____________________________________
 From: sonny...@hotmail.com
Sent: 4/8/2013 9:48:28 A.M. Central Daylight  Time
Subj: Gather vs Scatter


Gather vs  Scatter


 




























IT'S  
WHAT YOU 
SCATTER


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



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. 
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 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 ~ A fresh pot of  coffee you 
didn't make yourself...  

An  
unexpected phone call from an old friend.... Green traffic  lights 
when you drive....  


The  
fastest line at the grocery store.... 

Your keys  found right 
where you left them. 

Send this to the  people you'll never 
forget. I just did...


If you  don't send it to anyone, it 
means you are in way too much of  a hurry to even notice the ordinary 
miracles when they  occur. 

IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT  YOU 
SCATTER THAT TELLS WHAT KIND OF  LIFE YOU HAVE 
LIVED!




































































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