One Thousand Acts of Kindness

"One Thousand Acts of Kindness No One Will Ever Know" — 250 USA #4: Dana

Dana is the kind of person who does things nobody will ever know about — except her and the person she helped. It's not for exhibition. It's just who she is.

This time, Dana was on the receiving end. But it started with an invitation to me to be a guest speaker.

Dana invited me to speak at a small gathering close to her heart — the details of which stay private, the way they should. I read from Flashpoint, spoke spontaneously, and closed with a song, Lost But Goin' Home, and a poem, Sinews of Community — one of the most impactful nights I've had.

Later, it was time for Dana to receive as part of the 250 USA.
But Dana couldn't just receive without including others. She wanted others to share in the experience. I followed the prompt. We found ourselves at a senior living community, where I shared original music, poetry, and stories — impromptu, real, and in person. We also shared in genuine conversation.

While I performed under the gazebo, the sky opened up. A clean, cleansing rain — the kind that doesn't ruin a moment; it deepens it. Rain tapping on the roof, blending with guitar, soft vocals, and souls soaking up the presence like the grass and soil receiving the rain. A micro-moment I'm still sitting with.

I could feel the appreciation of this pop-up visit, and it will stay with me.
This one was Dana's. Thank you, Dana — pure and unscripted.

One more thing about Dana, worth knowing:

The very first time we ever met, she knew almost nothing about me. She looked at me and blurted out, "Hats!" I asked what she meant. She said your dad loved hats, and he wanted you to know how proud he is of you.

My dad died in January 2018. Dana didn't know that. She didn't know him at all. But he never left the house without a hat — maybe it was a form of security for him. I don't know for certain, but for as long as I can remember, he always wore one.

I don't know what to make of it. I only know it happened exactly like that, the first time we ever met. And it wasn't the only time. Dana has countless stories like this — details about people's lost loved ones that no one could have told her, recalled to strangers she'd only just met.

A quiet, unexpected coda:

I learned that while I was playing under the gazebo, there was a man nearby, confined to his apartment by health challenges, who heard the music drifting in. I do not know this man's story. But I now know he heard the guitar and the rain and decided to open his window and let the music fill his apartment.
I pray it gave him a boost, even if a small one. This is what 250 USA is about. It expanded through the music on its own, finding a heart and room that needed it.
Somewhere in these 250, there's a moment meant for you.