“I left something for you in the fridge.”
My daughter’s text was no surprise and made me smile as I scrolled. For the past several years, I’ve known what I’ll find when I open our carport refrigerator where snacks await our active grandchildren. This tradition comes with a story that left both of us forever changed and connected on a deeper level.
About twenty years ago, I took an elderly woman I knew to have her tire repaired. The shop manager greeted us, took her information, and reached for her keys. When I asked what I owed, he said with a broad smile, “This one’s on me!” His unexpected kindness that day is where this story began.
That was the first of many encounters with the automotive store manager. I’m hard on tires. Really hard. Whenever my tires found random sharp objects on the road, which was often, I happily took my car to his shop and waited patiently with my needlepoint. He always greeted me by name and with a smile, teasing me about my “frequent flyer miles” at his store. He never knew what I’d bring in. He even removed a broken pocket knife blade from my tire on one visit, dropping it into the large jar on his counter filled with items he had removed from tires.
When our oldest daughter needed car repairs, I knew he would take good care of her, and he did—many, many times. He always asked about her when I saw him, and I felt confident knowing she was in his capable hands. He knew all his customers by name and took the typical frustration out of waiting for car repairs. So, when he changed store locations, so did we.
We followed him when he moved locations and even when he changed companies. His service went beyond being customer friendly.
He sincerely cared about those of us who walked through his doors.
He looked forward to seeing us as much as we did him. Any time my daughter called saying she needed a repair, before discussing her automotive needs, our conversation began with expressions of fondness for this good man and his exceptional kindness.
One Valentine’s Day, I was dropping my car off and saw a chocolate-covered apple on the counter. “Aw! You got your wife an apple!” I said. His smile broadened, “Nope. This is for you!” He followed by explaining that he was helping the youth at his church with a fundraiser and insisted I take the apple as a gift. I’m quite sure I wasn’t the only customer to receive an apple from him that day!
Later that year, I drove my daughter to his shop to drop off her car. When we arrived, I noticed a black wreath on the door; it looked awkwardly out of place. My daughter went inside to leave her keys as she had done many, many times, and when she returned, she looked at me, stunned. With tears in her eyes, she told me that our kind, middle-aged friend had suddenly passed away. Our hearts sank as we sat in disbelief and cried together. His presence in our lives brought authentic kindness and extraordinary love for ordinary people like us. He had made a huge impact in our lives in many ways—remembering our names, smiling warmly, and even by gifting a chocolate apple. He lived with joy in his heart, and others received it.
On this day, years later, I smiled when my daughter texted. I knew what I would find. I walked outside to the refrigerator as it hummed, quietly waiting for me to peek inside. I slowly opened the door and lifted the chocolate-covered apple she had left for me, just as she does every year on Valentine’s Day. Much more than an apple, it’s a reminder to both of us of the lasting impact of warmth and kindness.
“This is for you!”
Wendy Lipham grew up in Mobile, Alabama, where she first shared her love for writing in elementary school by creating short stories and greeting cards. While she began writing as a way to make others smile, her words are now used to inspire other women on a deeper level. Having heard God’s call to work with survivors of sexual trauma, she now guides others through their own stories with curiosity and kindness. In her role as a therapist and through her writing, she hopes to encourage women to find their voice and discover beauty in their brokenness. At home, Wendy and her husband find joy in the laughter of their seven grandchildren, and they eagerly await the arrival of twin granddaughters this summer.
I love this story, Wendy, and its reminders of the small yet tremendous ways we can love one another well. So grateful you shared about this exceptional man and mechanic.
Loved hearing how you and your daughter have a traditional celebration together.
Touching story. We can never be too kind. Each of us benefit when we have a person such as your friend in our lives. I’m glad you are carrying on the tradition.