This time of year always feels a little wild. Deadlines stack up, calendars fill, and every direction we turn there’s another person or place pulling at our attention. It’s so easy to get swept up in the constant motion, convinced that if we just do one more thing, we’ll finally be “ready” for the season.
Because the season is supposed to be about giving, we shop and wrap and rush and deliver — until something ironic happens. We get so busy doing things for people that we stop actually being present with people. The hustle takes over, and suddenly the joy that was meant to be shared gets buried under stress.
Few people feel that pressure more than the companies hauling all those packages we send across the country. The boxes represent our time, our effort, our money — and our demand to have them show up “by Christmas.” And the ones who truly carry that weight, in every sense, are the delivery drivers who land those boxes on our doorsteps.
These essential workers are already stretched thin, and then add holiday chaos, delayed shipments, supply issues, and everyone’s last-minute shopping. They work long days, meeting Santas, Grinches, sweet grandmas, and sugar-buzzed kids — all urgently asking if their box will make it on time. No wonder it feels like the craziest season.
Recently, in the middle of this whirlwind, our local UPS hero carved out a bit of time when there was absolutely no time — and gave our son Tobin a memory I know will stay with him forever.
Tobin, our sweet nonverbal boy on the autism spectrum, has been fascinated with UPS for over a year. It began when he was waiting for a box of black and gray crayons. Brian kept reassuring him they’d arrive on April 24, and Tobin would type “crayon brown truck” on his talker, asking again and again. Soon, it became “Brown Truck April 24,” followed by endless drawings of brown trucks on paper, traced trucks on floors and windows, and even pancake pieces shaped into tiny UPS vehicles at breakfast.
Then one day, the obsession became real — Tobin actually stepped onto a UPS truck.
Last summer, our local driver, Josh, pulled up with a delivery at the exact moment I was waiting for my parents to arrive and remove a snake from our garage. (We live near the woods. I am absolutely terrified of snakes. Brian was at work. And yes — I was terrified.) Josh walked up the driveway with our package while my parents pulled in, and in the brief distraction, Tobin seized the moment — sprinting straight onto the parked brown truck.
I chased after him, laughing and apologizing all at once, trying to coax him back down. Meanwhile I was also yelling to my parents, “The snake is up there! In the garage! Hurry!” Just a totally normal evening at our house. Tobin giggled on the truck steps, my parents dashed toward the garage, and I tried to introduce myself to Josh while holding on to my squirmy boy.
I explained, breathless and sweaty, that Tobin adored UPS trucks. Josh smiled, took off his sunglasses, and kindly greeted him — completely unfazed. He even offered to let Tobin look around, but I had to decline because, well…snake crisis. I scooped Tobin up, thanked Josh, and rushed off to deal with the garage.
That was our first meeting with “The UPS Man.” Tobin kept drawing trucks, kept typing “brown truck UPS,” and at school his teachers would even bring him outside when they knew the truck was nearby.
Then, just a few days ago — right in the thick of holiday madness — Josh showed up again. The doorbell rang, and there he stood with a brown package. Inside was pure magic: brown hats, a UPS uniform with Tobin’s name stitched on it, and his very own miniature Brown Truck. It lit up his entire day — and honestly, it brightened our whole season.
Lately I’ve had a few gentle nudges on my heart — simple ways to care for people around me. Too often in the past, I’ve let the busyness steal those intentions. I’ve raced through December only to realize on New Year’s Day that the thing I meant to do never actually happened.
Sometimes we all need the reminder: pause. Listen. Take in what’s right in front of us. Follow the nudge. Offer the kindness. And actually do it.
Thank you, Josh, for reminding us how powerful a small, thoughtful gift can be. May we carry that spirit forward — and little by little, help change the world.
