When Compassion Confronts Caution

I’ll be honest—when I first spotted the mother and her sick child outside the grocery store, I hesitated.

I grew up hearing cautionary tales about scams and dangerous strangers—stories that make us wary of anyone outside our comfort zone. Part of me thought, “Don’t get involved. Mind your own business. This could be a setup.” But there she was, just a few feet away, clearly in need of something—maybe a ride, maybe just a little human kindness. In that moment, I felt torn between everything I’d been taught to fear and the undeniable fact that right in front of me was someone who seemed genuinely stuck.

I don’t speak Spanish, so I fumbled with my phone’s translation app and held it out for her to speak into. (Sadly, not yet Star Trek-level technology!) Through the awkward pauses and glitchy translations, I pieced together her story: She had come for a cleaning job interview and brought her child because he was too ill to stay home alone. The employer refused to interview her with a child in tow and essentially left her stranded until the next bus arrived. Meanwhile, she had other kids waiting at home.

Here’s where my semi-isolated upbringing and the media stories I’d absorbed came crashing into reality: “Is she telling the truth, or is this a scam?” grew louder in my head. I suspect many of you have felt this kind of hesitation too. We come from different communities—some more homogenous than others—but many of us have been taught the same survival script: Don’t trust strangers, especially those who don’t speak your language or share your background.

But logically, I knew better. My own ancestors were once immigrants who risked oceans and faced the same suspicions because they looked and sounded “other.” If you know me, you know I believe in helping others whenever you can, evolving our worldview, and constantly re-examining where our biases come from. This moment was a chance to put all those lofty ideals into practice.

So I offered her and her son a ride. I ended up driving across town into a neighborhood I barely knew—one my old friends might have warned me against. It felt like a leap of faith. The entire way there, my mind kept looping: “What am I doing? Is this wise? Am I putting myself in danger?” That’s how strong our fear narrative can be; it keeps whispering even when there’s no real evidence to back it up.

But imagine her perspective for a second. She had her child with her—sick, upset, clearly miserable, wearing an oversized adult coat—and she was willing to hop into a stranger’s car out of desperation, because what other choice did she have? She was rolling the dice on me being someone kind, not someone who’d harm her or her family. That leap of faith she took—trusting me—was every bit as scary as the doubts swirling in my head.

Eventually, we pulled up to a modest building she directed me to. During the drive, she kept thanking me profusely, and I remembered just enough of my middle school Spanish to respond with “De nada” over and over. The moment I parked, she started wiping away tears. I think she was just overwhelmed—by relief, by gratitude, maybe by the fact that a stranger saw her as a person rather than a threat. Maybe 100 other people walked right by her before me. I wondered, too, if she’d expected me to behave differently, if part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop. That’s how fear operates from both sides.

We exchanged phone numbers, and I’ve since tried connecting her with local resources and a few people who might help her find a decent job. (Small aside - Google Translate is way better than the default iOS one) I’m sharing this not for praise—but because I want us to talk about how deeply fear can paralyze our kindness. Sometimes our guard is so high that we miss the everyday opportunities to help. And yes, posting this story does feel a bit risky—there’s always the chance someone will say, “Oh, here comes the guilt trip” or “He’s just bragging about being a good person.” But that’s not the point.

?? What I hope to highlight is how, every single day, we have a choice to rise above that quiet voice saying “Stay safe, stay separate.”

She’s one of many in a similar position—people juggling impossible schedules, low-paying or no jobs, and a language barrier on top of it all. I can’t fix it all, but I can do a small something. That’s actually one reason I decided to run for—and was elected to—my local school board. There’s about 30% of the kids in our district who might not have the same experience or support systems that I was lucky enough to have. If I can help level that playing field, even a little, it’s worth it.

So, this is me, pushing past my own fear and sharing.

?? Because we don’t talk enough about generosity, compassion, and kindness.

A conversation, a short drive, or a few kind words can remind us we’re all part of the same human family. Yes, fear is real, and it can be protective—but if we let it rule us completely, we lose out on opportunities to be someone’s answer in a moment of real need.

And to quote one of my favorite albums from last year: “In the end, it’s just love.” (Coldplay , of course!) ????

????♂? What about you? Have you ever felt that fear holding you back from helping someone? I’d love to hear your stories, and see what happens when we refuse to let fear decide how compassionate we can be.