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We will all be remembered { Tissue Alert)
circulating email | unknown | unknown

Posted on 08/24/2006 6:31:47 AM PDT by WmCraven_Wk

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. 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 and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. 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?"

"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."

"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?"

"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."

"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, perhaps."

I left the stand 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.

Several years went by, each more rapid that 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 viewing 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 mentioned the story she had told me about the 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.

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 right where you left them.


TOPICS: Culture/Society; Philosophy
KEYWORDS: marbles; remembered
Each of us will leave a legacy. What does your's look like?
1 posted on 08/24/2006 6:31:49 AM PDT by WmCraven_Wk
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To: WmCraven_Wk

Awww geez. Now my screen's all blurry.


2 posted on 08/24/2006 7:07:37 AM PDT by 1forall (America - my home, my land, my country.)
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To: WmCraven_Wk

Don't know how many times I've read this. I recognized it after the first mention of marbles. In fact I have it saved in a file somewhere on my iBook. But for some reason this morning, I didn't skip over it... just kept reading. By the time I reached the end of the story I knew why ... I needed to be reminded, (AGAIN) especially this morning, what's really important in life.

Thanks for the post ....
Grandma in Michigan


3 posted on 08/24/2006 7:14:47 AM PDT by gramcam
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To: WmCraven_Wk

I'm glad I read this.


4 posted on 08/24/2006 8:33:27 AM PDT by Bahbah (Goldwasser, Regev and Shalit, we are praying for you...and now Steve and Olaf.)
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To: 1forall
Awww geez. Now my screen's all blurry.

Yeah, mine went out of focus, too.

5 posted on 08/24/2006 8:34:10 AM PDT by Ancesthntr
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To: WmCraven_Wk
Thanks for posting this. It is a great story, and I will be circulating it to those on my email list.

You know, as I go through life I realize more and more that its quality is enhanced much more by the small but consistent acts of charity and kindness done by millions of people everyday than by anything else - and most especially, far more than by multi-billion dollar wealth transfer mega-programs run by faceless, unaccountable bureaucrats. This kind of thing has to be what G-d intended for us to do - a little help here, a smile or a kindness there, and so on. As a sign I saw once said, "Commit a random act of kindness."

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles....A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself....

Does it count if my secretary made the coffee?

6 posted on 08/24/2006 8:40:16 AM PDT by Ancesthntr
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