Geben ist seliger denn nehmen ....

Weil ja bald Weih­nach­ten ist 'mal eine eher 'sen­ti­men­ta­le Geschichte':

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 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 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. 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 all of you rea­ders 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.