Yesterday will stay with me for the rest of my life.

An older gentleman came into the shop—familiar, but I couldn’t place him at first. Later he reminded me we had talked once before, “for about an hour.”

I smile-giggled and told him that sounded about right.

But this time he wasn’t the same. Grief hung on him like heavy air. After helping another customer, I walked over to check on him, and he told me what no parent should have to say: his son, Brady, had died the night before.

Brady served in the Air Force. The family doesn’t yet know how or why. Another son, Cody, was with him in the store. The dad is Mister Brett.

I don’t remember deciding to move; I just found myself walking around the counter and wrapping him in my arms. The moment he leaned into the hug, I felt him collapse—not from weakness, but from release. And in that instant, I felt Jesus hold him through me.

At this precise moment, my husband arrived at the shop. Out of sheer respect, he walked straight to the back room to offer these gentlemen some privacy. He told me it’s a man thing and it made sense to me.

When I hugged Cody, the same thing happened—a transfer I can’t explain, grief exchanged for the smallest measure of peace. Cody reminded us both of my nephews sweet spirit. He even has Kyle’s curls.

Before they left, both came back for another hug. Two men, two embraces, one holy exchange.

I stood there afterward realizing that if the store had already been closed—as it will be next week—none of this could have happened. God kept the doors open for them.

It’s humbling beyond words to stand in that sacred space with such fresh grief and to feel the Holy Spirit move. It felt like my arms were Jesus’ arms in that moment.

Not to fix. Not to preach. Just to hold.

Because my job every day isn’t to ring up customers. My job is to love every person God places on my path.

Thank you, Jesus, for giving me the strength to love them well. 💜✝️💜