When my eight-year-old son, Noah, secretly stopped buying school lunches to save money for our neighbor’s little girl, I didn’t know whether to hug him or scold him.
He’d spent weeks collecting every dollar he could find because he wanted to buy Lucy, a little girl with Down syndrome, a beautiful red dress for her second birthday.
His intentions were wonderful. His method was not.
I thought the hardest part would be teaching him that kindness should never require going hungry.
But the morning after Lucy’s birthday party, something happened that none of us could have imagined.
Our entire front lawn was covered with lunchboxes.
There were at least fifty of them, in different colors, shapes, and sizes.
And in the middle of the lawn sat an enormous, battered metal lunchbox with a note taped to its lid.
