The Day That Changed Me: A Journey of Kindness in St. George, Utah

  

The Day That Changed Me: A Journey of Kindness in St. George, Utah

By Bill Conley, America's Favorite Life Coach and Advocate for Human Kindness

Introduction: The Transformative Power of Random Acts of Kindness

In a world that seems increasingly fast-paced, self-focused, and fractured, we find ourselves yearning for something deeper. We yearn to feel connected. We yearn to feel seen, valued, and heard. And whether we admit it or not, we yearn to matter. While the internet, media, and political noise can often distract us from our shared humanity, the truth is that we all carry silent burdens. Sometimes, the most profound healing doesn't come from therapy sessions or self-help seminars—it comes from a moment of kindness. One moment. One person. One decision to give without asking anything in return.

In 2005, I attended a three-day self-improvement seminar in St. George, Utah, designed to stretch us emotionally, spiritually, and intellectually. It wasn’t just about motivation; it was about transformation—about living from a place of purpose, positivity, and service. On the second day, we were presented with a challenge: go out into the community and perform three random acts of kindness. Not rehearsed. Not filmed. Not posted on social media. Just real moments of genuine, unselfish giving.

That challenge shaped one of the most powerful days of my life.

I didn’t just perform three acts of kindness. I encountered three human souls. I stepped into three emotional worlds. And I walked away not as a giver—but as someone who received far more in return than I ever expected. My encounters that day gave me perspective, gratitude, and a renewed sense of compassion. They reminded me that kindness isn't a nice idea—it’s a necessary one. They reminded me that even one person, on one ordinary day, can create extraordinary change in the life of someone else.

In this article, I will share those three moments in detail—not to impress you, but to inspire you. Because if I could find three people in one small city on one Saturday who desperately needed to feel loved, seen, and supported… then so can you. Every single day presents the opportunity to brighten someone’s world. All we have to do is be willing to look, to listen, and to act.

Through a meal at Burger King, a car wash on a dusty roadside, and a visit to a lonely woman in a nursing home, I encountered the essence of humanity—its wounds, its stories, its quiet need for connection. These moments changed how I see the world and how I choose to live in it.

This is the story of that day.

A Meal at Burger King and a $10 Trip to Walmart

As I drove through St. George that Saturday morning, my heart was open but my mind was unsure. How do you “find” someone in need of kindness? It felt odd, even forced, until I reminded myself that the point wasn’t perfection—it was presence. That’s when I pulled into a local Burger King.

Inside, an elderly woman stood at the counter with a young boy—maybe six or seven years old. Her silver hair was tucked beneath a faded ballcap, and her coat, though clean, showed signs of wear. The little boy stood close to her side, quietly holding a ten-dollar bill. They were just finishing their order when I stepped forward.

"May I pay for their meal?" I asked the cashier.

The woman turned to me, surprised. "Oh… are you sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "I'd be honored."

She thanked me, and as the food was being prepared, I gently asked, "Would it be alright if I sat with you two while you eat?"

She hesitated only a moment, then said yes. We sat together in a booth, and what followed was an hour and a half of conversation, storytelling, and tears. She told me the boy was her grandson. His parents were drug addicts, living in a trailer in unimaginable conditions. She had stepped in to raise him as best she could.

"We don’t have much," she said, eyes glistening. "But I wanted to do something special today. We saved up. After this, we’re heading to Walmart. He has $10 to buy himself something."

I listened—truly listened—as she told me about the daily challenges of caregiving, poverty, and pain. Yet despite the heaviness of her words, there was joy in her eyes as she spoke of her grandson’s resilience. He played quietly with his toy from the kids' meal, occasionally chiming in about what he hoped to find at the store.

We finished our meal and made our way to Walmart together. I walked alongside them, no longer a stranger but a friend. In the toy aisle, the boy clutched his $10 bill, eyes darting between shelves. But we both knew most toys and games were out of reach.

He gravitated toward the video games. "I want this one," he said softly, pointing to a game priced at $49.99.

His grandmother gently explained that it was too expensive. I knelt beside him. "What if today was your lucky day? What if we could get not just one… but two games?"

His eyes widened. His grandmother’s lips quivered. I bought them both.

It cost me $90. It gave me a memory I will cherish for a lifetime.

We hugged at the entrance of Walmart. She whispered, “You have no idea how much you’ve blessed us.”

But I did. And I felt more alive, more human, more in tune with God’s love than I had in a long, long time.

The Elderly Man and the Mud-Covered Truck

After I said my goodbyes to the grandmother and her grandson outside Walmart, I still had two acts of kindness left to fulfill. My spirit was full, but I knew I couldn’t stop there. I got back into my car and just started driving. I didn’t have a plan, just an openness to where I might be led next.

I found myself pulling into a coin-operated car wash on the edge of town. There, in the farthest stall, was an old man trying to clean a massive, mud-caked pickup truck. It was the kind of truck that had seen years of hard work—dual tires in the back, worn paint, scratches, dents—and right now it was nearly buried under a thick layer of reddish-brown mud. The man must have been in his mid-eighties. He moved slowly, fumbling with the spray wand, and I could tell right away that the job was too big for him.

I walked over and said, “Excuse me, sir. Would you mind if I helped you wash your truck?”

He turned around and stared at me like I’d just offered to buy the moon. “You want to what?”

“Help wash your truck. I’m doing random acts of kindness today, and you look like you could use a hand.”

He blinked, then chuckled. “Well, I suppose if you’re crazy enough to want to, go right ahead.”

I grabbed quarters from my car, filled the machine, and started spraying. The mud was thick and stubborn—it must’ve taken $15 in quarters and nearly two hours of hard scrubbing. I worked every inch of that truck, from the wheels to the undercarriage, even vacuumed the inside and wiped the windows clean. All the while, the man stood nearby, talking to me.

His name was Harold. He lived alone in a small trailer park nearby. His wife had passed away over a decade ago. His children—three sons and a daughter—had moved away long ago and hadn’t been back in years. “They got busy,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t blame ’em. Life gets in the way.”

But I could hear the sorrow in his voice. I could see the ache in his eyes.

He told me he used to be a long-haul trucker, proud of the miles he’d logged, the family he’d supported. But time wore everything down—his health, his relationships, his sense of being needed. That truck, he said, was the last thing he had that still made him feel useful.

When I finally finished, the truck looked nearly new. I stepped back, soaking wet and exhausted. Harold walked around it slowly, almost reverently.

“You did all that for me?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “And I’d do it again.”

He nodded, then reached out and took my hand with surprising strength. “Son, you have no idea how lonely I get out here. Nobody’s done something nice for me in… I can’t even remember how long. You didn’t just clean my truck. You reminded me that I still matter.”

We stood there in silence, two men from different worlds, connected by one afternoon and a bucket of soap. That moment—simple, raw, human—was a gift I’ll never forget.

A Forgotten Woman in an Assisted Living Facility

I had one act of kindness left to complete, and I wasn’t sure where to go. I began driving toward the center of town when I noticed a small assisted living facility tucked between two businesses. Without hesitation, I pulled into the lot, walked in, and approached the front desk.

“Hi,” I said to the receptionist. “Is there anyone here who hasn’t had a visitor in a while? Someone who could use some company?”

The woman’s eyes lit up. “Yes, actually. There’s a resident—her name is Margaret. She hasn’t seen family in almost ten years.”

She led me down a hallway to a small room, where Margaret was sitting quietly, gazing out the window.

“Margaret,” the receptionist said, “you have a visitor.”

She turned slowly, surprised, and then smiled gently.

“Would it be alright if I sat with you for a bit?” I asked.

“I would love that,” she said.

We sat together for three hours. She talked about her childhood, her marriage, her three children—none of whom had visited in years. She showed me photos of herself in her youth, of dances and holidays, of her husband in uniform, of her kids at the beach.

“They all live far away now,” she said. “I suppose they’ve got lives of their own.” Her voice cracked just slightly.

I listened—really listened—as she shared stories of joy and heartbreak, of love and loss. We cried. We laughed. I held her hand, and she squeezed it tightly, like she was afraid to let go.

Before I left, I noticed a small group gathering in the recreation room for bingo. I asked the staff if I could call the game. “We’d love that!” they said.

So I took the mic, put on my best announcer voice, and ran the most enthusiastic bingo game they’d had in years. The room came alive with laughter, applause, and cheers.

When it was over, Margaret hugged me. “You brought so much joy to this place today,” she whispered.

“No,” I said. “You brought joy to me.”

Conclusion: The Everlasting Impact of a Kind Heart

That day in St. George changed me forever. It opened my eyes, not just to the needs of others, but to the beauty and power of simply showing up. Of being present. Of listening. Of loving without strings.

I didn’t give anyone a fortune. I didn’t fix their lives. I simply offered my time, my presence, and my heart. And in return, I received something far greater: perspective, gratitude, and an overwhelming sense of purpose.

Each person I met reminded me that behind every face is a story. That everyone is carrying something. That a single kind act—a meal, a car wash, a conversation—can echo for years in the soul of the receiver.

We often think we need to do something grand to make a difference. But the truth is, the most extraordinary acts are often the simplest. You don’t need to be rich, famous, or powerful. You just need to be kind.

So, I challenge you—today, this week, this month—to go out and create your own day of kindness. Look for the lonely, the weary, the forgotten. Offer your time. Your ear. Your compassion.

You never know what kind of difference you might make. You may never see the ripple your act creates. But I promise you—it’s real. It matters. It lasts.

That day in St. George will forever be etched into my heart. And I hope, in sharing it, it plants a seed in yours.

Call to Action: Start small. Offer a compliment. Pay for a coffee. Visit someone who’s lonely. Love doesn’t need grand gestures—it just needs to show up.

The day you do will be etched in your heart forever. Just like mine was.

About the Author
Bill Conley is a dedicated storyteller, life coach, and faith-filled guide whose heartfelt children’s stories have brought smiles and timeless lessons to families everywhere. As the author of hundreds of moral-rich tales, Bill believes in planting seeds of kindness, gratitude, responsibility, and faith in the hearts of children while they’re young. His signature style weaves simple yet powerful truths into colorful adventures with animal heroes, each story crafted to teach values that last a lifetime.

Bill’s passion for writing comes from his own journey, years of experience as a father, grandfather, mentor, and devoted husband. He understands that children need stories that do more than entertain; they need stories that shape character, spark imagination, and open conversations between parents and kids.

Whether he’s writing about a brave little beaver, a wise turtle, a fast cheetah, or a gentle cloud that forgets how to rain, Bill pours his love for faith, family, and old-fashioned values into every word. He knows that small lessons today become big strengths tomorrow.

In addition to his books, Bill is a certified life coach who has helped countless people build stronger relationships, grow in faith, and navigate life’s storms with confidence and hope. His words encourage children and grown-ups alike to be kind, stay positive, honor commitments, and always believe they are enough.

When he’s not writing, Bill enjoys spending time with his three daughters and two grandchildren, sharing laughter and lessons across generations. He also finds joy in serving his church and community, living out the very values he writes about so passionately.

Bill Conley’s greatest hope is that every story will help families build warm memories together—reading aloud, asking questions, and inspiring children to grow into caring, courageous, and thoughtful adults.

He invites you to keep reading, keep talking, and keep believing that the smallest good things we do can change the world for the better.

Addendum: A Life Devoted to Kindness

For the past 20 years, I have intentionally practiced random acts of kindness. Not just once, not just for a weekend assignment, but as a way of life. I can honestly submit to you that the greatest happiness I have ever experienced has come through serving others, especially through small, unplanned, and genuine acts of kindness. Whether it's paying for someone’s groceries, offering a listening ear, writing a note of encouragement, or simply being present in someone’s moment of need, these acts have brought me joy, fulfillment, and a profound sense of peace.

If there is one lesson I’ve learned, it’s this: When you make life about giving instead of getting, you receive more than you ever imagined. You receive love. You receive purpose. You receive happiness.

So don’t wait. Start living kindly today.

With compassion and hope,

Bill Conley