A Beautiful Human

About once a week when I pick Harrison up at preschool there's a man outside the church mowing the grass. The first time I saw him was about a month ago. I was inside and he was waving at me from outside to get someone to open the gate so he could access the rest of the lawn.

When I opened the door because I wasn't sure what he wanted, he said he was a volunteer who cut the church's grass. He said this with a slight slur, and his movements showed he was disabled. There were other mothers and children around, so I tried to hold back my tears.

Here was this man in his early forties, probably disabled most, if not all of his life, volunteering his time to make the yard nice for the people who visited the church, including my son who plays in the preschool playground there every weekday. It's truly one of the most beautiful things I've ever known.

Now whenever I see him I take pause for a few minutes before going in to get Harrison, and I let myself cry. I cry out of gratitude for him and inspiration by him. I'm not a religious person, but I imagine those moments are prayers directed his way, and prayers that I can be a fraction that good for even a day.