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It’s What You Scatter
Contributed by Past International President H. Nick Prillaman, Jr.
This is a story a good friend of mine shared with me many years ago. It’s one of my favorites. To me, it demonstrates what we Optimists do daily.
A woman was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes... She noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.
She paid for her potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas. She was a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes. Pondering the peas, she couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to her.
'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. Hmm mmm, the 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 the lady. 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.'
The lady left the store smiling to herself, impressed with this man. A short time later she moved away, but she 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. Finally, she had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community she’d moved away from and while she was there learned that Mr. Miller, the store owner, had died. They were having his visitation that evening and knowing her friends wanted to go, she agreed to accompany them.
Upon arrival at the mortuary, they fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort they could. Ahead of them 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.
When the lady’s and her friend’s turn came to meet Mrs. Miller, she told her who she was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told her about her husband's bartering for marbles. With her eyes glistening, she took the lady’s hand and led her 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, when Jim could not change his mind about the 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 are found right where you left them. Remember, it’s not what you gather, but what you scatter that tells what kind of life you’ve lived!
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