The $5 Island of Kindness

I never go out to eat without two $5 bills folded neatly in my pocket. They travel with me like tiny promises.

At some point during the meal, I hand the two $5 bills – and a note – to my server. This is what the note says:

Welcome to my Island of Kindness.
 I just paid $5 toward your bill.
 Here’s another $5.

You can put it in your pocket.
 Or maybe add another $5 and pass it along –
 and become your own

Island of Kindness.

Then I ask my server to choose a table, any table, to share them with. Like the note 
says, the first $5 goes toward their bill and the second goes directly into their hands. 

I never know who receives the money and the note, and that’s part of the joy.
Somewhere in the restaurant, a stranger gets a small surprise –
an unexpected reminder that kindness still exists,
and that they are part of it now too.

It’s not about the money – it’s about the *invitation.*
To pause.
To smile.
To accept the prompt and carry the feeling forward, like a current connecting one island to another.

—

—

A Ripple in the Huddle House

Every Saturday morning, I have breakfast at the local Huddle House with my favorite person in the world.

I had dreams of my little “Island of Kindness” notes turning into business cards someday, but it hadn’t happened yet. So I was printing them at work – three to a page – with a little clip-art island and trimming them (unevenly) on the industrial paper cutter. They’d end up curled in my pocket, ready for a restaurant emergency.

A week or two earlier, I’d left one at the good old HH. Apparently, someone had liked the idea.

When I showed up the next Saturday, one of my favorite servers – her expression so open you could see the whites all the way around her beautiful chocolate-brown eyes—came rushing over.

“Someone came in and asked for one of your papers the other day!”

I literally got up out of the booth and did a happy dance.
In front of a restaurant full of staring (probably judging) customers, I grabbed her and hugged her twice (happy dancing her around the HH dance floor).

I was *so excited* to think my Island of Kindness had spread far enough that someone not only paid it forward, but cared enough to ask for their own copy later. My heart soared. I made a difference.

For all the times someone didn’t pay it forward, I know that someone did.

There’s a new Island of Kindness out there now. And that’s enough.

—

Another Island, Just Today

I’m almost *religious* in my dedication to the Island of Kindness. I don’t step into a restaurant without two $5 bills and my note. If I have to, I’ll write it on a napkin. Even if my company is paying for the meal, or a vendor insists on picking up the check, I find a way.

I try to be subtle about it – not because I’m embarrassed, but because kindness shouldn’t need an audience. Scripture even says, *“Let not your left hand know what your right hand is doing.”* The idea is to be a blessing, not a performer, or worse yet, a hypocrite seeking my own recognition and glory and recognition.

Today, I was out to lunch with two sales reps – one from a distributor I’ve known for a while, and another from a manufacturer I was meeting for the first time. She was picking up the tab. I slipped my note from one pocket and the two fives from the other, ready to hand them quietly to our server.

I thought I’d been discreet. But when the server came back to the table, she smiled and said, “I think I got one of your notes a few weeks ago. Thank you.”

Well, so much for subtle. The cat was out of the bag.

I laughed. “That’s really cool. I’m glad. I hope you were encouraged by it.”
Then came the tricky question: “Were you able to pass it on?”

“Yes, I did,” she said.

Whew.

She told me she’d used my offering for the only other people in the restaurant at the time. Obviously, I had some ’splaining to do. So I told the manufacturer’s rep about the catalyst for my journey into kindness – and what kindness looks like for me.

Her eyes got a little watery at one point (maybe allergies, but still). She said softly, “Wow, you’re really serious about this.”

I hope that wasn’t a misrepresentation, in case she ever reads this and recognizes herself.

To come full circle, another server came back toward the end of the meal to say that the table who’d received the Island of Kindness gift wanted to say thank you – and promised to pay it forward.

I rolled my eyes, because it was supposed to be anonymous. But since they were the only other table in the restaurant, anonymity wasn’t exactly an option.

Still, it was another win for the good guys.

—

The Invitation

Maybe your island looks different. Maybe it’s a kind word, a helping hand, or a quiet gesture when nobody’s watching. However you build it, the point is the same: *to make the world a little softer, one small act at a time.*

Welcome to my Island of Kindness.
You’re already part of it.