Benjamin has been walking to the post office with his therapist for a few months now. She helps him be mindful of cars and remember the turns. But this week she could not come, and since his school year has not started up yet he has been spending a lot of time in front of a screen. I decided to take the plunge. 

"Ben, I want you to walk to the post office, buy stamps for this birthday card to Micah, and get the mail. OK?" He leaped off the chair in his pajamas. The silk ones with red hearts. They are his favorite. 

"How about you put on clothes?" He was amenable and soon came down in a pair of shorts. 

"A shirt too?" It was, to be fair, ninety degrees but I thought he should comply with the shirts and shoes rule in a public building. No resistance. 

He headed out the door with the mail key, money, and the addressed envelope. I wondered. Would he look up enough to notice the traffic? Often it is slow but not always, as people zoom in and out of the parking lot. I said a prayer. 

Fifteen minutes later he came in the door smiling broadly with a fist full of letters.  

"It's from Tom Murt!" I submit that Ben is more excited about this particular circular than anyone in our zip code. It just so happens that Congressman Murt has been to Ben's class, bought cookies from him at a bake sale, had a photo op with him and published that picture on his website. He invited Ben to work in his office shredding paper. Ben was pleased to do it.

I posted news of the errand on social media. 

"Ben just walked to the post office alone, bought stamps and picked up the mail. NBD."

All day the names of people who shared in Ben's accomplishment showed up in my news feed. 

I scrolled through the list of well wishers. Without knowing all of the details of their lives I counted sixty that have a special needs person in their inner circle. It struck me that we are connected, you and me. Our lives are intertwined in ways that would be impossible to trace. Even more than that, I am rock certain that the number is dwarfed by the host of angels who cheer with silent fist bumps every time we take a step toward kindness. 

Two hundred and fifty eight people cheered Ben on with a click. People he knows. Most he does not. Certainly he would not be the first to say hello if he saw them walking to the post office. Unless they were Tom Murt.