For many, an act of kindness is its own reward. But Eva Hachey found her selflessness answered in ways she could never have imagined.

For weeks, Eva Hachey had imagined adopting a golden Chihuahua with a white spot on its forehead. And there he was, at her local SPCA in Fredericton, New Brunswick. The dog had been abused by his previous owners and was timid. “He’d come to me, then back away and growl, then come back to me,” Hachey said. “After 15 minutes, the attendant picked him up and put him in my lap. He started giving me kisses. He stole my heart in that moment.” She adopted the ten-month-old puppy on the spot and named him Bruno.

Bruno lived happily with Hachey and her 35-year-old daughter, Angel Hutchinson, for five months. Then, on the evening of September 26, 2016, Hachey, 52 at the time, returned home as usual at 8 p. m. from her job as a chiropractic assistant and office manager. And as usual, she ate supper in front of the TV in the living room. Around 10:30, a friend called, just as Bruno went into Hutchinson’s room to go to sleep for the night. Hachey and her friend chatted a bit, and as Hachey hung up, she noticed the time was 11:08.

“The next thing I remember was a male voice saying, ‘Eva, Eva, wake up.’ It was an emergency doctor,” said Hachey. “I looked around, and the room was just full of people. And I said, ‘What are you doing in my house?’”

What they were doing was saving her life. By the time Hachey had hung up with her friend, Hutchinson was fast asleep in her bedroom and Bruno was in his usual spot next to her under the blankets. Hachey believed Bruno heard something odd then and possibly went to the living room to investigate.

Unexpectedly, Bruno ran back to the bedroom and tried every means to awaken Hutchinson.

A year later, Hachey finally fully recovered.

There are too many treasures in life we take for granted, the worth of which we don’t fully realize until they’re pointed out to us in some unexpected way. So it was with Mama’s minestrone soup (意大利浓菜汤).

There was no recipe for her minestrone soup. For our large immigrant family, Mama’s soup guaranteed we would never go hungry. It was a symbol of security. Its recipe was created spontaneously (非计划安排地) from what was in the kitchen. And we could judge the state of our family economy by its contents. A hearty soup with tomatoes, pasta, beans, carrots, celery, onion, corn and meat indicated things were going well. A water y soup suggested hard times.

At one time, however, Mama’s soup pot became a source of embarrassment to me, for I feared it would cost me a new friend I had made at school. Sol was a thin, dark-haired boy, and an unusual pal for me because his father was a doctor and they lived in the best part of town. Often Sol invited me to his home for dinner. The family had a cook in a white uniform who worked in a kitchen with shining utensils (厨房用具). The food was good, but I found it bland (清淡的), lacking the heartiness of my home food served from flame-blackened pots. Moreover, the atmosphere matched the food. Everything was so formal. Sol’s mother and father were polite, but conversation around the table was subdued (克制的). And no one hugged! In our family, warm hugs were a constant and if you didn’t kiss your mother, she demanded: “What’s the matter, you sick?” But at that time in my life, all this was an embarrassment.

I had known Sol would like to eat dinner at our house, but that was the last thing I wanted. My family was so different.

Finally when Sol asked again if he could come to our house, I had to say yes.

But to my amazement, I noticed Sol took a spoonful of Mama’s minestrone soup.

3 . One day as I drove toward my home, I passed the local bus depot. I pulled up as a group of people crossed the road in front of me. As I watched, I noticed a thin, shabbily dressed older lady struggling with a large suitcase.

Witnessing this lady and remembering similar struggles I had experienced in the past when traveling, I pulled up alongside her and leaned over to call out through the open passenger window, “I’m going right into the town,” I said. “I can drop you off. That suitcase looks awfully heavy.” “Well, all right,” she answered. When we got there, she thanked me, “Well, God bless you, lady. No one has ever done me a kindness like that before. I hope someone will do a good turn for you one day.”

Shortly after the encounter with the suitcase lady, I decided to spend a day in the mountains alone. I set off with my dog in my pickup, which was elderly but still serviceable. After driving for nearly two hours, I heard a sudden loud noise and my truck came to a full stop. I found its axle was broken and needed to be towed. In a remote area, with no hope of finding another person, I knew I was in big trouble. Over and over, I blamed my own stupidity for being in a deserted area with no possible chance of help. I hoped that no wandering bear would come to investigate. Or a hungry mountain lion — with babies. My imagination ran riot. I started to panic.

Then faintly, in the distance, came the roar of motorbikes. As they drew nearer, I could see that they were a group of motorcycle riders. “Do you need help, ma’am?” I heard a concerned voice say. The rest is history. My pickup, my dog and I were all transported back to safety. I shall never forget the kindness of the motorcycle riders who stopped. Some people may think it was a happy coincidence, but personally I like to say, it was someone that really did a good turn for me, just as the suitcase lady said.

As Valentine’s Day, a time for expressing affection through the exchange of presents, drew near, Kendra found herself seated at the kitchen table, carefully penning her name on Valentine’s cards for her classmates. She recognized her own hesitation; words didn’t come easily to her. While she envied the ease with which her peers talked and laughed, her shyness often kept her quiet.

Kendra grabbed another card. . Her eyes lit up at the phrase “You’re dynamite (引起轰动的人或物)!”—a term that would undoubtedly delight her Grammy, who frequently used the expression to praise their festive decorations. “Well, that looks dynamite!” Grammy would exclaim, her approval filling Kendra with warmth.

Just as Kendra was signing the cards, her mother came in, sharing the sad news of Elise, their neighbor, and her recent accident that led to a broken leg, restricting her to home schooling for the coming weeks. Kendra felt sorry for Elise, and quickly picked the most splendid valentine, hurrying to Elise’s home.

Upon arrival, Kendra’s look fell upon the life-sized deer statue decorating the front yard. She studied it, saying to herself, “Wouldn’t this deer look cool with a big heart around his neck? Elise could look out of the window and see it decorated for Valentine’s day.”

With this idea, Kendra got the sizable red heart her Grammy had given her, tied it with string, and hung it around the statue’s neck like a festive chain. The next day, she decorated the antlers (鹿角) with a variety of smaller hearts. It was during this act of kindness that Colin and Amy, Elise’s fellow classmates, happened upon the scene. “Are you decorating Elise’s deer for Valentine’s Day?” they asked. Kendra confirmed with a nod, explaining her intention to cheer up Elise. Despite her uncertainty about what to add next, Colin proposed adding some color, while Amy suggested putting decorations on the deer’s back and forehead. United by a shared purpose, they agreed to meet later.

That afternoon, they met to decorate the deer with the materials they had sourced.

Just then, Elise’s front door opened, and Elise stuck her head out.

5 . At just 17, Lauren Schroeder has already made a significant impact on her community. Her voyage began at 14, volunteering at a food shelter. While packing boxes with canned goods for needy families, Lauren detected a substantial shortage: fresh vegetables. This observation sparked an idea that soon grew into a community-wide initiative.

Lauren pictured transforming part of her family’s 150-acre farm into a garden committed to growing produce for local families. Her proposal was met with a hint of concern from her mother, Katie Schroeder. While supportive, she also foresaw the extensive labor involved. Despite the agricultural background—her family typically planted soybeans and corn—vegetable cultivation was a novel pursuit. Nevertheless, Lauren was eager to tackle the nutritional deficiency she had uncovered.

The hard work began in earnest. Not discouraged by potential obstacles, Lauren dived into research to be a seasoned vegetable cultivator and secured a grant (拨款) from the National FFA Organization to cover initial costs. Subsequently, she spent two to three hours daily watering her crops by hand through the hot Iowa summers, sandwiching this commitment between softball practices. Furthermore, she carefully tended to her garden, combating weeds and harvesting crops, with green beans proving particularly challenging.

Eventually, with assistance from her younger brothers and sisters, Lauren’s half-acre garden produced 15 varieties of vegetables. In its first year, the garden generated 40 pounds of produce, benefiting food banks, nursing homes, and soup kitchens.

Motivated by the early achievements, Lauren doubled the garden’s size. To date, she has donated over 7,000 pounds of produce, valued at approximately $15,000, commanding community respect. Her work has found a deep echo among others, notably a mother from a local shelter who was grateful for the fresh food that reminded her children of home.

Lauren’s inspiration is straightforward yet deep-seated. “I wanted to have something that would impact people,” she told KWQC. Her actions demonstrate her belief in the power of community and the joy obtained from helping others—a feeling that will undoubtedly shape her future initiatives.

Rudi Gonsalves could barely contain his excitement as he sped downhill. It was the first day of his holiday in the Romanian ski resort of Poiana Brasov and he was 6,000 feet up one of its highest mountains, breathing in the cleanest air.

Weather and snow conditions were perfect. An experienced skier, he tackled the difficult “black” run with ease, knees gently bent to meet the uneven surface of the snow.

Rudi, a part-time youth worker from Epsom Downs, Surrey, regularly booked a winter holiday with his wife Sue. But Sue was scared of heights and could not overcome her sense of foreboding as the skiing season approached.

So this time Rudi, a keen sportsman and fit for his 57 years, had come alone.

As he snaked his way down the mountain on that March afternoon last year, snowflakes began to fall—lightly at first, then more heavily until the clouds blotted out the sun entirely, transforming everything into a ghostly whiteness.

He could just make out other skiers descending the slopes as fast as they could. I’d better stay close to them for safety, he decided. This could be tricky.

Straining to see ahead, Rudi was only vaguely aware of a looming outline lumbering up the mountain.

“Did anyone see me fall? Where am I?”

He looked around him, trying to get his bearings, but in every direction there was only the same vast whiteness.

Then he took out his gold watch, a treasured present from his wife. It not only told him the time, 1.54pm, it also seemed to give him strength.

It was getting dark when Rudi finally gave up his attempt to scale the mountain and decided to head downhill instead. He knew it would mean moving away from the best route back to his hotel, but there seemed to be no alternative.

Despair began to dog Rudi as he faced up to the reality of spending a night in the open. It was 5.30 pm and the temperature was dropping fast. He began to shiver, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He felt very alone.

After three hours he was very tired, colder than he had ever felt.

He was barely aware of two horses drawing a wagon along the lane towards him.

As a child, I distinctly remembered watching some PBS cartoon character get glasses; the poor girl was made fun of by her peers when playing basketball. I silently thanked God for my good eyesight — but I spoke too soon.

When I entered the sixth grade, I could no longer see writing on the whiteboard clearly. So, I received my first pair of glasses. I only wore them in the classroom, and didn’t mind them too much. Self-image was not important for the then little girl.

Entering my freshman year in high school, I began to miss basketball shots in games — more so than usual. My eyes were re-examined, and the doctor determined that my eyesight had become worse. I would either have to wear glasses full time, or try contacts (隐形眼镜). Being the passionate athlete I was, I bypassed the annoyance of glasses and began to wear contacts. My entire world was transformed. Trees actually had leaves. The faces around me radiated individual expressions. And I could see the basket a whole lot better now. I was overjoyed with my newfound sight — and appearance.

When my senior year came along, I began to have trouble with my right eye. It got to the point where whenever I wore my contacts, my right eye would suffer an intolerable, stabbing pain, forcing me to take the contacts out. It was physically impossible to wear them. I would be in the doctor’s office at least three times a month, trying to solve the mystery of the problem with my eye.

I was beginning to get frustrated. I didn’t mind wearing my glasses to see the board in school, but all the time? At dances? At basketball games? No. That was not okay with me. I couldn’t imagine how I would be laughed at by my peers on the court. I hoped and prayed the doctor would cure my illness soon. That hope was soon crushed. No medicine had worked, and there was nothing left to try. He advised that I wear my glasses full time. But I couldn’t hate my glasses more.

Whenever someone walked up to me, I would immediately be seized by embarrassment.

However, a kind girl named Anne also with glasses in the basketball team made me feel better.