 > RED MARBLES
>
> I was at the corner grocery store buying some
early
> potatoes. I noticed
> a small boy, delicate of bone and
feature, ragged
> but clean, hungrily
> apprising a basket of
freshly picked green peas. I
> paid for my potatoes
> but was also
drawn to the display of fresh green
> peas. I am a pushover
> for
creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the
> peas, I couldn't
help
> overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the
> store
owner) and the
> ragged boy next to me.
>
> "Hello Barry, how
are you today?"
>
> "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus'
admirin'
> them peas. They sure
> look good."
>
>
"They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?"
>
> "Fine. Gittin' stronger
alla' time."
>
> "Good. Anything I can help you with?"
>
> "No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."
>
> "Would you like
to take some home?" asked Mr.
> Miller.
>
> "No, Sir. Got
nuthin' to pay for 'em with."
>
> "Well, what have you to trade me
for some of those
> peas?"
>
> "All I got's my prize marble
here."
>
> "Is that right? Let me see it" said Miller.
>
> "Here 'tis. She's a dandy."
>
> "I can see that. Hmmmmm,
only thing is this one is
> blue and I sort of go
> for red. Do you
have a red one like this at home?"
> the store owner asked.
>
> "Not zackley but almost."
>
> "Tell you what. Take this
sack of peas home with you
> and next trip this
> way let me look
at that red marble". Mr. Miller
> told the boy.
>
> "Sure
will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
>
> Mrs. Miller, who had been standing
nearby, came over
> to help me. With a
> smile she said, "There are
two other boys like him
> in our community, all
> three are in very
poor circumstances. Jim just
> loves to bargain with
> them for
peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever. When
> they come back with
>
their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he
> doesn't like
red
> after all and he sends them home with a bag of
> produce for a
green marble
> or an orange one, when they come on their next trip
> to the store."
>
> I left the store smiling to myself,
impressed with
> this man. A short
> time later I moved toColorado,
but I never forgot
> the story of this man,
> the boys, and their
bartering for marbles.
>
> Several years went by, each more rapid
than the
> previous one. Just
> recently I had occasion to visit
some old friends in
> that Idaho community
> and while I was there
learned that Mr. Miller had
> died. They were having
> his
visitation that evening and knowing my friends
> wanted to go, I
agreed
> to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we
> fell
into line to
> meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer
>
whatever words of comfort
> we could
>
> Ahead of us in line
were three young men. One was
> in an army uniform and
> the other
two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and
> white shirts...all very
>
professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller,
> standing composed
and
> smiling by her husband's casket. Each of the young
> men
hugged her, kissed
> her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and
moved
> on to the casket.
>
> Her misty light blue eyes
followed them as, one by
> one, each young man
> stopped briefly
and placed his own warm hand over
> the cold pale hand in
> the
casket. Each left the mortuary awkwardly,
> wiping his eyes.
>
> Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who I
> was and
reminded her
> of the story from those many years ago and what she
>
had told me about her
> husband's bartering for marbles. With her
eyes
> glistening, she took my
> hand and led me to the casket.
>
> "Those three young men who just left were the boys I
>
told you about. They
> just told me how they appreciated the things
Jim
> "traded" them. No w, at
> last, when Jim could not change his
mind about color
> or size....they came
> to pay their
debt."
>
> "We've never had a great deal of the wealth of
this
> world," she confided,
> "but right now, Jim would consider
himself the
> richest man in Idaho "
>
> With loving
gentleness she lifted the lifeless
> fingers of her deceased
>
husband. Resting underneath were three exquisitely
> shined red
marbles.
>
>
> The Moral : We will not be remembered by our
> words, but by our kind
> deeds. Life is not measured by the
breaths we take,
> but by the moments
> that take our
breath.
>
> Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~
> A
fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself.
> An unexpected phone call
from an old friend.
> Green stoplights on your way to work.
> The
fastest line at the grocery store.
> A good sing-along song on the
radio.
> Your keys found right where you left them.
>
> Send
this to the people you'll never forget. I just
> Did...
>
>
If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in
> way too much of
a
> hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they
>
occur.
>
> IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER
THAT
> TELLS WHAT KIND OF
> LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED!
|
