One Christmas Eve my husband was on his way home from work. He drove down the street and made the turn to go home. On the side of the road, with his hand raised, and his thumb out, stood an older man drenched to the bone from the heavy rain. My husband stopped, and asked him where he was going. It was about five miles past our home, but he told him to get in. My husband drove past our house and took him home for his Christmas Eve.
It turned out that this poor man was what we now refer to as a "slow learner" and the only job he could get to support him and his elderly mother was at the bakery near where my husband worked. He worked from 5 a.m. until 1:00 in the afternoon. That poor man had been standing there trying to get a ride on Christmas Eve for five hours before my husband picked him up.
Over the years, my husband continued to give him a ride home whenever he saw him. When he passed away, my husband went to the funeral home. Although my husband didn't know the man's family they knew of him. Even his twin sister who lived in the state of Washington knew who my husband was. Everyone thanked him for his kindness to one who had so little.
Submitted by Anonymous
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