Lily and the Doughnut Man—How God Speaks through Small Acts of Kindness

Oh, what a week it had been. 

I’d divided my time between visiting my 77-year-old mom in the hospital and my 85-year-old dad, who was home alone. And work. And church. And now, my four grandkids. I couldn’t say no when my daughter asked me to babysit for a few hours. Parenting four kids is hard, and I try to help whenever I can.

With all that, I felt overwhelmed that day and more than a little weary.

Specialty Doughnuts

“Hey kids,” I said, when my daughter dropped them off. “Nanny’s home from the hospital and craving doughnuts. Why don’t we go to Krispy Kreme and grab a dozen?”

I loaded them into the van (four car seats, four buckles, and four squirmy bodies), and we headed off.

My daughter’s a pro at herding four kids, but whenever I take them out in public, it’s as if a neon sign flashes ROOKIE over my head.

“Lauren, hold Andrew’s hand when we cross the parking lot. Caroline, can you unbuckle yourself? Hang on, Collin, Gigi’ll get you out of your seat in just a second. Andrew, wait for Lauren, and hold her hand. There are cars driving by.”

The kids flocked to the doughnut case while I took my place in line. A grandma-looking lady smiled in silent solidarity. You’ve got this, her expression said. A businessman behind me looked annoyed. Probably calculating how long it would take four children and a weary grandma to choose twelve specialty doughnuts. Off to the side stood a twenty-something man with kind eyes.

Three pink-frosted donuts with sprinkles, two cream filled, four original glazed, and three chocolate-frosted doughnuts later, we were ready to check out.

I dug past the spare diaper and wipes I’d tossed into my bag and scrounged for my wallet when the young guy stepped up beside me. “I’ve got this,” he said, handing his card to the cashier. 

“You don’t have to do that,” I said, turning to meet his wide smile and kind eyes.

“Oh, I do it all the time,” he said. “I love looking for people to bless. Have a great day.”

And he was gone, leaving me with a dozen specialty doughnuts and tears in my eyes.

After I herded the kids to the van, I sat for a moment. The tears that had been threatening to fall all week finally found their escape.

Lord, you knew I was overwhelmed. And tired. And maybe a little grumpy. And you sent a kind person to minister to me. Abraham’s servant Hagar called you The God Who Sees. Thank you for reminding me you see me too. 

Lily’s Hearts

Later that week, Jan posted a message on our neighborhood Facebook page:

I came home to find a yellow heart taped to my mailbox. Anyone know what this is about?

I found one, too, someone else posted.

Me, too, said a third.

I’d also found a construction paper heart taped to the door of my mailbox. LILY was written in a childish scrawl in red crayon across the front.

A few hours later Lily’s mama solved the mystery. I found my four-year-old daughter, Lily, cutting out hearts and writing her name on them, she posted. She said she wanted to show the people in the neighborhood she loved them. She and her dad walked around last night delivering them.

For the second time in a week, tears dampened my cheeks. The God Who Sees is also the God Who Loves. And sometimes He demonstrates His love through four-year-old girls named Lily.

Oatmeal Pecan Cookies

Soon after, we bumped into Steve, our neighbor, at Costco.

“I know y’all are praying people,” he said. We held our breath, wondering what was coming. 

“My mom’s had trouble breathing lately. At first we assumed it was her asthma acting up, but they did a series of tests this week. She has metastatic lung cancer. Her prognosis isn’t good, and she’s chosen not to pursue treatment. They’ve given her three months.”

He took a shaky breath, composed himself, and continued. “We’ll be bringing her home soon. We want to give her the best three months we can.”

We hugged, prayed with him, and hugged again.

Hours later, my thoughts returned to Steve and his family. I feel so sad for them. I wish I could do something to ease their sorrow.

Nothing I thought of could touch the magnitude of their trial. 

Two words slipped past the sorrow and hopelessness of my thoughts: Bake cookies. 

Bake cookies? What good are cookies when your mom is dying of metastatic lung cancer?

Then I thought of the guy at the doughnut shop. And Lily and her construction paper hearts. And I knew what to do.

Bake cookies.

I dug out my favorite recipe—Oatmeal Pecan—and gathered the ingredients for a double batch. When they had cooled enough to handle, I piled them onto a plate and sent them down the street with a note:

I know cookies can’t fix a mom with lung cancer, but I hope they remind you that you’re not alone. We love you and are praying for you.

That night I prayed for Steve, his mom, and his family. And before I said amen, I thanked God for Lily and the doughnut man. Small deeds can be great ones when done with love.

“Let all that you do be done in love” (1 Corinthians 16:14 ESV).

And in case you’d like to include the recipe, here it is:

Oatmeal Pecan Cookies

1 cup shortening

1 cup packed brown sugar

1 cup white sugar

2 eggs

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1-1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

3 cups old-fashioned oats

1 cup chopped pecans

In a mixing bowl, cream shortening and sugars. Add eggs and vanilla. Combine flour, baking soda, and salt; gradually add to creamed mixture. Stir in oats and nuts. Chill for 30 minutes. Shape into 1-1/2 inch balls; place 2 inches apart on greased baking sheets. Bake at 350˚ for 10–12 minutes or until golden brown. Cool on wire racks, then share with friends. Yield: about 7 dozen.

–Written by Lori Hatcher. Used by permission from the author.