On Thanksgiving this year I was remembering a Thanksgiving several years ago when I was utterly alone. Just about everything in my life had fallen apart- and the worse was yet to come (it's a good thing I didn't know that at the time). Things were bad enough then that to remember that time-- and a couple others that came later-- is enough to remind me that things aren't all that bad now. Things could definitely be worse.
It's a reminder I sometimes need.
But, back on that particular lonely and sad Thanksgiving Day, my doorbell rang and I heard a car leave. Looking out an upstairs window I saw an unfamiliar car pulling onto the highway, heading toward town. The house was hidden enough that people didn't accidentally drop by (unless they were lost fishermen, and those were always on foot).
I went to the door and discovered a plate of hot Thanksgiving food on my porch.
I never did know who left it (or even who could have known my situation- I didn't yap personal stuff to anyone), but I also never forgot what that gesture meant to me on that bleak day.