About a year ago, I was at the laundromat folding my clothes, and I couldn’t wait to make my escape. An elderly gentleman walked through the door, and I’ll never forget his face. It’s not that his face was particularly unique, but it was the joy I saw on it that struck me. He greeted everyone as he entered as if we were old friends, and he struck up conversation with the first people to cross his path.

A couple of weekends ago, I set my alarm so I could get to the laundromat by sunrise, determined to beat the crowd. As I drove, I found myself in the middle of some ironic prayers. My first prayer was “God, please let me have this place to myself this morning.” I hate competing for machines, and I had over 30 dollars worth of clothes and linens that needed washing. My very next prayer was this: “God show me someone I can bless today.” I laughed at myself as I realized that’s just not possible. We can’t do God’s will without God’s people. We can’t both be alone and be a blessing.

As I pulled up to the laundromat, I was relieved to be the only car in the lot. I sorted out all of my laundry, got all of the machines started, and sat down with my phone. “Now I get to relax for a bit.” I told myself. That’s when he walked in, the elderly gentleman I had seen there last year. I didn’t recognize him immediately, but after he started up a conversation, it hit me as I saw the joy spread across his face, that was him.

Something I realized as we talked, this man’s joy wasn’t something he inherently possessed. No, it was people that brought him joy, and in that moment, it was me. Seeing his face drop as we drifted in and out of conversation confirmed that realization.

As we talked, he said something I’ll never forget, something that would forever change the way I feel about the laundromat. He said he had a washer and dryer at home, but chooses to come to the laundromat to get out of the house. My heart sank. Here we both were—the woman who longs for a washer and dryer so she can stay home, the woman who woke up early that morning to avoid people, and the man that was simply there so he could enjoy people.

When the crowd began to roll in that morning, the man finished his laundry. As he went to make his exit, he turned to me and told me his name—Michael. I guess Michael was just there for me on that day— to remind me of the gift of people. Michael not only blessed me, but I was able to bless him as well. Turns out, he was the answer to my prayer, the prayer I prayed that morning to be a blessing to someone. I’m glad I was able to ignite joy in him even if for a fleeting moment.

I prayed for Michael throughout that day so I could continue to be a blessing. I prayed his joy could be fulfilled through the Lord even when there’s no one else around. I prayed that his joy could be had in the valleys of good conversation just as much as in the peaks. Because if there’s one thing Michael showed me it’s that his joy is a gift. Thank you, Michael for sharing your gift, for letting me experience your joy alongside of you, and thank you for reminding me of the gift that is God’s people.