In a world that often spins too fast,
you pause—
a gentle hand on a trembling shoulder,
a whispered prayer in the midnight hour.

You are the quiet ones
who carry groceries up three flights,
who text “I’m thinking of you” at 2 a.m.,
who leave the last cookie on the plate
and pretend it was never theirs.

You are the faithful
who rise before dawn to intercede,
who memorize verses not for show
but to stitch them into broken hearts.
Your faith is not a banner—
it is bread, broken and given.

To the neighbor who shoveled my walk
without a word,
to the stranger who paid for my coffee
when my card declined,
to the elder who called just to say
“God sees you”—

Thank you.

Your kindness is a lantern
in the fog of hurry and harm.
It does not shout;
it simply stays lit.

May every small mercy you scatter
return to you as a harvest of peace.
May the God who notices sparrows
notice you—
and smile.

With all my heart,
thank you.