Gary Stewart

is a dear friend who is serving our country as a civil servant here in

the Atlanta area. He is also God's servant. He sent me this e-mail. Thank

you, Gary.

"During

the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern Idaho community,

I used to stop by Mr. Miller's 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 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 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

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.

"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 breath."

Author unknown.

Each morning,

I as a pastor put my feet on the floor, pause and say these words: "This

is the day they Lord has made I will rejoice and be glad in it."

I then add, "Father help me to be salt and light to someone today

in the name of Jesus!" Try it. It will set your whole day in a different

compass heading.

The Rev.

Dr. Knox Herndon is pastor of His House Community Church (SBC). The Rev.

Greg Mausz is senior associate pastor. The Rev. Dr. Lydia Herndon is the

Sunday School superintendent, Bible study coordinator and teacher. The

church is just below Fayetteville, on Ga. Highway 85, a mile south of

Ga. Highway 16, just below the fire station. Visitors welcome. Church

office and prayer line 770-719-2365; e-mail [email protected]. The church's

new Web site is www.hishousecommunitychurch.com.

Back

to News Home Page |