Sweet Story I Received (Long)

Discussion in 'Random Ramblings' started by RubberChickenLubber, Mar 29, 2008.

  1. RubberChickenLubber

    RubberChickenLubber Chillin' With My Peeps

    863
    1
    161
    Oct 19, 2007
    Newton, NC
    If this doesn't pull at your heartstrings, it's stopped beating.

    RED MARBLES

    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' 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. 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?" 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, "Ther e 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 kno wing
    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 an d 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< BR>> 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.


    [​IMG] Me when I finished reading it
     
    Last edited: Mar 29, 2008
  2. Chirpy

    Chirpy Balderdash

    3,788
    12
    221
    May 24, 2007
    Colorado
    Do salty tears hurt a computer keyboard??

    What a wonderful story, one that so many people should learn from and live by.

    Thanks for sharing.
     
  3. SpottedCrow

    SpottedCrow Flock Goddess

    Amen!
    Anyone gotta tissue?
     
  4. Southern28Chick

    Southern28Chick Flew The Coop

    Apr 16, 2007
    I'm such a big baby. Sniffing and snorting... [​IMG]
     
  5. RubberChickenLubber

    RubberChickenLubber Chillin' With My Peeps

    863
    1
    161
    Oct 19, 2007
    Newton, NC
    I cry at anything, but this one was just so sweet and had such a great message to it. It not always the big things we do that influence others live either.
     
  6. kaylakala

    kaylakala Chillin' With My Peeps

    275
    0
    139
    Mar 19, 2008
    Melbourne Florida
    If only we all could leave a legacy like that.
     
  7. sunnychooks

    sunnychooks Chillin' With My Peeps

    1,164
    12
    204
    Jul 21, 2007
    NJ
    Thank you for sharing such a beautiful story.
     

BackYard Chickens is proudly sponsored by