just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance

Last night we went out to dinner. My husband and I went to a a local fish house, a restaurant that is famous for its reasonably-priced food and its view of the lake. Kids were splashing in the water, boaters were out, and water-skiers were practicing for next week's show. A couple was seated at an adjoining table. Though my husband could not see the man, I could, and both of us could hear his conversation.

The man was about our age and had obviously suffered a stroke. Retrieving words and stringing them together in sentences was hard for him. I could see the struggle on his face and he spoke loudly to compensate for his speech problems. His wife sat next to him. She listened patiently and the love on her face was a poem.

Our server, a young, energetic woman, also served their table. The server had a natural smile, the kind of smile that tells you she likes her job and meeting people. She smiled when she took the man's order. After the server left the man turned to his wife and said, very, very slowly, "She smiled at me." He grinned at the memory.

I thought to myself, "Her smile makes all the difference." We ate a leisurely dinner, talked about the water-skiers, and lingered over coffee. The server brought our check. "Do you need anything else?" she asked. Yes, there was one thing I needed, and that was to give her some feedback.

"The man who just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance a

e the man, I could, and both of us could hear his conversation.

The man was about our age and had obviously suffered a stroke. Retrieving words and stringing them together in sentences was hard for him. I could see the struggle on his face and he spoke loudly to compensate for his speech problems. His wife sat next to him. She listened patiently and the love on her face was a poem.

Our server, a young, energetic woman, also served their table. The server had a natural smile, the kind of smile that tells you she likes her job and meeting people. She smiled when she took the man's order. After the server left the man turned to his wife and said, very, very slowly, "She smiled at me." He grinned at the memory.

I thought to myself, "Her smile makes all the difference." We ate a leisurely dinner, talked about the water-skiers, and lingered over coffee. The server brought our check. "Do you need anything else?" she asked. Yes, there was one thing I needed, and that was to give her some feedback.

"The man who just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance

iently and the love on her face was a poem.

Our server, a young, energetic woman, also served their table. The server had a natural smile, the kind of smile that tells you she likes her job and meeting people. She smiled when she took the man's order. After the server left the man turned to his wife and said, very, very slowly, "She smiled at me." He grinned at the memory.

I thought to myself, "Her smile makes all the difference." We ate a leisurely dinner, talked about the water-skiers, and lingered over coffee. The server brought our check. "Do you need anything else?" she asked. Yes, there was one thing I needed, and that was to give her some feedback.

"The man who just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance

at me." He grinned at the memory.

I thought to myself, "Her smile makes all the difference." We ate a leisurely dinner, talked about the water-skiers, and lingered over coffee. The server brought our check. "Do you need anything else?" she asked. Yes, there was one thing I needed, and that was to give her some feedback.

"The man who just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance

just left obviously had a stroke and it was hard for him to speak," I said. "He told his wife that you smiled at him."

The server covered her heart with her hand and answered, "Oh my gosh." She paused a moment and added, "Thank you." She walked away and began setting up for a large party. Every so often, however, the server would glance at me. As we walked out the door I turned and added, "You never know when you are going to touch someone's life." She smiled again and so did I.

We drove home through lush, green Minnesota farmland. The setting sun was turning the sky a pinky-orange. Horses and cows grazed in the twilight. I felt like I was looking at a painting. My husband, who had been pensive, suddenly asked, "What did you say to her?"

"You never know when you are going to touch someone's life," I replied. For it is the short phrase or sentence that sticks in our minds. The phrase may be from a commercial or a brief comment like "good job." Indeed, a short phrase or sentence can inspire us. The server touched someone's life yesterday. I hope I can touch someone's life today.

Copyright 2007 by Harriet Hodgson