Waypoints: 30 Days of Gratitude

This month, Moteventure turns its compass toward the quiet power of thankfulness. Waypoints: 30 Days of Gratitude is a daily storytelling journey through resilience, grace, and the moments that anchor us. Each post will be a marker — a pause along the path — where gratitude reveals itself in unexpected ways. From small gestures to life-altering kindness, these stories invite reflection, connection, and a deeper appreciation for the light we find (and share) along the way.

Every path has its waypoints. If gratitude lit yours, leave a note beneath this post.

The Bench Beneath the Sycamore

In the heart of a small Ohio town, nestled between the library and the old bakery, sits a weathered wooden bench beneath a sprawling sycamore tree. It’s not marked by any plaque or sign, but for the past twenty years, it’s been the quiet stage for a story of enduring gratitude.

Every Thursday morning, rain or shine, a man named Harold takes his seat on that bench. He’s in his seventies now—corduroy jacket, thermos of coffee, and a paperback tucked under his arm. But he’s not there to read. He’s waiting.

At 9:15 sharp, a woman named Maria arrives. She’s younger, mid-forties, with a bright scarf and a pastry bag from the bakery. She hands Harold a cinnamon roll, they exchange a few words, and then she’s off to work. The whole exchange lasts less than five minutes.

Locals have speculated for years. Some thought they were former lovers. Others assumed it was a quirky friendship. But last fall, Maria finally shared the story with the town paper.

Twenty years ago, Maria was a struggling single mother, new to town and barely scraping by. One icy morning, her car broke down near the library. Harold, then a retired mechanic, happened to be walking by. He not only fixed her car on the spot, but refused payment. “Just pay it forward,” he said.

Maria never forgot. As her life stabilized, she began bringing him a cinnamon roll every Thursday—a small gesture, a quiet thank-you that became tradition. Harold never asked for it. He never expected it. But he always showed up.

“I bring him a roll,” Maria told the reporter, “because he gave me more than a fix. He gave me a moment of kindness when I had nothing. That kind of grace deserves to be remembered.”

Now, the bench beneath the sycamore has become a symbol. People leave notes there. Kids draw chalk hearts around it. And every Thursday, gratitude takes the shape of a cinnamon roll passed between two people who remind us that kindness doesn’t expire—and thankfulness doesn’t need fanfare.