A friend sent me this email today and I loved it so much I thought I would share.






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?"

"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' strong er 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, 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, 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 colour 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 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!

Beautiful.

Brought a greatful tear to my eye, Beautiful Thanks!

Thanks for sharing...it was beautiful!

Got me a little misty eyed!  Thanks for sharing!

This made me cry, but what a great story....very touching. Thank you for sharing it with all of us!