Emily pounded on my bedroom door. “Logan! Your phone just called me!” What? Immediately, the house awoke. Everyone began to frantically dial my number. Surely, this was my iPhone butt-dialing on its way to the pawn shop. It’s gotta be stolen. 

I was so angry at myself.

After a few minutes, a call finally came through to Ann’s phone. She paused, too surprised to speak. I snatched the phone and entered game mode. The man on the other line responded with an apartment address in Campbell. I told him to stay put – I’d be there in fifteen minutes with a $50 reward.

Four of us jumped in the car and sped away. There’s power in numbers, right? I needed a getaway car driver, a sidekick, and a ready-to-go 911-dialer. I imagined the worst possible scenario and prepared myself. Google maps led us to a rundown apartment complex. Apartment #22. I waited.

A smiling man greeted me, emerging from the dark of the apartment hallway. His gentle demeanor cast a net of calmness that encompassed my nervous self. He reached into a ragged sweatshirt pocket and handed me a shiny metallic red present – my phone. I thanked him continuously, unable to put my gratitude into words. When I handed him the wad of cash, however, he reacted differently than I had anticipated.

“You are a student. You need the money. I have a job! I’m a taxi driver. Please, keep your money.”

I often feel like I’ve got it together, until something happens, and I realize I’m little lost.

Then, right before my eyes, He sheds light onto the beauty in life – compassion.

And then I’m found.

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