When I was growing up as a preacher's kid, some of my favorite memories happened in the church kitchen. It wasn't just a place where meals were prepared. It was a place where people gathered, laughed, learned, and served together. One day, my mom and dad invited our youth group into the kitchen to teach us how to make homemade taffy. For a group of teenagers, it was an adventure. We measured ingredients, stirred the hot mixture, waited patiently for it to cool, and then began the hard work of pulling and stretching the taffy until it became light and chewy. There was plenty of laughter as we figured it out together, and before long, every one of us had sticky hands and big smiles. At the time, I thought we were simply spending an afternoon making candy. I had no idea my parents were teaching us something much greater than a recipe. When the taffy was finished, we wrapped each piece with care. Then we loaded it up and took it to local senior centers. I still remember walking through those buildings and handing a small piece of homemade taffy to people who welcomed us with warm smiles. They weren't expecting us. They didn't know our names. Yet for a few moments, a simple piece of candy opened the door to conversation, laughter, gratitude, and connection. That day, I learned that kindness doesn't have to be expensive or complicated. It simply requires someone willing to give a little of their time, their heart, and themselves. The taffy was sweet, but the kindness we shared was even sweeter. Looking back, I realize my parents weren't trying to teach us how to make candy. They were teaching us how to notice people. They were showing us that the church doesn't exist only inside the sanctuary. Sometimes ministry begins in a kitchen and continues wherever people need to know they are loved. That lesson has stayed with me throughout my life. It's one of the reasons I love what we're doing through Mighty Caregivers at Edge United Methodist Church. We gather together to bake cookies, brownies, and other homemade treats, but the real purpose isn't the baking. The purpose is kindness. We take those treats to the people who spend their days caring for others—nurses, nursing assistants, therapists, teachers, behavioral health staff, first responders, and so many others who quietly serve our communities. We aren't delivering desserts as much as we're delivering appreciation. We're reminding caregivers that someone sees them, someone values them, and someone is grateful for all they do. I've come to believe that kindness is contagious. One thoughtful gesture encourages another. One smile invites another smile. One homemade treat reminds someone they matter, and that person often goes on to show kindness to someone else. Before long, what started with one small act has reached people you'll never even meet. Maybe that's why I still remember that afternoon in the church kitchen all these years later. The taffy is long gone, but the lesson remains. Kindness was never meant to stay in the kitchen. It was always meant to be carried into the world, shared one person at a time. Today, look for an opportunity to pass kindness along. It doesn't have to be homemade taffy. It might be a handwritten note, a plate of cookies, a warm conversation, or a heartfelt thank you. Whatever form it takes, remember this: kindness has a way of multiplying. You never know how far one simple act of caring will travel.