It started like any Tuesday. While carrying bags from the grocery shop, my eight-year-old son Ben skipped beside me and chatted about everything.
We saw a policeman conversing by his vehicle halfway home. Ben tugged my sleeve and said, “Mama, can I ask him something?” He probably wanted to see the patrol car or ask about his badge, so I shrugged and said yes.
Instead of typical kid queries, Ben approached and said, “Excuse me, sir,” in a measured voice. Can I pray for you?
The cop was surprised. Half embarrassed, half fascinated, I froze. The officer looked at me, as if to ask if it was okay, then nodded. Next thing I know, this grown man kneeled on the sidewalk.
I stood there with bags swinging, processing it.
Ben prayed for the officer’s safety while softly touching his shoulder and closing his eyes. and may not damage anyone today. And hope he remembers his goodness when he gets home.”
Suddenly, my throat closed. Because we’ve never truly discussed policing. However, Ben has been quiet since that news article last month. I turned it off too quickly assuming he wasn’t paying attention.
When the cop stepped up, his eyes sparkled. It meant everything to him to thank Ben.
Ben asked me simply, “Did I do the right thing, Mama?” on the way home.
Answering it is still beyond me. Maybe I do.
I stared at Ben from the edge of his comforter as I put him to bed. He was smoothing a blanket fray. I wondered, “Ben, why did you ask the officer if you could pray for him?”
He calmly blinked at me with huge brown eyes. “I just thought maybe he needed someone to care about him,” he added. Sometimes people forget police officers are terrified.
I had never heard my son describe someone else’s terror so clearly. Especially a cop. I realized he knew something basic but profound: everyone, even the fiercest uniform, has feelings and fears. It humbled me. Adults often get caught up in larger stories and debates and forget the person behind the uniform. Ben spotted someone who needed a friendly word.
Kissing his forehead, I whispered, “Yeah, buddy, I think you did exactly the right thing.”
Our neighborhood community group sent us a letter the next day. A nice reminder about a block party. The standard notice: potluck, kids’ games, nothing extra. It can be a good time to relax and have fun with Ben. As a single mother, I try to interact with neighbors and let Ben play with kids his age. The date was on my calendar.
A few days later, I realized the groceries were low again—funny how it happens virtually daily with a developing youngster. After work at a little dental practice, I changed out of my scrubs, grabbed Ben, and left. As we browsed the produce department, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. The sidewalk policeman from that day was there as I turned around.
His smile was pleasant. I just wanted to thank you.” I hope this isn’t strange, but your son’s prayer deeply moved me. Ben was quietly inspecting a pile of apples when he looked down. “Kid, you have no idea how much I needed that. You know it was a hard day?
Ben’s smile brightened. He waved awkwardly to the officer, unsure what to say. I just got off a call that shook me up, the officer said. Unexpectedly, this tiny man stops me to pray for my safety and heart. Quite important.”
I almost cried in the produce aisle. Watching an emotional moment in the street is different from hearing how much it meant. The officer thanked us again, ruffled Ben’s hair, and left. That little chat stuck with me.
Ben’s prayer narrative came up at strange times over the week, such at the clinic with a coworker or when calling my sister. Ben’s natural approach impacted everyone. Nobody ordered him. Just done. Each time I told the story, I wondered: how often do I pass someone who needs a kind word, a helpful hand, or even a prayer? Am I slow enough to notice?
The block party day arrived. Neighborhood youngsters raced around writing on the pavement with chalk. Small groups of parents chatted near barbecue grills. Hot dogs and grilled corn reeked everywhere. Background music playing gently. Ben ran when he saw a schoolmate. Me? I sat in a fold-up chair, hoping to chat with neighbors. I expected a relaxed afternoon.
Unexpectedly, that same police officer approached in civilian clothes with an aluminum-foil dish. I remembered the community notice inviting the local precinct. I stood and waved as he approached. He smiled, holding the platter.
“Hope you don’t mind a cheesy casserole,” he joked. Cooking isn’t my forte, although my mom had an excellent recipe. So I tried it.”
He was surprisingly conversational and laid-back. Introducing himself as Officer Reyes. We talked about the weather and our neighborhood’s growth after I introduced myself. He whispered, “You know, that day your son prayed for me was my partner’s first day back after an injury. A close call the night before. Though I’m not superstitious, I felt like we were protected that day. For us both.” He seemed serious, and I could tell he meant it.
Ben ran over, exhausted from tag, before I could react. Sidewalk chalk dust stained his clothing. He smiled at Officer Reyes. The cop leaned down and high-fived Ben immediately. “Thanks again, little man,” he murmured. “You gave me hope that day. And you remind me to be kind.”
Ben smiled and ducked. “You’re welcome,” he muttered.
People cleaned up slowly as the sun set. Kids threw away empty plates. Folded chairs, broken tables. Conversation slowed to a mumble. Officer Reyes reiterated to Ben, “Always stay like you are,” before leaving. A big heart is the greatest gift.” He softly shook my hand and disappeared into the crowd.
As I returned to our flat, I saw Ben cheerfully kicking rocks on the pavement. The party twinkle remained in his eye. A brief squeeze of my arm across his shoulders. “So,” I began, “you asked me the other day if you did the right thing, praying for Officer Reyes. Your thoughts now?
Ben tilted his head and shrugged like a child. “Maybe I made someone feel better.”
I smiled and nodded. It was exactly that.
We sometimes forget how easy it is to reach out, provide a friendly word, a prayer, or a moment of kindness to someone who may be struggling. You never know whose life you might brighten, even with a modest hope. My youngster taught me that compassion is simple and waiting to be shared. Impact can be more than we think.
Yes, Ben acted correctly. We can too, in little ways, daily.
If this story moved you, please share it with someone who needs hope today. If it made you smile, please like it to spread compassion. Thanks for reading!
