Sweet Charity
Her name is Lois. She works at the McDonald's where Dad's coffee group convenes. Always cheerful and friendly, Lois didn't like to smile. She would hold her hand in front of her mouth to cover up her missing front teeth.
A few weeks ago, the guys (and the few gals) who meet to solve the world's problems over a cup of senior coffee (the same as regular coffee but it costs only 59 cents) took up a collection to buy Lois a new set of teeth. Lois accepted the gift, got the teeth — and a new life to go with them.
I didn't meet her, but I did read the thank-you note she wrote to her customers and friends. She said she can't express the happiness she feels now, being able to smile without embarrassment, without wondering what everyone is thinking when they see her "ugly teeth." "You gave me back my life, my joy, my confidence," Lois wrote.
The note was photocopied so that everyone could read it. But they have already received all the thanks they need — it's right there every time they buy their coffee. It's right there in Lois's smile.
A few weeks ago, the guys (and the few gals) who meet to solve the world's problems over a cup of senior coffee (the same as regular coffee but it costs only 59 cents) took up a collection to buy Lois a new set of teeth. Lois accepted the gift, got the teeth — and a new life to go with them.
I didn't meet her, but I did read the thank-you note she wrote to her customers and friends. She said she can't express the happiness she feels now, being able to smile without embarrassment, without wondering what everyone is thinking when they see her "ugly teeth." "You gave me back my life, my joy, my confidence," Lois wrote.
The note was photocopied so that everyone could read it. But they have already received all the thanks they need — it's right there every time they buy their coffee. It's right there in Lois's smile.
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