We are in the middle of a significant transition—moving into the home we’ve dreamed of and built over the past two years. Our base has been in Southern Utah, about four hours away, and this week we made the trek north with a loaded trailer in tow, hauling the pieces of our winter life to their new resting place.
I was driving my wife’s white Toyota Tacoma up I-15. If there were one spot in the state I would least want to experience a blowout, it’s exactly where it happened—descending the 6,300-foot summit into Dog Valley, just before the road sharply bends at the bottom. That’s when the tire gave out.
Somehow, I managed to guide the truck safely to a narrow shoulder. The situation was precarious. Traffic zoomed by, and the shoulder offered barely enough space to change a tire. My wife was following just behind me, and there really was no way out but through.
As I began unpacking the cab to find the jack and tools, a large truck pulled up behind us. Out stepped a young man—maybe 22 years old—who said, “May I help you, sir? My name is Justice. I’m a mechanic, and I have all the tools you’ll need.”
Now, I am not someone who finds it easy to accept help. But in this moment, I was humbled.
Justice had apparently been driving the opposite direction, saw my situation, and turned around. When is the last time you saw that happen on the interstate?
In under five minutes—with a power jack, an impact wrench, and his oil-stained overalls—Justice changed the tire and made sure everything was safe. He refused payment. “Sir,” he said, “It’s my privilege to help someone in need.”
I did manage to slip him a small bill and asked him to take his girlfriend out for dinner. He gave me a reluctant smile and vanished just as quickly as he appeared, backing his massive truck down the highway to avoid the 20-mile loop to turn around.
I’ve taken to calling him my angel named Justice.
And I have not been able to stop thinking about him—not just the physical help, but what he symbolized.
Justice reminded me that kindness is not dead. That the rising generation is filled with good, strong souls. That there are people quietly choosing to show up for one another in everyday moments.
So here’s my challenge:
Do three small acts of kindness each day.
Tell a struggling young mom she’s doing a good job. Buy someone’s groceries. Look for despair in a stranger’s eyes and meet it with compassion.
This is how we begin to heal—our communities, our nation, and ourselves.
One small act of kindness at a time.
To my angel, Justice—thank you. I may never see you again, but you left your mark.
Let’s go do some good.
With gratitude,
Rich
