Meet Joao

On our trip Brazil in October of 2026, I said no to a woman who asked for help. A few minutes later, I said yes to a man who needed help, too.

My daughter Jadi, her husband, Nate, and I were at a drugstore near our Airbnb in Belo Horizonte when a woman experiencing homelessness approached and asked if I’d buy her some diapers for her baby.

I asked a few questions, then checked with the store’s security guard before buying anything.

He knew her well and said she routinely traded donated diapers for drugs. He was emphatic. “There is no baby. Don’t do it.”

I trusted him and reluctantly told her I couldn’t help. She was furious with the guard and stormed off.

A few minutes later, as we left the store, a man approached us carrying a box of candy.

His name was João.

He asked if we’d like to buy some treats. I turned to the same security guard, who told me he knew João, too. He was a regular who bought boxes of candy from that very store and resold them on the street.

I asked João how much he wanted for his candy, then offered him considerably more than his asking price.

He didn’t want to accept it.

I explained that the money came from Kindness Card Movement donors who wanted to bless his life.

He accepted, and I took only a few pieces, leaving him plenty to sell.

His eyes and handshake said more than his words ever could.

But while we were talking, the woman from the drugstore approached us again.

She’d seen me helping João, and I had to tell her no a second time.

She was angry, and as we walked away, she began screaming and chasing us around the corner.

We slipped safely into our Airbnb, but I’ve thought about that evening many times since.

João had something to sell, and I had the chance to be his customer. I didn’t want the generosity of this movement to diminish his pride in earning a living.

I’ve always believed that when we see someone in need, we should do something. But wanting to help and knowing how to help aren’t always the same thing.

I trusted the security guard because he knew more about her situation than I did. I hated saying no, but I believe I made the right decision about the diapers.

Weeks later, I still wonder what happened to her after we disappeared around the corner. Where did she sleep that night? Did anyone help her? Was there another way I could have helped?

I don’t know.

I hope that, even in saying no, I treated her with the same dignity I tried to show João.