I was working at a café on morning. An older gentleman came in and ordered coffee.

He left a $1 tip—nothing special. But under that dollar bill was a little slip of paper with his grandkids’ crayon drawings of snowmen. I tucked it in my apron and forgot about it.

Later that day, feeling down, I looked at the drawing and noticed something: on the back, someone had written, “You’re doing great.” It felt oddly personal and uplifting, like a message I needed at that exact moment.

One morning, while working at a café, an older gentleman came in and ordered a coffee. He seemed like a quiet, polite man, the kind who had a routine and stuck to it.

When he paid, he left a modest $1 tip—nothing out of the ordinary. But underneath the bill, there was a small slip of paper. I picked it up and saw a child’s crayon drawing of snowmen, colorful and slightly lopsided, the way only a child’s artwork can be. It was cute, so I tucked it into my apron pocket and carried on with my shift, not thinking much of it.

The day dragged on, and by the afternoon, I was feeling pretty down. It was one of those days where everything seemed to go wrong—burned my hand on the espresso machine, dropped a tray of pastries, got yelled at by a customer for no reason. As I leaned against the counter, exhausted and questioning my life choices, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little drawing.

I turned it over, and that’s when I saw it.

On the back, in simple handwriting, were the words: “You’re doing great.”

For some reason, it hit me like a warm hug. A tiny, unexpected reminder from a stranger—whether it was meant for me or just something the child had written for fun—it felt like the exact message I needed in that moment.