It's What You Scatter, Where Love Grows!

One day, 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?" said Mr. Miller (store owner). "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas. They sure look good," said Barry. 'They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?" said Mr. Miller. "Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time," said the young man (boy). "Good. Anything I can help you with?" said Mr. Miller. "No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas," said Barry.  "Would you like to take some home?" Asked Mr. Miller. "No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with," said the boy. "Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?" said Mr. Miller. "All I got's my prize marble here," said Barry. "Is that right? Let me see it" said Mr. Miller. "Here 'tis. She's a dandy," said Barry. "I can see that. Hmm mmm, only thing is t-his 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," said the boy. '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," said Barry.

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 you a day of ordinary miracles ~

Author Unknown. Story brought to us, by Patricia Malone, orange person, those who plant seeds, Mother in-law to Southern Season, our Song of Heaven, elder green person (red overlay prince/ss), granddaughter to the House of the Beloved (Star of David). Rainbow Warriors of Prophecy.

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She Bellows Forth Wisdom, to cherish the Seasons, to bring love to life even in strife. The welcome of a heart within all life. Her name is Southern Season (Heavenly Mission) the grace with a meaning. Give here latitude with magnitude and you'll sea her embrace leaves you leaping for joy, open arms that hold and fill wholes. Welcome to our Song of Heaven (Earthly, tools of Rainbow Colors)