She was older, maybe 20 years or so more than I.

She made an attractive picture as she stepped out of the pharmacy.

Her neatly coifed hair was that beautiful hue of silver that some folks are blessed to have before it goes all white.

Her grey tweed jacket was a shade darker than her hair and her glasses were of a later fashion.

Even though she was older than I, she was well put together and looked not much older than I.

But her hesitation at the edge of the curb told me her true age.

The pharmacy was very busy that day, and she had parked farther away from the building than she was comfortable with.

And between the curb and her car, a large patch of sheet ice glimmered and slanted down and away from her in the mid-morning sun.

“Get going on that,” I thought, “and a person wouldn’t stop until they were wedged halfway under a car on the other side.”

I stepped up beside and asked quietly, “May I help you to your car?”

She accepted without hesitation.

As we traversed the ice, she kept saying, “I hate this ice, I hate this ice.”

When we came to the far side of it and within steps of her car, she thanked me, and I was grateful she didn’t gush with it.

But her relief was palpable, nonetheless.

And I?

I walked away filled with delight.

Because I know Someone who delights to help me, and I was grateful I could pass His help along.