Josiah, my 5-year-old son, saw a man outside Waffle House while we were alone. He carried everything in a little, ragged bag and had old clothes and a haggard face.

“Mom,” Josiah muttered, pulling my sleeve. Who’s that?

Glanced over. “He might be homeless, sweetheart.”

Little Josiah frowned in perplexity. “What does that mean?”

“It means he doesn’t have a home,” I whispered. “And he might not have food either.”

That was enough. Josiah sprang up and raced to the man, waving him inside like an old friend, before I could stop him.

You have no home? He beamingly said, “You can eat with us.”

The man hesitated, staring at his worn shoes. Everything was peaceful in the restaurant. I could sense people watching, anticipating the next move.

I smiled and nodded. “Please, let us feed you.”

What does the man want? asked the waitress. Before he could respond, Josiah joyfully shouted, “Get him the biggest burger we have!”

What happened next broke me.

Before the man bit, Josiah said, “Wait!” We must pray.” My son bowed and blessed in Waffle House.

Eleven restaurant patrons, including the male, were crying. A waitress cleaned her face. A corner truck driver smiled and shook his head. As for the man? He stared at Josiah like nobody had before.

Watching my son impact so many hearts that night will always be one of my favorite parenting moments.

Being kind doesn’t cost money. Big words are unnecessary.

Sometimes a 5-year-old with a large heart is enough.

But there was more.

As Josiah chatted with the man like they were old friends, something unexpected happened. Other diners paid for meals and left additional money with the cashier one by one.

“For anyone else who might need it,” an older woman added, placing a twenty on the counter. After viewing, the truck driver added a few bucks.

“Make sure he has enough for breakfast tomorrow,” he urged the waitress.

The waitress appeared overwhelmed, shaking her head in amazement. “I’ve worked here for twelve years,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Josiah smiled as the man finally bit into his burger, blissfully oblivious of his rippling effect. “Good, huh?”

Man swallowed hard, eyes moist. “Best meal I’ve had in a long time,” he exclaimed. For the first time, I saw his old self as he looked at me.

“Ma’am,” he hesitated. I once had a son. About his age today. I haven’t seen him in years.” Cleared his throat, shaking his head. I made many mistakes. That generosity your boy showed me tonight gives me hope. It may not be too late to change things.”

My throat tightened. “It’s never too late,” I said.

Josiah did something that broke me and everyone else again as we left. He removed his little, red sweatshirt, which he always wore in any weather, and gave it to the man.

“So you won’t be cold,” he said.

The man took it, hugging the linen to his chest like it was gold.

We left the Waffle House that night, and I peered back through the window as we drove away. He was still sitting there, staring at us, with his hand on that red hoodie. But he had company.

Trucker had sat down. The older woman did. They spoke to him. Listening. Treating him human and important.

Perhaps my son’s modest act of compassion sparked something bigger than we could have anticipated.

We returned home with full hearts, and I held Josiah tighter as I put him to bed. He yawned, curled under the covers.

Did I do well, Mommy? Sleepily, he asked.

I kissed his forehead. “You did great, sweetheart.”

He closed his eyes and grinned. “Good. I want to repeat tomorrow.”

So I realized—kindness isn’t something we do once. We experience it daily.

If this story moved you, share it. Spread kindness one small act at a time.