A few years ago, I opened a devotional she had given me when I was a young mom. A folded slip of paper fell out. Across the top, in her familiar handwriting, were the words: My Daily Prayer. It mirrored the legacy of kindness she left behind.

It read:

My Daily Prayer
If I can do some good today,
If I can serve along life’s way,
If I can something helpful say,
Lord, show me how.

If I can right a human wrong,
If I can help to make one strong,
If I can cheer with smile or song,
Lord, show me the how.

If I can aid one in distress,
If I can make a burden less,
If I can spread more happiness,
Lord, show me how.

My mother-in-law, Lois Yoder, lived these words. They weren’t just lines on paper; they were the steady rhythm of her days.

She embodied them in ways both quiet and profound—as a wife, mother, sister, aunt, friend, church member, and neighbor. She never drew attention to herself, never tried to impress. Service was simply woven into her being.

When I was a young mother, she gently guided me in both motherhood and farm life. She did the same for many others—slipping into their lives with a kind word, a listening ear, or practical help.

When you were with Lois, you felt time slow down. Somehow, in the middle of her busy life, you became the only person who mattered. That’s why her sudden death—caused by a blood clot after routine knee surgery—was so devastating. And yet, even in her death, there was peace. She had lived with no regrets.

That is her legacy of kindness, and more.

My daughter was eight years old when Lois died—the seventh of twelve grandchildren who all knew they had a special place in her heart. Not long after, she wrote a fourth-grade essay titled The Person I Admire. In it she said:

The Person I Admire
My Grandma’s name is Lois Yoder. She would’ve been 68 years old. Her birthday is December 10, 1934. She was very kind and nice.

I admire Grandma for her kindness. Many people told stories about her kindness. One story was that Grandma helped a woman feel comfortable when she became English from Amish.

She was kind to us grandkids by always being “there.” She was always there for me.

She was kind to animals. She raised a deer from birth. Grandma even raised a raccoon!

One gentleman from our church said, “We on earth have lost a saint, but heaven has gained one.”

She died on August 17, 2000.

As I reflect on her life—and on my own season of grief, depression, and loss in those months after her passing—I realize how deeply her prayer and her example still shape me.

The poem (attributed to Glenville Kleiser) and Lois’s life remind me that the most important things we do are often unseen—the kindnesses, the sacrifices, the prayers whispered for others. Lois lived this way naturally, perhaps praying these words daily, or perhaps simply becoming them.

Either way, she left me a roadmap for an uncomplicated life and faith:

Help me be kind. Lord, show me the way.

So today, whatever you are facing, may this prayer and Lois’s legacy encourage you. May it simplify what feels complicated, quiet what you’re overthinking, and point you back to what matters most: doing the next kind thing, even when no one is watching.