Making my way around the table, placing plates of beefaroni and salad in front of each guest, I set the last one before a guest I recognized from previous visits. She had the ruddiest cheeks I had ever seen on a woman, graying blondish hair, and an interesting assortment of clothing layers. She smiled shyly at me and thanked me for the humble food.

As I started to turn away, she tugged at my arm to pull me back within earshot. I thought she was going to ask for salad dressing, or baggies to place inside her gloves, or one of the other half dozen extra requests made of servers. Instead, she whispered to me, “Do you have a coat?” “Yes,” I replied, hesitating. She followed up with, “Is it a warm coat?” I wasn’t sure where this was going and I’m embarrassed to admit that I thought she might be angling for a donation. “Yes, it’s warm,” I replied. “Good” she said emphatically, adding, “And I hope you have a hat and gloves. It’s so bitter out there tonight.” Indeed, it was — about 10 degrees at dinner time with a wind chill that would be below zero, surely, before the night was over.

Wow! I thought as I walked back to the kitchen of the downtown soup kitchen serving needy women and children, where I volunteered a few nights each month. She was worried about me when her night ahead would prove to be supremely challenging. That wonderment at her generous kindness has stayed with me for several years. It pounds home the meaning of thanksgiving. And, while it certainly underscores the need for empathy and compassion for those who have so little, it also highlights the need to have a blind eye in being empathetic to all.