Thought this was a good story.
THREE 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 alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like 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 said, 'There are two other boys like h im 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 li ke 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 there I 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 ag o 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 t o 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 old sing-along song on the radio.
Your keys found right where you left them.
It's not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of
life you have lived
THREE 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 alla' time.'
'Good. Anything I can help you with?'
'No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas.'
'Would you like 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 said, 'There are two other boys like h im 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 li ke 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 there I 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 ag o 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 t o 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 old sing-along song on the radio.
Your keys found right where you left them.
It's not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of
life you have lived
