Red Marbles Story by Devonay Potter

  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 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 (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 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.

Share this with the people you'll never forget.  I just Did...

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

                                                                                         -  Devonay Potter

I too will think of this little story of the marbles, bartering and miracles in the days ahead!

Ritzy Chocolate Pecan Nuggets

Ingredients

Ritz Crackers   36

Payday Bars    6

Chocolate Almond Bark
(24 oz)

Buttery Pam Spray

Directions

1

 Preheat oven to 350.

Cover cookie sheet with heavy duty foil. Lay out 36 Ritz crackers on cookie sheet.

2

 On wax paper, using Pam on sharp knife for non-stick, cut Paydays into 6 chunks per bar. Place on top of crackers. Bake in oven for 4 minutes (to soften candy). When finished, remove from oven and lightly mash Payday down. Use fork sprayed with Pam. (Need to respray about every 6 cookies. Return to oven for 2 more minutes. Set out to begin cooling.

3

 Melt chocolate according to package directions. Spoon onto cookies. Remove cookies onto wax paper and allow to cool until chocolate is no longer shiny.

This is quick and easy and oh, so good!!  Enjoy!

Difference between a Hymn and a Praise Chorus!!!

Being the "farm-girl" that I am and also being born and raised on music, this funny little story sure got the point across!!  And the fact that I grew up on Hymns and watched the emerging of choruses in the church-world made this quite humorous . . . Martha, Martha, cows, cows, corn, corn and more corn!!!  LOL!

 A Funny Little Story About Hymns and Praise Songs  By Author Unknown

An old farmer went to the city one weekend and attended the big city church. He came home and his wife asked him how it as.“Well,” said the farmer. “It was good. They did something different, however. They sang praise choruses instead of hymns.” “Praise choruses?” asked the wife. “What are those?” “Oh, they’re okay. They’re sort of like hymns, only different,” said the farmer.  “Well, what’s the difference?” asked the wife.

The farmer said, “Well it’s like this …
If I were to say to you, ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn,’ well that would be a hymn. If, on the other hand, I were to say to you, ‘Martha, Martha, Martha, Oh, Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA, the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows, the white cows, the black and white cows, the COWS, COWS, COWS are in the corn, are in the corn, are in the corn, in the CORN, CORN, CORN, COOOOORRRRRNNNNN,’ then, if I were to repeat the whole thing two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus.”

As luck would have it, the exact same Sunday a young, new Christian from the city church attended the small town church. He came home and his wife asked him how it was. “Well,” said the young man, “It was good. They did something different, however. They sang hymns instead of regular songs.” “Hymns?” asked the wife. “What are those?”  “They’re okay. They’re sort of like regular songs, only different,” said the young man. “Well, what’s the difference?” asked the wife.

The young man said, “Well it’s like this … 
If I were to say to you, ‘Martha, the cows are in the corn, well that would be a regular song. If on the other hand, I were to say to you, Oh Martha, dear Martha, hear thou my cry inclinest thine ear to the words of my mouth.

Turn thou thy whole wondrous ear by and by to the righteous, glorious truth. For the way of the animals who can explain there in their heads is no shadow of sense, hearkenest they in God’s sun or his rain unless from the mild, tempting corn they are fenced. 

Yea, those cows in glad bovine, rebellious delight, 

have broke free their shackles, their warm pens eschewed.

Then goaded by minions of darkness and night they all my mild Chilliwack sweet corn chewed. So look to that bright shining day by and by, where all foul corruptions of earth are reborn where no vicious animal makes my soul cry and I no longer see those foul cows in the corn . . .  

Then, if I were to do only verses one, three and four, and change keys on the last verse, well THAT WOULD BE A HYMN!”

http://www.apuritansmind.com/