A touching story

[Guest guest]

Shankaram Siva Shankaram !!

 

Three Marbles

 

During the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern Idaho

community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm-fresh

produce as the season made it available. Food and money were still

extremely scarce and bartering was used, extensively. One particular day

Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small boy,

delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising 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. Hmmmm, 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 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 viewing that evening and knowing my friends

wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon our 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 ... very

professional looking. They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and

composed, 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. 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, magnificently shiny, red marbles.

 

Moral:

We will not be remembered by our words -- but by our deeds.

Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take

our breath, as we help others.

 

" . . . faith without works is dead " (James 2:20 NKJ)

 

The secret of life is to drift with the current,

smiling at everything that happens to you.

And then, like the log which the current takes ashore,

you too will be transported to The Shore.

 

 

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