Depending On The Kindness Poem by cheryl davis miller

I once watched a lady struggle with her groceries.
She could not see the curb nor the dangers.
I reached out to help her she drew away saying,
' I'm not depending on the kindness of strangers.'

Some call it 'Ego' others call it 'Pride',
but the moral of the story stays the same.
A helping hand's a helping hand no matter who's it is.
They're only 'strangers' till you learn their name.

Saw a family grieving having lost a loved one
Now at the 'mercy' of the funeral arrangers.
Folks collected money but they turned it down saying,
'We're not depending on the kindness of strangers.'

Some call it 'Ego' others call it 'Pride',
but the moral of the story, stays the same.
A helping hand's a helping hand no matter who's it is.
They're only 'strangers', till you learn their name.

I saw a poor soul sitting by the side of the road,
In her hand she held a cup out to strangers.
Her face etched by misery, 'neath a veil of grace.
She was completely at the mercy of strangers.

Questioned 'Tell me Madame, how you keep your sanity,
while depending on the kindness of strangers? '
With a smile she answered, 'It's never seemed to me,
that in the Family of God, there's any strangers.'

In the Family of God there are no strangers.