Yesterday, while wandering the streets of Athens, I found myself in a situation that every parent secretly dreads. My daughter Avery suddenly declared, with an urgent edge to her voice, that she needed to use the bathroom — and it couldn’t wait. Without hesitation, I grabbed her small hand, and we hurried toward the nearest place we could find: a Subway tucked away on a quiet corner downtown.

We didn’t even pause at the counter. We dashed straight toward the restroom, hearts racing, when an employee called out to me. Politely but firmly, he explained that the bathrooms were reserved for paying customers. My chest tightened. Instinctively, I reached for my purse, only to realize with a sinking feeling that I hadn’t brought my wallet.

Flushing with embarrassment and a growing sense of panic, I apologized and told him we would leave. I braced myself to take Avery back outside, her little face scrunching in discomfort, when something entirely unexpected happened.

Two young men nearby stepped forward without hesitation. They didn’t know me. They didn’t know Avery. Yet, with a warmth and generosity that felt almost instinctive, they offered to buy anything — anything at all — so that Avery could use the restroom. One of them smiled and said, “We’ll get her a cookie. That way she’s a paying customer.”

Relief washed over me in that instant. I thanked them quickly, and Avery and I dashed into the restroom. The crisis passed, but the memory of their kindness lingered, etching itself into my mind.

When we emerged, the two young men were still standing there. I couldn’t just rush past them. I had to express my gratitude again. And that’s when I learned something even more remarkable: they weren’t just random strangers. They were Latavious and Jaylen, members of the University of Georgia football team.

We ended up talking right there in the Subway. We laughed. We joked about football. For a few minutes, what had started as a stressful, even humiliating, moment transformed into a brief but meaningful human connection. Avery, shy at first, peeked at them from behind my side, and I could see her little smile growing.

To some, it may seem like such a minor gesture. Just a cookie. Just a restroom. But to me, it meant everything. In a world that so often feels fragmented, self-focused, and hurried, here were two young men — students, athletes, with no children of their own — who instinctively stepped up to help a mother and her little girl. They asked for nothing in return. Their generosity was immediate, simple, and genuine.

It reminded me of a lesson I once heard in a sermon: “What does love require of you?” Sometimes, love doesn’t look like grand gestures or heroic sacrifices. Sometimes it looks like buying a cookie for a little girl who desperately needs a bathroom. Sometimes it’s just showing up in the right moment, even if it’s small and seemingly insignificant.

The world needs more of that. More Latavious. More Jaylen. More small, selfless acts that ripple outward, reminding us that kindness still exists. That generosity is alive. And that even in the most ordinary places — a Subway sandwich shop on a quiet Athens street — love can appear in its simplest, most beautiful form.

So to those two remarkable young men: thank you. Thank you for being a bright spot in our day. Thank you for showing Avery, and me, that goodness surrounds us, often in unexpected ways. You gave us more than just a cookie. You gave us hope, and a reminder that compassion and human decency still flourish, quietly but powerfully, in the everyday moments of life.