A sign. Two crumpled cars. And a promise.

Months ago, just before the holidays, a friend and neighbor gifted me a beautiful yard sign that says, “All are Welcome Here.” On the other side is a picture of the state of Minnesota with a heart. The sign is a simple way for Minnesotans to tell their neighbors—all their neighbors—that they are welcome here. Simple message, simple design, simple reminder that hope lives here, and so does compassion and inclusion. And for me, that simple sign grows more important by the day.

From what I read, the sign’s colorful design was initially inspired by the unity shown after racist graffiti was found at a nearby suburban high school following the presidential election. After finding hate filed messages in a bathroom at the school, students decided to fight back by leaving their own messages in the hallways. This time the halls were filled with messages of support, and students proudly lined up to show they choose kindness over hate. 

I adored my new sign, and the reason for its creation, but I quickly realized that the message, and its beautiful simplicity, was confusing to some. When a well meaning friend asked me why those signs were popping up all over town, I was a bit befuddled. It seemed so obvious. And when she asked if the signs were inviting every tramp off the street into your house at all hours (her words, not mine), I was momentarily out of words. My husband kindly came to my rescue and said with a wink that it could be a longer message, or simply imply, “All are welcome here ... but knock first. It might be late when you get here, and if we don’t know you, a knock would be helpful. But we support you and will help you if you are in need of assistance.” Since most yard signs are small, and that’s a long message, my guess is the designer simply cut it short. 

Turns out, having the sign in my yard makes me happy, regardless if it is not universally understood. It welcomes me home at night, and reminds me every time I walk or drive past the front yard that being a good neighbor matters. I smile when I see it, and feel proud to display it. But over time part of me wondered if I was a fraud, if a sign, or a safety pin, was enough? Can there even be enough compassion in this topsy turvey world? Was my sign being seen? Was I living up to its message? 

Then something happened that reminded me why I love my little sign so much. Today at about 3:15 pm I was in the bathroom and heard a horrendous sound from outside. I went downstairs, grabbed some shoes, went outside, and saw it—a car accident basically in front of our house. There was no time for help to arrive, so it was suddenly my job to see if everyone was ok. I saw a black SUV had struck an electric pole, and I saw two shell shocked teenagers, both ok and walking outside the vehicle. The girl who had been driving was visibly scared, and worried about being in trouble. But they were walking. I asked if she was ok, she nodded. Then I turned and saw other car. 

I hadn’t noticed it at first, as it was up on my neighbors yard, inches from an enormous pine tree, a few yards from her house. The two people in that car, also teenagers, were equally scared, and the girl seemed as if she could be hurt. She was crying, in a panic, grabbing her side, and desperately afraid. Her friend was trying to simultaneously call for help and calm her, so I asked if I could do anything. He asked if I could take her to my house. Of course, all are welcome in my home. But she was too scared, so instead I offered to run and grab her a chair and some water. When I returned, carrying a teal lawn chair and a glass of water, she was still shaking. 

So once again I asked if she needed anything, and her friend said to maybe take her to my house to sit and try to find calm. I put my arm on her shoulder, and together we walked through the yards to my house. I made room for her on a chair covered with my kids papers, offered her the restroom, grabbed her a drink, and did whatever I could not to cry. She needed calm, and I needed to try to find it for her. When she tried to take a sip of the water it just poured down to the floor. The poor thing had hurt her lip, and was shaking, and couldn’t take a drink. She apologized. I smiled, and gently told her it’s just water. Then I grabbed her a towel. 

By the time we got back outside the ambulance had arrived, and an EMS worker approached her. She was in good hands, walking, and still afraid. Who wouldn’t be? They all were. Getting into an accident is scary, for everyone. It was chaos, cars were being diverted, the electric company was called because a pole was hit, there were police cars from two cities, an ambulance and two tow trucks. I dare you to try driving by an accident without your blood pressure skyrocketing! Living through it had to be traumatic. Both drivers and both passengers must have been flashing what-ifs through their minds at warp speed, while still shaking off the minutes just before them. It was heavy. 

Then their parents and families arrived. A mom breaking down as she talked to the officer, not because she was mad, but because the black truck her daughter drove looked BAD. Imagine coming to the scene of your child’s accident, unsure of her condition, and seeing her vehicle crashed into a utility pole. And a dad, running up the street. And a family parking behind the ambulance. Everyone was OK, but everyone was scared. Because life is most definitely scary when living through the tough stuff in real time. The minutes dragged, the tension was palpable, fear still lingered. That whole fight-or-flight response was on full display. You simply cannot experience that kind of situation without feeling tense. I was tense just witnessing the aftermath. 

During all of the chaos my 5-year-old was dropped off from speech, and 15 minutes after that we went to get his big brother and a buddy off the bus. I told the teens and the families still there that they were welcome to sit on my porch if things started to take too long. I explained I’d be back soon, and they could sit in the house if need be once we returned. They were grateful, but comfortable where they were. 

When the boys and I returned we saw a dad and the two kids from the black SUV get into a car. The young woman thanked me, and I wished them all a good weekend and added something about everyone walking away, and if you had to have an accident that this was a good one. The dad smiled. I’m pretty sure he cried when he got home, or had a beer. Maybe both. Then we saw the other teens waiting by their silver car, still in my neighbors yard. The girl I helped earlier asked to use a phone, so my neighbor opened his home, and handed her his phone. Then we asked if they needed anything else, and the young man said he was calling to find a ride home. So my neighbors immediately offered to drive them both home. And they did. 

Another neighbor had been by my side, their side, since the beginning. Together—my neighbors and I—we all did what we could to help make everyone feel better. There wasn’t much we could actually do, besides be there, so we stayed. Because that’s what felt like the right thing to do.

I’m pretty sure my colorful yard sign was never seen by the young hijab wearing Muslim woman who got into a car accident in front of my house—who needed a steady hand and a drink of water—because she was busy dealing with chaos. I’m certain that she had no idea I spent the morning making a “We The People Are Greater Than Fear” t-shirt for a friend using artwork designed for the Women’s March. And there is no way she could have known that minutes before her accident I had walked across that street, right where her car was hit, after having lunch with a friend where we talked about writing senators, standing up for others, trying to find a way to make a difference—and promising each other we would finally start our blogs.

The young woman I invited into my home earlier today only needed to know I was there to offer whatever help I could, and that there are still good people willing to help a stranger. And while I’m not certain that the mom I saw cry in front of the police officer was not an aunt, and the dad I saw smile from relief was not a family friend, and the kids in those cars were not teens but in their 20s, or that the young Somali woman in my house was actually from another country, or born here, or just wearing a scarf—I am certain that everyone feels kindness. The truth is no one knows anything simply by using their eyes, we must use our hearts. 

If you were here today, I want you to know my sign is not just a prop. You are welcome in my home. And today I’m starting this blog, because I promised my friend I would. Could there even be a better story to start my blogging adventure? My hope is everyone wakes up tomorrow full of gratitude for walking away from an accident that looked and felt really scary. I hope those kids tell their parents they love them. And I hope those parents know what wonderful and brave kids they are raising. 

And I really hope the world knows that being kind and welcoming is always the best choice. I promise to always help when I can, and to continue to show kindness whenever given the opportunity. 

Thanks for reading, and for choosing kindness.