on the letters, steady and hopeful.
On December 23rd, a blizzard rolled in. Emily nearly skipped 47 Pinecrest Lane, but something tugged at her chest. She trudged through the snow, opened the mailbox, and found not a card, but an envelope addressed to her.
Hands shaking from cold and surprise, she opened it.
If you’re reading this, then you’ve delivered every card this season with more kindness than you realize. If you’d like to meet me, knock on the door.
Emily’s breath caught. She looked at the warm glow behind the frosted window. She almost walked away, until a gust of wind carried the smell of peppermint and gingerbread past her, like a nudge.
She knocked.
The door opened to reveal a man about her age, cheeks pink from the cold and eyes as gentle as his handwriting. “I’m Noah,” he said with a shy smile. “I started the cards after losing my mom last year. She believed kindness was a kind of light. And this year you delivered that light.”
Emily felt something warm settle in her chest. A spark. A beginning.
They talked for an hour at the table, then another by the fire. He told her about his mom, how she made this world a better place just by being kind.
Outside, the storm softened, as if giving them time.
Later, as she left, Noah gently tucked a sprig of mistletoe onto the crooked mailbox.
“Just in case you would like to talk more tomorrow,” he said.
And Emily already knew she would.
My God, My Music, My Life 