One beautiful summer evening in 1972...I was walking with a friend in New York city during rush hour. We were on our way to his apartment for dinner, and just down the block from where he lived we stopped at a sidewalk newspaper stand.

The man behind the counter seemed more distant than the three or four feet that separated us, as if the piles of newspapers, magazines, candies, cigarettes, cigars, and other items were a barricade he was hiding behind. Everything was arrayed in huge, chaotic, disorganized stacks. A variety of magazines hung from the roof like a flock of fruit bats.

A warm easterly breeze gently flowed through the streets of the city, offering a soothing counterpoint to the frenetic scurrying and honking that surrounded us. The man in the stand was short and stocky, with closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He had a dark weather-beaten face. A cigarette dangled loosely from the corner of his mouth, obscuring his face with a streaking, billowy haze of smoke. His eyes were cloudy, watery, and bloodshot. He looked lonely and embittered, like he hadn't smiled or laughed in years.

My friend greeted him warmly, saying, Good evening, my friend!

The man was silent. He didn't look up.

I'll have a New York Times, a copy of Newsweek, a Baby Ruth, and a pack of Juicy Fruit.

My friend smiled. The man remained silent. He turned and mechanically retrieved the requested items. Smoke encircled his head in a lingering, arcing trail that hung mysteriously in the air. When he had collected everything, he slammed it all down on the counter.

My friend smiled again. How much is all that?

Without making eye contact, the man thought for a moment, and then grunted, Eight seventy-five.

My friend handed him a ten-dollar bill.

The man sighed, as if receiving payment was a terrible inconvenience. He turned his back as he reached into the cash drawer. Slowly, he pulled out a dollar and a quarter. Without looking back in our direction, he reached around and slammed the change down on top of my friend's purchases.

Thank you so much, my friend said. Have a good evening!

As we walked away, I marveled at my friend's ability to stay centered, warm, and friendly despite the man's inhospitable grumpiness. There wasn't a trace of sarcasm in my friend's demeanor. He had been genuinely kind.

Do you stop there often? I asked.

Every day, my friend said.

Is he there often?

Every day. He owns the stand.

Is he always that grumpy?

Always.

And are you always that friendly?

I try to be.

He never talks to you?

Nope. Never.

I pondered all of that. Why do you keep treating him so kindly? I asked.

My friend smiled again.

Well, his wife died last year, and he feels completely alone. His heart is hurting. And, after all, why should I let his sour mood spoil my day? I just keep sending him love and hoping that somewhere in his heart he is receiving it.

Observing my friend's spontaneous, unconditional compassion, I realized that we have a choice. We can choose to be warm and kind and loving without demanding that others respond to us in any particular way. And we can deepen our compassion by remembering that people who are unpleasant are usually hurting. Happy people are generally not grouchy.

It also feels better to be kind and loving. It's just more fun. There is always the chance that our unexpected kindness might change someone else's experience of life - even just slightly. Kindness and warmth offered in return for rude unpleasantness can sometimes be the key that unlocks a closed heart and liberates a tortured soul.

From the book One Soul, One Love, One Heart, Copyright 2009 by John E. Welshons. Reprinted with permission of New World Library, Novato, CA, 800/972-6657, ext. 52.
John E. Welshons is a highly respected contemporary spiritual teacher who lectures and leads meditation courses throughout North America. His workshops and lectures are offered in churches, hospitals, hospices, corporations, colleges, universities, yoga schools, and personal growth centers. He is also available for one-on-one consultations. John lives in northeastern New Jersey. His speaking schedule and more about him and his work can be found at his websites, www.johnwelshons.com and www.onesoulonelove.com.