Yesterday, my phone rang, and on the other end was a trembling voice of an elderly woman. She was frightened, embarrassed even, to ask for help. The storm the night before had ripped down three panels of her fence. To most people, it’s a minor inconvenience — a quick fix, a weekend project.
But for her, it was sleepless nights. Every creak outside made her heart race. Without that fence, she felt exposed, vulnerable, and alone. Worse still, she confessed she couldn’t afford the repairs. For her, every month was already a brutal balancing act: heat or food, medicine or bills. Adding another expense felt impossible.
I went over that very day. We worked through the chill, fixing every panel until the fence stood strong again. When I told her there was no charge, she tried to insist, fumbling for her purse with shaky hands. And that’s when the truth came out: she wasn’t just short on money. She was short on hope.
That moment changed something in me. Because no one — absolutely no one — who has spent a lifetime building our communities should have to choose between a warm meal and feeling safe in their own home.
So I made a promise, not just to her, but to myself: this winter, my team and I will repair fences for struggling senior citizens entirely for free. No bills, no invoices. Just a cup of tea, maybe a biscuit while we work, and the knowledge that they are not forgotten.
Already, neighbors have started calling, not just with requests for help but with offers to join in. A local bakery wants to send bread for the seniors. A handyman down the road offered tools. What started as one small act of kindness is quietly turning into a movement of compassion — proof that people still look out for each other.
Because real kindness doesn’t ask for applause. It asks only for a chance to lift a little weight off someone’s shoulders. And if all I get in return is a smile, a thank you, and a warm cup of tea, then that’s the richest payment I’ll ever need.