A few weeks ago, I bought myself a new winter jacket. It's one of those premium goose down jackets, and I've been wearing it a lot lately. I really like it.

In fact, I like it so much that I ordered ten more just like it...

I had been thinking about how to carry on the Christmas tradition started last year when I donated blankets to a local homeless shelter, and thought that if a new jacket could put a smile on my face, it could certainly do the same for someone else.

I asked a friend if he thought buying the jackets was a good idea, and he enthusiastically agreed to share in the costs. And so, we placed an online order for another ten jackets on Christmas Eve.

The shipment finally arrived last weekend, and we took these brand new jackets down to the local homeless shelter the next day.

Several months ago, we had filled the back of a pickup truck with food, and the woman at the food kitchen wanted to know the name of the organization making the donation.

"Ourselves," we replied.

This time, there was a cute young volunteer to accept our delivery.

When she saw all the jackets, she inquired, "Do you guys work for Eddie Bauer?"

"Nope," I replied with a laugh.

To be perfectly honest, more often than not, I'd like to congratulate myself for these efforts. And I was starting to feel pretty good about myself for buying those jackets--it kind of made me feel like a big shot.

A few days later, it was raining as I left the office. Not wanting to get cold and wet, I quickly hailed a cab for the trip to Union Station.

Many nights when you pull up to the train station in a cab, there is some homeless guy on the street who runs up and opens the door for you. I don't usually like that. And I especially don't care for the way in which some of these guys will then ask for a tip.

However, on this particular evening, no one opened the door for me. After all, we were out in the open, and it was pouring rain.

But just as I stepped out of the cab, a man rushed up and held out an umbrella for me. He was obviously homeless, and holding the umbrella for me meant that he himself was getting soaked.

As we neared the station vestibule, he still had not asked for anything. Even so, I handed him a crisp five dollar bill.

"Thank you," he said as I walked away--but I didn't even look up. "Thank you! Thank you sir! Thank you sir!" He said it loudly enough for everyone around to hear. And I just kept walking--I never even turned around.

He may or may not have been just another drunken loser in the eyes of the world, but that man did me a kindness that many men of higher standing in this life would not have done. After all, I had thought myself a great guy for buying a few jackets, but in a way, that man put more of himself into holding an umbrella for me than I had in buying jackets for those like him.

I was humbled.