There are moments as a parent that stop you in your tracks. Moments where you realize your children are becoming exactly the kind of humans you hoped they would be.

This past Valentine’s Day, Scarlett spent the weekend secretly handmaking several admirer notes for a boy in a few of her classes.

Not store-bought cards.
Not a quick text message.
Handwritten notes with coloring, effort, and thought behind every single one.

Honestly, it was one of the sweetest things I have ever watched her do, and I was so proud of her for taking the initiative.

The best part was hearing about the reaction after the first note arrived.

Completely shocked, the young man apparently gathered his friends around him to analyze the handcrafted note – the handwriting, the colors, every detail – determined to figure out who had sent it.

Days later, after the second note appeared, Scarlett noticed he was still carrying the first one around in his shirt pocket.

A clear sign that the experience meant something to him.

As moms do, I tried preparing her for the possibility of rejection. Boys can be fickle. Feelings don’t always get returned the way we hope.

But her response caught me completely off guard.

She looked at me and said:

“Even if he doesn’t like me back, he’ll always remember this experience and that someone did this for him.”

Be still my heart.

Because in that moment, she understood something many adults still struggle to learn:

Sometimes love, kindness, and generosity are not about what comes back to us. Sometimes they are simply about what we choose to give away.

Everything I hope for in this life is that I raise future adults who understand when life is not about them – but about what they can do for others!

And maybe that lesson started long before Valentine’s Day.

Back in 2016, the kids had just finished Wednesday night church. We loaded into the car and headed toward Buffalo Wild Wings to meet a few other families for dinner.

As we came around a dark curve in the road, a car sped past us. I remember thinking how dangerous that corner was because visibility was so limited.

Then suddenly, I slammed on my brakes. A man and his bicycle were lying in the middle of the road.

I jumped out of the car, told the kids to call 911, and started doing the little I knew to help. Another driver stopped from the opposite direction, and together we tried to stabilize him until the fire department and ambulance arrived.

When we were finally released from the scene, the kids were shaken up.

They kept asking:

“What happened?”
“Why did you stop?”
“Why did you help?”

And my answer then is the same answer now:

Because we always help when we can.

Always.

If there is one thing I know for certain, it’s that every single one of us is carrying something.

We are imperfect people.
We have fears.
Traumas.
Struggles.
Pain we don’t talk about.

But what makes humanity beautiful is our ability to show up for one another anyway.

To care for people in vulnerable moments.
To offer comfort.
To give love away freely.

I never want to miss an opportunity to show up for someone.

Then came February of 2026.

I was driving Scarlett to basketball practice after a fresh snowfall. The roads were slick, and traffic was heavy near a busy highway intersection filled with on and off ramps.

Suddenly, an SUV in front of us slid into the left lane, overcorrected, and veered straight off the road into a ditch.

I immediately pulled over. Inside the vehicle was a terrified young woman.

After making sure she wasn’t injured, I got back into my car, called 911, and gave them our location. Then I walked back to her vehicle.

Her eyes were wide with shock.She quietly said, “Thank you.” I told her help was on the way.

I took the next exit to drop Scarlett off at practice – neither of us worried about being late – and then I drove back to the scene.

Help still hadn’t arrived.

Her car sat dark on the side of the road.

I pulled up beside her again, checked on her, reminded her to turn on her hazards, and told her I would stay there until help came.

Because no young woman should have to sit alone in fear on the side of the highway.

A few minutes later, her frightened parents arrived and wrapped her in their arms just as the police pulled up behind them.

As I drove away, all I could think was this:

I hope these moments continue showing up in my children’s lives too.

Not just in their moments of need – but in their opportunities to help.

Because we only get one life to give.

And I pray it’s a life I’m proud of.

Maybe that’s what legacy really is.

Not accomplishments.
Not titles.
Not recognition.

But the quiet moments where another human being walks away feeling seen, helped, protected, or loved because we chose to stop and care.

If my children learn anything from me, I hope it’s this:

Never underestimate how deeply small acts of kindness can stay with someone long after the moment has passed.

With all of my love, xoxo J