Last week I had the opportunity to substitute teach a classroom full of 1^st graders at a local Christian school. My wife said I was crazy for taking this on—a “glutton for punishment.” She’s not wrong. Signing up to teach and corral 19 six and seven-year-olds on their first full week of school is fraught with danger. It’s eight hours of non-stop instructing, correcting, and keeping your head on a swivel. At the end of each day, I wanted to lie in a fetal position on the floor of my bedroom closet and not talk to anyone or answer any questions. By Friday afternoon, my appreciation for full-time teachers was at an all-time high. They are underpaid and underappreciated.

Still, it was an amazing week. In Matthew 18:3, Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” High stakes—He’s got my attention. But what does He mean by that? His charge, on the surface, sounds counter-intuitive. Shouldn’t 1^st graders strive to become more like you and me? Perhaps in some ways. But this week reminded me of how much I can learn from a 1^stgrader…

1^st Graders are dependent on others and know it. These young people are at the mercy of their parents, teachers, and others to provide for them and sustain them. For 450 minutes each day last week, they humbly came to me for help tying shoes, opening milk cartons, microwaving chicken nuggets, making capital letters, and a hundred other tasks. They trusted me to do the right thing and help them solve each challenge. Similarly, God wants us to totally rely on Him. Too often, I strive for self-sufficiency. I pat myself on the back for some achievement, forgetting that every talent and ability I have comes from God. Apart from Jesus—the vine—I am nothing. (John 15:5) I need to empty myself, trust God, and humbly ask Him to fill me and sustain me. Without Him, I’m left with untied shoes and unopened milk cartons.

1^st Graders are vulnerable and transparent. On Monday morning, the second day of school, I asked the students to complete a “First Day Feelings with Chester” chart. One by one, they indicated whether, on day one, they were mostly “Excited,” “Happy,” “Sad,” or “Scared.” Eleven of the 19 students, over half the class, admitted to being either “Sad” or “Scared.” Several commented that they missed their parents or were nervous about what to expect on the first day of a new school year. I appreciated their honesty and vulnerability. Too often, when someone asks how we’re doing, we say, “Fine,” even when things are not fine. We put on our happy faces, especially in church settings, and rarely ask for prayers or help. Here’s the problem: I can’t bear your burden (Galatians 6:2) if I don’t know what burdens you, and you can’t do the same for me. Whenever things are not “fine,” a 1^st grader will let you know. Let’s learn from them and get the prayers and support we need.

1^st Graders are loving. Oh, sure, there were moments of unkindness—not sharing or not including someone in a game at recess. But there were far more moments of kindness. As they lined up in the hallway waiting for their turn at the restroom on Tuesday, one young lady informed me that her friend was sad. Sure enough, there was another young lady in line with her head down, crying. I hadn’t noticed her but her friend had. She trusted me to investigate and do something to remedy the situation, which I did. Do we notice hurting friends? Do we do something to help them or involve someone who can? Do we pray for them? Becoming like a child involves having the sweet, caring heart of a child. 

1^st Graders are curious and eager to learn. I love the joy on a child’s face when they work hard and finally figure something out. These young people watched and listened intently as I illustrated on the smartboard how prayer is us talking to God and reading the Bible is God talking to us. Later, one girl proudly and correctly used the word “cooperation” in a sentence—a word we had learned that morning. As I asked them questions after each page of a picture book I read to them, every hand went up. Without prompting, most of them thought to grab their little Bibles before going to chapel. Throughout the week, they listened, learned, and wanted me to know that they had learned. Do we have that same attitude toward Bible study? Do we hunger and thirst for righteousness? (Matthew 5:6) Or, in the realm of religion, are we content that we already know all that we need to know? I need a 1^st grader’s eagerness to never stop learning, especially about God.

1^st Graders are quick to rejoice and quick to forgive. We had a lot of fun last week. I’m finding I often relate more to children than adults—I don’t know what that says about me! I taught these children a class chant. Whenever I said, “Booga, booga, booga!” they said, “Ah, ah, ahhhh!” (I learned that at Air Force basic training.) I let them rename me for a day, and they chose “Mr. Chicken Head”—which caused more than a little confusion when one parent asked her child who taught them that day. At recess, I sat in the grass with a dozen girls and told them fanciful stories that I made up on the fly. They giggled when I informed them that Elf on the Shelf, during the off-season, lives in the pipes under the bathroom. I told them about Santa getting stuck in the chimney on Christmas Eve at “Molly’s” house, but Molly couldn’t hear him because she was snoring. Molly raised her hand and informed me that it couldn’t have been her because she had surgery to remove her adenoids. I stand corrected. We took a hike around the campus, turned over rocks, and chased butterflies. With each discovery and each story, the children laughed. They were full of joy. And when a classmate said or did something unkind to them, they were quick to forgive and move on as if nothing had happened. Do we rejoice in the Lord always? (Philippians 4:4) Do we still marvel at the amazing things in God’s creation? (Psalm 19:1) Do we forgive one another, as the Lord has forgiven us? (Colossians 3:13) I’ve got some work to do. 

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”

I get it now.

My friend Tee Bolen is no stranger to poverty. His mom passed away when he was two, at which point his dad moved away to Columbia, SC, and his three siblings and a half-sister were farmed out to various families. Three ended up in orphanages. His grandmother insisted young Tee live with her, and for the next 17 years, they moved at least 17 times. 

“We had no income. We would be evicted from one place and move to another, sometimes back into an earlier place. We were destitute. Everything was a struggle. I remember waking up in the morning and seeing exposed ground through the gaps in the floorboards. We didn’t have anything—only each other. We survived by picking cotton in the cotton fields. I couldn’t provide for us until I turned 12 and got a job in a shoe repair shop. Steve, I know what being dirt poor is like. I’ve been there.”

Now grown and in the final quarter of his life, Tee’s been blessed with a Christian family, Christian friends, and a comfortable standard of living. Driven by his childhood memories, a love for God, and compassion for his fellow man, he is determined to “pay it forward.” He wants to lessen the burden of others in need. For the second consecutive year, Tee and his wife Mary paid for a home to be built for a poverty-stricken person or family in Honduras. When I start to shower praise on Tee for his generosity, he cuts me off.

“Listen, this isn’t about me. This isn’t even my money. This is God’s money. He’s entrusted it to me for a short while, and I think He’s curious what I’m going to do with it. Well, let me tell you what I’m not going to do—keep it all to myself and build bigger barns. Not when there are people around me in need.” 

A desire to “pay it forward” isn’t Tee’s only motivation for donating a home. His friend, Jewel Clifton, is nearing the end of a long battle with cancer.

Two months ago, Tee told me, “Jewel is a dear Sister in Christ. She’s frail and will be getting her heavenly reward soon. I want this house to be built in her honor. As she prepares to move into the room Jesus has prepared for her, someone she’ll never meet will move into an earthly home in Honduras. I doubt Jewel will live long enough to see the home built this summer in her honor, but she’ll know it is coming. I hope that brings her comfort.”

When I informed Dalton Hines, our full-time missionary on the ground in Honduras, of Tee’s donation and Jewel’s situation, his response was immediate. Rather than wait for the summer rotation of mission teams to build the house, Dalton and his local construction crew would complete the project within two weeks. Even better, they would use the project to create a house-building instructional video for future TORCH mission teams to use.

Dalton wasn’t done yet—his brain never rests. He’s as attuned to the needs of others as anyone I’ve ever met. He’s also extremely capable and resourceful—Central America’s MacGyver. On any given day, you’ll find him vetting future homeowners, stocking a tilapia farm, installing a water filtration system for a poor community, or mentoring his young students to build like carpenters and live like Christ.

Dalton suggested his team build the Tee Bolen-donated home for Israel, a 29-year-old Honduran. Although TORCH Missions typically builds homes for families, not older single guys, Israel’s situation is unique. His parents abandoned him as a boy and he is, for the most part, uneducated and borderline special needs. For many years, he bounced around, seemingly unloved. He was homeless—a classic poor beggar, struggling to survive.  

When Israel was 8 years old, he became friends with Christian, whose family agreed to take him in. That was his first big break. Later, as an adult, Israel was allowed to stay in a room on the family compound. Still struggling on many levels, he paid a modest amount for rent but was unable to fully provide for himself or get ahead. Christian’s family continued attending to Israel’s physical and emotional needs with love and acceptance. They are, to him, the eyes, hands, and feet of Jesus. They are the only real family he’s ever had. Their son Christian eventually went to work for Dalton, which would turn out to be Israel’s second big break.

While Dalton and his expert construction crew can build a home for someone in about four hours (three if they’ve had coffee), they took their time on Israel’s new house. The construction lasted several days, with Dalton narrating each phase of construction to the camera for the benefit of future TORCH teams. Over the course of several nights, Israel slept on the building materials to prevent theft. Having been homeless for so many years, he was comfortable being alone, staring into the night sky. I can only imagine what went through his head as the prospect of becoming a homeowner began to take shape.

That brings me back to Tee Bolen, who has never met Israel, Dalton, or Christian and his family. He probably never will, this side of Heaven. He may never make it to Honduras to see Israel’s now-completed home in person. Pictures will have to suffice. But Tee trusts God. He knows that God can do more with his money than he could ever think or imagine. And that makes Tee more than just a friend to me—he’s a role model and a hero.

Friends, we serve an awesome God!

God heard the cries of a homeless, hungry 8-year-old Honduran boy and led him to a loving family.

God touched the heart of an older American man, once poor himself, and led him to make a generous donation.

God gave an American missionary the wisdom and heart to join the various pieces of this puzzle together into a beautiful masterpiece. 

As a result, tonight Israel will fall asleep in his very own home. As he looks down on the wooden floor, there will be no gaps or exposed ground. I picture him smiling.

And sometime soon, Tee’s friend Jewel will get a new body and a new, permanent home—with Jesus by her side. I suspect she’ll be smiling too.

“Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.”    – Matthew 18:3

I had a play date with my friend, Ham, recently. Every few months, we hang out to watch dinosaur videos on YouTube, launch ping pong balls at each other in the basement, and debate how long Godzilla would last against T-Rex. Our outings give his home-schooling mom a respite and sharpen me in my new grandfather role. I’m told Ham approaches his “Tio Steve” time with great anticipation.

His mom, Erika, dropped him off at Mr. Gatti’s Pizza, handed me his car seat, and wished me luck. Our itinerary included a pizza buffet, a one-hour journey to Gatlinburg (listening to dinosaur noises on YouTube along the way), and a couple of hours at a 30,000-square-foot arcade! At 1:00 p.m., though, my immediate need was food, and a plate with seven pieces of pizza atop a bed of salad awaited me.

I’ve prayed before most of the few dozen meals I’ve eaten at Mr. Gatti’s through the years. With a ravenous appetite and the scent of pizza engulfing my bowed head, my “Mr. Gatti’s prayers” are succinct—usually under seven seconds. But on this day, Ham offered to bless our food.

My buddy Ham’s prayers are neither succinct nor trite. This one lasted three minutes. He thanked God for the food which, frankly, met the minimum requirement for a Mr. Gatti’s prayer. He then asked God to “help all the people in this restaurant to come to know Jesus.” As I contemplated that utterance, he added, “And God, please be with that man sitting over there who is having trouble breathing. He’s on a machine.” As Ham continued, I opened my right eye. Sure enough, across from us near the salad bar, an elderly man ate pizza and breathed machine-supplied oxygen through his nose.

I hadn’t noticed the elderly man or any of Mr. Gatti’s patrons. They were just a generic conglomeration of humanity—a mass of strangers having lunch. So focused on the feast awaiting me, I didn’t contemplate their relationship with Jesus or the condition of their souls. I paid them no mind. 

Ham, a 7-year-old, not only noticed the diners collectively and individually but prayed for them. The note from the margin reads: Watch the children around you. You might just learn from them.

“Now when Job’s three friends heard of all this evil that had come upon him, they came each from his own place, Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite. They made an appointment together to come to show him sympathy and comfort him. And when they saw him from a distance, they did not recognize him. And they raised their voices and wept, and they tore their robes and sprinkled dust on their heads toward heaven. And they sat with him on the ground seven days and seven nights, and no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his suffering was very great.”  – Job 2:11-13                                                                             

Job’s friends should have stopped there. They rightly traveled to him to show sympathy and comfort in his time of need. For seven days and nights, they were content to be present with him in silence. What they didn’t realize was that their presence was enough. In subsequent chapters, we find them talking foolishly—misadvising, misunderstanding the meaning behind his suffering, and not being all that helpful. They should have kept quiet.

Mere presence is underrated. When it comes to the suffering of a friend, family member, or even a stranger, we want to do something about it. I like the way author Debbie Hall puts it: “Presence is a noun, not a verb; it is a state of being, not doing. States of being are not highly valued in a culture that places a high priority on doing. Yet, true presence or ‘being with’ another person carries with it a silent power—to bear witness to a passage, to help carry an emotional burden, or to begin a healing process. In it, there is an intimate connection with another that is perhaps too seldom felt in a society that strives for ever-faster ‘connectivity.’” 

The silent power of just being with someone—have you felt that? You don’t try to explain the meaning behind their tragedy. You don’t offer a 5-point plan for them to move beyond their grief. You don’t tell them how their miscarriage, divorce, or illness is just like something you experienced years ago. You just sit there. You listen. You let them grieve. Maybe you offer a hug or a shoulder to cry on. You’re present.

Allow me to apply the principle to funerals. Write this down: Always go to the funeral. Always. I say that as someone who dislikes funerals to my core. In my ideal world, the only funeral I would attend would be my own. I don’t like community mourning—I’d prefer to grieve alone in the corner of my closet. I don’t know what to say to the next-of-kin, especially when the deceased was not a person of faith. It’s awkward at best… and sad. The two hours of sobbing remembrances for someone I hardly knew are tedious. I don’t even like putting on a coat and tie. Still, whenever possible, I go to the funeral.

Why? Because it’s not about me! To become more like Jesus, I need to act more like Him and less like myself. I need to follow His Word rather than my instincts. Regardless of inconvenience, I need to carry the burdens of others (See Galatians 6:2).

As writer and poet Deirdre Sullivan puts it, “Do the right thing even when you don’t feel like it. Make the small gesture, even if you don’t have to and definitely don’t want to. I’m talking about things that represent only inconvenience to me, but the world to the other guy. You know, the painfully underattended birthday party, etc. In my humdrum life, the daily battle hasn’t been good versus evil. It’s hardly so epic. Most days, my real battle is doing good versus doing nothing.” 

I think she’s on to something. It’s unlikely I will wake up tomorrow with an insatiable desire to rob a bank, lie to my spouse, or murder someone. Oh, I’ll be tempted by things, for sure. And I’ll sin, but you probably won’t hear about it. It won’t make the news. Most of the time, my evil ways are discreet. But, like Sullivan, my greater battle—my bigger temptation—is apathy. I see a need and don’t meet it. I have an opportunity to serve or encourage or get involved and I don’t take it. Too often, I’m unwilling to even be… present.

When a friend is in crisis, should you go? Should you intrude on a loved one’s personal phase of grief? Unless specifically told otherwise (and maybe even then), go! Just go. Just be there. Go to the funeral. Go to the bedside. Go to the disaster zone. Whenever possible—wherever there are hurting, grieving people—be there. If torn on whether to go, go. Don’t hesitate to be with someone in need, even if there’s nothing you can “do” for them. Err on the side of being there. 

John 3:30 states, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”                      

For Jesus to increase, I must decrease. 

I must also be present.

So, I’ll say it again: Go to the funeral. 

During our Saturday morning devotional, I told our assembled disaster response team, “Do not elevate projects over people. We’re here to serve and connect with human beings—to show them the love of Christ, to offer encouragement and hope. Although we’re cutting up a lot of trees this week, we’re not in the tree business. We’re in the people business. Downed trees are the means to the end. So, let’s focus on people.”

For once, I took my own advice. The person I would try to encourage today and, as it turns out, be encouraged by, was Stephanie Peterson of Valdosta’s Blossom Bee Removal. This amazing elementary school Ag teacher, mother, and bee expert agreed to extract a beehive from the hollow of a downed tree that our team had pulled from a roof at Georgia Christian School. Her willingness to help came with a caveat: “I’ll need someone to cut open the tree with a chainsaw… but I have an extra XL bee suit.” Yikes!

Carving up an active beehive with a chainsaw in 90-degree heat seemed high-risk and ill-advised. Sort of like climbing into the cockpit of an F-16 with a fighter pilot named “Bubba”—something I had done at nearby Moody Air Force Base 30 years earlier. Or swinging from a waterfall vine in Maui. Or walking from Georgia to Maine. Unfortunately, leaving a downed tree full of 60,000 or so bees in a schoolyard also involves risk. So, Stephanie and I agreed to meet at 11 a.m. to try to save the hive and not die in the process.

As she helped me don a suit last worn by Buzz Aldrin during the Gemini 12 mission, I worried about the gaps around my ankles. “Yeah, you might feel a few stings down there,” she said. “But it’s not too painful.” I heard those exact words from a Tucson gastroenterologist in 2017 before my first colonoscopy… I didn’t believe him either. But I otherwise trusted Stephanie—she was licensed, certified, experienced, and as sweet as… wait for it… honey. She was also gracious in fielding the scores of questions Fob W. Honeypot would throw at her throughout the day. 

As we cut open the hive, sucked bees with a vacuum, and hunted for the queen, I learned or was reminded of some things:

1. Every honeybee has a job to do, and each role is important to sustain the hive. Stephanie pointed out workers who nurse the brood and janitors who clean the hive. They serve the queen, who lays lots of eggs and produces chemical scents to regulate the unity of the colony. The drones, bless their hearts, exist for the opportunity to mate with the queen, continue eating, watch sports on TV, and then die. The queen gets most of the attention, of course, but each bee is vital to the survival of the hive. The same is true in disaster relief operations—we need leaders who provide vision and make decisions, but also our cooks, administrators, tool guys, and volunteer laborers. Together, we form a cohesive team that accomplishes the mission. The same is true for the church. In God’s eyes, the preacher is valued no more or less than the church janitor, the communion preparer, or the A/V person. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul writes about how the various parts of the body (the church) make up a complete whole. Each has a valuable role. We don’t need the knee to be an elbow. We don’t need five ears. We don’t need the ankle to feel unappreciated, or the nose to look down on the armpit. In the church and in a honeybee colony, we just need everyone to pitch in and do their part.

2. Elderly “forager” bees are also vital to the hive’s survival. Stephanie said that near the end of a worker bee’s life, her role switches to foraging. When they are three to six weeks old, depending on the season, workers will leave the colony during daylight hours to forage for food. They’ll travel up to five miles from the hive, guided by the sun, gathering pollen and nectar. By doing so, they are not just sustaining the hive, but sustaining our ecosystem and food supply. Once foraging begins, these selfless bees are nearing the end of their life. All the flying will quickly wear out their wings and they are unable to repair damaged wing tips. In a final act of selfless service, the foragers die serving the colony. Elderly Christians, listen to me: we need you to serve your church and your community, as best you can, until the very end! While your specific roles will vary based on health and other factors, you don’t need to sit around bemoaning the fact you can’t do what you once did. Instead, do what you can. Finish strong because your colony—the church—needs you. Forage until your wings fall off and God calls you home!

3. Solutions are sometimes only revealed in our stillness. After 45 minutes of carving up the tree trunk, examining honeycomb, and siphoning bees, the hive was irate and swarming. Worse still, we hadn’t located the queen, putting our goal to relocate her and the colony in jeopardy. “Let’s take a break and sit in my air-conditioned truck,” Stephanie suggested. Dripping with sweat from every pore, I nodded and shed my protective suit. Inside the truck, she said, “They’re confused right now. We’ve turned their lives upside down. We need to give them time to reconstitute. You see, it’s all about the queen. Once they settle down and pick up her scent, they’re going to rally around her. When we return and find the crowd, we should find the queen.” Not surprisingly, Stephanie was right. Once we returned, refreshed, we located a crowd of bees on a piece of honeycomb nestled inside a cut of wood off to the side. After a few minutes of moving the pile around with her index finger, Stephanie shouted, “I found her! Yes!” Sure enough, the oversized queen with her yellow abdomen came into view, and Stephanie quickly captured her in a little bee box. Based on Stephanie’s excitement, I knew this was the most critical step. But we achieved that goal not through activity but rather momentary inactivity. We sat passively in the truck and let the colony settle. Solutions to our most pressing problems may sometimes be revealed not by working harder but rather when we take time to “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

4. Invasive species will kill a hive. After removing a section of honeycomb, Stephanie pointed at a tiny dark object and commented, “Look, a small hive beetle. Not good.” She explained that since the bees’ stingers can’t penetrate the beetle’s shell, the best they can do is push the intruder to the outer edge of the honeycomb and hope for the best. A moment later, Stephanie examined the next layer of honeycomb and said, “Look here, this is even worse… small hive beetle larvae. They’re burrowing into the comb, eating brood, honey, and pollen. An infestation like this is going to cause the hive to “slime out” and die or at least force the bees to find a new home. We got here just in time!” Once again, I saw a spiritual application. We may be tempted to allow Satan, the intruder, to occupy a small space on the outskirts of our homes and lives. With that foothold established, he’s positioned to tempt us into more and more sin—the larvae. Our unchecked desires “give birth to sin, and sin when it is fully grown brings forth death” (James 1:15). Friends, we can’t allow Satan—the small hive beetle—to take occupancy in our lives and destroy our families and ourselves.

5. We serve an eternal King and are headed to an eternal home. Despite the best efforts of tens of thousands of worker bees and caring bee enthusiasts like Stephanie, the queen’s days are numbered. She will eventually die and be replaced. The beehive that she and her colony worked so hard to establish and maintain is also temporary. One day, some storm, disease, exterminator, bear, or beetle will kill it. The beehive, like everything else we can see, is temporary (2 Cor. 4:18). I’m thankful that Jesus is our eternal King, seated at the right hand of God (Col. 3:1). I’m also grateful that He has prepared an eternal heavenly home for Christians, and that one day He’s returning to take us there (John 14:2-3).

After another hour of vacuuming bees, Stephanie loaded her equipment along with the queen, her entourage, and several pieces of honeycomb. Two hours later, at her third bee extraction of the day, she called to ask if I could stop by with the chainsaw to assist her in saving another bee colony. I agreed because Stephanie is the kind of person you want to go the extra mile for. I so appreciate her enthusiasm, her love of nature, and her willingness to take me on as a chain-sawing, bee-whispering apprentice, if only for a day.

The more I learn about honeybees—their teamwork, communication, purpose, and design—the more impressed I am with their Creator. Wherever there is design in the universe, there must be a Designer. When I witness honeybees and all the other amazing creatures roaming our planet, I’m reminded that we serve an awesome, creative, wonderful God.

“Little children, let us not love in word or talk but in deed and in truth.” – John 3:18

In a new study published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology, researchers demonstrate the power of small acts of kindness. They conducted experiments involving different acts of kindness, such as offering someone a ride home or covering the cost of someone’s cup of coffee. In one experiment, study participants at a Chicago ice skating rink gave other skaters hot chocolate for free. Later, both parties were asked to rate how much the gesture was worth. The givers consistently undervalued how much the hot cocoa meant to the recipients. The small acts of kindness—the little things—turned out to be huge.

In a 2022 paper published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, researchers reached a similar conclusion. They found that we tend to underestimate the power of reaching out to friends, family, and colleagues. According to the authors, a quick call or text can make a big difference in the life of the recipient. Once again, the research suggests that little things are big.

My experience over the past 24 hours bears that out. Three friends of mine have done some seemingly small things. They aren’t seeking recognition, but you need to know about them. And we need to “go and do likewise” (Luke 10:37).

First up is Miss Anna, a disabled, wheelchair-bound widow from our congregation. Although I don’t know Miss Anna’s financial situation, I’m confident her heart is far larger than her bank account. Last night in the church lobby, she motioned for me. That sometimes means she’s about to get onto me for not being loud enough during a sermon or Bible class. “Use your outside voice,” Miss Anna often implores. “You know I can’t hear.” But last night, she had nothing to say. She simply handed me an envelope with cash inside and patted my hand. Miss Anna heard about our upcoming disaster relief trip to Valdosta and felt compelled to give. A big heart will do that to a person. And big, giving hearts are noticed by Jesus, as we learn from the story of “a certain widow” with two small coins in Luke 21. Little gestures—little things—are big.

This morning, another dear friend, who happens to be my oldest son, was called in to help a hospital-bound child who needed to be measured and fitted for a tricky, custom brace. The interesting part of this story is that Jason, due to an awful bout with Lyme disease, hasn’t done prosthetics or orthotics in nearly two years. He was brought “out of retirement” to advise the official provider who lacked experience to handle the intricate case. Jason interrupted day trading—his new career—to help a child in need. If you think that small act of kindness isn’t a big deal, you’ve never been a hospital-bound child needing a brace to walk. Little things are big.

Later this morning, while covering Science at a local Christian school, I wandered to the front office in search of a cup of coffee. You must understand that I love coffee. Like good books, high-end running shoes, and Jesus, coffee is essential. Without the soothing, caffeinated beverage, I operate at 40%. To survive Anatomy and Physiology this morning, I desperately needed a cup. I asked Miss Sheila, the high school secretary, if there was any chance there was a drop or two of leftovers from this morning.

“I’m so sorry, Steve, we didn’t make a pot this morning,”

“No worries,” I lied. “No big deal. I’ll be fine.” 

Truth be told, without coffee, I planned to stab my temple with an Erlenmeyer flask and crawl into a fetal position inside the biosafety cabinet. But Miss Sheila didn’t know that. I hid my desperation. Forty-five minutes later, while clutching the flask, I heard a knock on the door. I opened it to find a smiling Miss Sheila with a large Dunkin’ Donuts coffee in her outstretched arms! For me! I mean, who does that? Who goes to the trouble to have coffee delivered to a lowly sub? That’s absurd! Her “small gesture” was also the highlight of my day! Little things are big.

Amit Kumar, a psychology professor at UT Austin and one of the authors of the Journal of Experimental Psychology study, says we limit our actions because we routinely misjudge their impact on others. He writes, “Not knowing one’s positive impact can stand in the way of people engaging in these sorts of acts of kindness in daily life.”

Why do little things have such a big impact? For that answer, we turn to Mymento, a seller of unique gifts. The company suggests four reasons why a small gesture feels like something big:

1. It reminds us that we’re being thought of. Whether the gift we receive is material or immaterial (e.g., time, conversation, etc.), it makes us feel important and reminds us that we mean something to someone else. Miss Anna’s financial gift will be small as a percentage of the total needs of the disaster victim who receives it. But it will come in a card with an encouraging Bible verse. The person who receives it will know that a Christian from Tennessee—someone they’ll probably never meet—is aware of and doing something about their dire situation. They are being thought of, and that realization generates hope. As prisoner Andy Dufresne put it in The Shawshank Redemption, “Hope is a good thing. Maybe even the best of things. And good things never die.”

2. It shows us that people care. The young man who received the custom brace this morning may or may not be old enough to appreciate that people care. But I bet his parents do! After this morning, they know the hospital cares. They know the orthotist cares. And if you know anything about Jason, you know he cares for people to a fault. God gave that man an XL heart.

3. It demonstrates that people are paying attention. This morning, I appreciated that Miss Sheila was paying attention. (In fact, few things inspire me to write a blog during the first NFL game of the year!) Something as simple as a cup of coffee put a smile on my face. As I blissfully sipped the warm beverage, I couldn’t help but wonder how many “small things” this big-hearted school secretary notices and addresses throughout the day. 

4. It gives us something to hold on to. I have a large collection of family Bibles. In fact, the word is out in our family that “when you die, your Bible—at least one of them—goes to Steve.” These gifts mean little to anyone outside our family. I wouldn’t get much for them on eBay. But they mean the world to me. My mom has left this world, but I have her memory and her Bible. Both are gifts I hold on to.

So, what do we make of little things? I’m beginning to think they don’t exist. What if, in God’s eyes, our little acts of kindness are huge—epic actually? What if the better measure is not the size of the giver’s act but the impact on the recipient? That changes everything.

Here’s the challenge: When in doubt, send the encouraging text. Make the phone call. Mow the neighbor’s yard. Offer the donation. Make the brace. Let the stressed-out single mom cut in line. Offer the last chocolate chip cookie to your sibling. And, if you see an old guy wandering the halls with a dazed look, clutching an Erlenmeyer flask, get that man some coffee stat! 

Little things? They’re huge!