STORY:
RED MARBLES:
BY SR. ELSIE BABY
HI I think this is a very good one and is very true too.
Please if you can spare a few minutes do go through this.
This is a beautiful story that helps put into perspective what should be
important in our short life!
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
apprizing 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 all the' 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 he lp 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 to Colorado , 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 eve ning 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 remin ded 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 tol d you about. They
just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, 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!
Labels: SR. ELSIE BABY draft 1/10/11 by georgekurian Republished
