A Jamaican Adventure: Angels Among Us: Three Stories of Unexpected Kindness

By: Baron Stewart

Angels Among Us: Three Stories of Unexpected Kindness

Every once in a while, life places people in our path at just the right moment—people who offer help without hesitation or expectation, who change the course of our day, or even our lives with a single act of kindness. I call them angels—not the kind with wings, but ordinary people who step in for no other reason than to lend a hand.

Over the years, I’ve had a few encounters with such angels. Each time, I’ve walked away with a deep gratitude and a reminder that we are never truly alone.

The Man at Huntington Station

I first met an angel at the Huntington Station on the Long Island Railroad. The next day,  I was going to Europe and planned to stay overnight at my friend Fred’s house in Stony Brook to make the trip easier. It was late—around 9:30 p.m.—and I stood on the platform with a large suitcase, a backpack, and a camera bag, waiting for what might have been the last train of the night.

I was anxious. If I missed that train, I’d be stuck, possibly spending the night in a hotel and jeopardizing my trip. As I stood there, unsure if I was in the right place, a homeless man shuffled past me. He looked grungy and tired, and I assumed he was searching the trash cans for food. But something told me to ask him if he knew whether the train to Stony Brook was still coming.

He paused, then said, “The train’s on the other side of the track—the New York-bound side. It’s leaving any minute.”

And then, without another word, he grabbed my large suitcase and sprinted up the stairs. My heart stopped. He’s stealing my bag! I thought, and I ran after him in a panic.

He ran up the stairs, across the platform, and down another flight, with me puffing behind him, still unsure of what was happening. At the bottom of the stairs was the train—doors open, ready to leave. He shoved my bag inside, held the door long enough for me to jump in, and then let go. The doors closed. The train pulled away.

I stood there, breathless, staring at him through the window as he disappeared. I waved a silent thank you. He didn’t steal my bag. He saved me. And I made it to Fred’s house, and eventually, to Europe, because of him.

The Twin Sisters of Saint-Rémy-de-Provence

Years later, I was on vacation in a picturesque village in Provence, France, called Saint-Rémy-de-Provence. We rented a charming bed and breakfast in the center of the town, and the owner warned me not to park near the square—there would be a market the following day, and any car left in the wrong place would be towed.

That night, I drove around looking for a safe spot and finally found one—or so I thought. But at six o’clock the following day, I woke with a knot in my stomach and went to check on the car. To my horror, it was gone. I was standing in the middle of the market, and there was no sign of the vehicle.

Panicked, I asked a few vendors if they’d seen a car being towed, but they just laughed. My broken French didn’t help, and most people treated me like the clueless tourist I was. I wandered the market, desperate for someone to help, until I saw two twin sisters setting up their stand.

“My car was towed, and I don’t know how to find it,” I told them.

One of the sisters smiled. “Ah! That happened to us once,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find it.”

She motioned for me to get into her car while her sister stayed behind to finish setting up. We drove all around the village, searching, until she suggested we check a gas station outside town just as we were about to give up. And there it was—my car, next to a tow truck.

I thanked her profusely, but the driver told me he couldn’t release the car until I paid a fine at the police station and brought him the paperwork. The station wouldn’t open for another two hours. Without a second thought, the sister brought me back to the market, where I helped her set up their stand. I fetched them coffee as they worked.

At nine o’clock, she drove me to the police station herself. I paid the 100-euro fine, got the paperwork, and we returned to retrieve my car. Before parting ways, she showed me where I could park—this time well away from the market.

Her kindness turned a stressful morning into something almost beautiful. She didn’t have to help me—but she did, and I’ll never forget her for it.

The Man on the Highway to Pasadena

The third time I met an angel, I worked in Pasadena, California. My wife and I had three young children and only had one car. One day, my wife was driving to pick me up from work with the kids in the back seat.

I was at work when a man asked for me by name. I didn’t recognize him at all. We were strangers.

He told me that my wife had been in a minor accident on the highway on her way to Pasadena. He’d stopped to make sure she and the kids were okay. Seeing her stranded on the side of the road, he’d asked where I worked and then drove 20 minutes out of his way to find me.

I got in his car without hesitation, and he drove me to where my wife and children were waiting. He made sure I got to them safely. And before I could properly thank him, he was gone.

To this day, I don’t know his name. I don’t understand why he did what he did. But his actions were pure, selfless, and unforgettable.

Reflections on Angels Among Us

These three moments, scattered over years and continents, have stayed with me. Each time, I was vulnerable, uncertain of what to do, and an angel appeared.

What strikes me most about these encounters is not just the kindness of these strangers but the way they acted without judgment. They didn’t stop to question whether I deserved their help. They didn’t expect anything in return. They helped—quietly, decisively, and with open hearts.

These experiences have shaped the way I see the world. They’ve made me more aware of how small acts can considerably impact. They’ve taught me not to make quick judgments about people, like I did with the homeless man at the station. They’ve reminded me that compassion often comes from unexpected places.

I believe there are angels among us. Sometimes, they’re easy to miss, but they are there—ready to lend a hand, often when we need it most.

Reflections on the Kindness of Strangers

In each of these moments, my dominant emotions were fear and panic. I might not have shown it outwardly, but inside, I was scared. When the homeless man grabbed my suitcase and ran, I thought my trip was ruined—that everything I’d planned was slipping away before my eyes. In Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, I felt a deep sense of hopelessness. I didn’t know if my rental car had been stolen, and I dreaded the possibility of spending my vacation battling paperwork with the rental company instead of enjoying the beauty of France. When the man walked into my workplace in Pasadena, telling me my wife and children were stranded on the highway, I had no choice but to believe him. I just took the risk that he was telling the truth.

In each case, I trusted these strangers because, quite frankly, I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t trust the homeless man at Huntington Station—my body reacted, chasing him in desperation. I trusted the twin sisters in France because they seemed harmless, and no one else offered to help me. And the man who came to get me after my wife’s accident? I took a chance. I had to.

But what each of these people did for me left me with only one meaningful response: gratitude—pure, enduring gratitude. They stepped in without being asked, gave without expecting anything in return, and made a difference in moments when I was vulnerable and powerless.

I don’t believe in fate. But I believe life holds countless mysteries we’ve yet to understand. As we evolve as a species, I think we’ll one day grasp more about the universe we inhabit. For now, I accept that some things are unexplainable—and that the kindness of strangers is one of the most profound of them.

These experiences changed me. They made me more open to helping others—whether giving money to someone on the street or finding small ways to make life easier for those struggling, especially children. But I’ll be honest: it can be overwhelming. The need in the world is vast. You can feel swallowed by it, like Nathanael West’s Miss Lonelyhearts, bearing the weight of endless suffering. But any help, no matter how small, makes a difference to the one person you reach. And while help can sometimes lead to dependency—another complex challenge we must navigate—it’s still worth doing.

I believe we all can be angels in each other’s lives. But too often, we suppress that desire. We tell ourselves we can’t make a difference or resign ourselves to inaction. These moments I’ve shared remind me that even the smallest gesture can matter. They inspire me to do the same for others in my own way.

Over the years, I’ve realized that I have been an angel to many people, just as others have been angels to me. This is how life should be, in my humble opinion. We are meant to lift one another—not in grand, sweeping acts, but in small, human ways that ripple outward.

I teach my children by example. I want them to see that if we look and listen, we’ll recognize the quiet pleas for help all around us. We can’t answer every call. We must pick our battles carefully or risk losing ourselves in the endless tide of need. But if we each do what we can—when we can—we keep that current of compassion flowing.

Because sometimes, in the moment you least expect it, you become someone else’s angel. And sometimes, an angel shows up for you.