Category: Generosity

The Wise Man and the Pearl

10/9/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

A traveler with a troubled heart was walking along the beach. He was headed to a small hut where an old hermit was said to live. This hermit had gained a reputation for his wisdom and kindness and had helped many people with their problems over the years. As the traveler approached the hut he saw the wise man gathering oysters from the sea for his dinner. The wise man smiled kindly to the traveler and asked him to join in the meal. As the wise man was opening a large oyster a huge pearl fell out. The traveler knew that this pearl was worth enough money to pay off his debts and take care of him for the rest of his life. He immediately asked the wise man if he could have it. The wise man smiled lovingly and without a second glance gave him the pearl.

The traveler started home thinking of his great fortune and all that he could buy with it, but while the pearl was heavy in his hands his heart was still heavy as well. After several days he returned again to the wise man’s hut. Placing the pearl in front of him the traveler said: "I no longer want this pearl, but I do want to know what you have inside of you that allowed you to give it to me without a second thought."

Like that traveler I also have much to learn, but I still hope to one day live like that wise man. I hope to give without a second glance. I hope to share without a single thought of myself. I hope to make my own life a gift of love to everyone in this world. That, I believe, is how God wants us all to live. We were not just put here to follow the Golden Rule, but also to live with Golden Love. We were not just put on this world to follow God’s commandments, but also to become more like God ourselves. The greatest pearl of all lies in our own souls. May we all find it, cherish it, and then share it with everyone we meet.

Author: Joseph J. Mazzella

Red Marbles

8/20/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

Babs Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. 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. I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the 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. She's a dandy alright, but the only thing is this one is blue and I sort of like red. Do you have a red one?"
"Not zackley, but almost."
"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next time let me look at that red one.”
"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 that 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 viewing 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 mentioned the story she had told me about the 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.

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 6 (2008).

Grace Under Pressure

4/28/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

A few years ago my wife and I had been attending a church for about six months and we decided to transfer our membership. After attending the new member’s class we were ready to join. A chaplain colleague and his wife attended the same church and they agreed to be our sponsors and stand up with us on that Sunday.

After the service he suggested that we go out for breakfast and, after some debate about who would pay, he made it clear that it was his treat. So off we went to a popular restaurant a short distance away, and after a brief wait, were escorted to a large round booth in the back. We settled in, studied the menu, and unanimously opted for the scrumptious breakfast entrees. Then we began discussing what was going on in our lives and with our families.

We were getting hungrier by the minute and a little impatient when we spied the waiter coming toward us with a rather large tray balanced on one hand and his portable tray table in the other. I am always amazed at how the wait staff handles large orders in a busy restaurant. They either have big trays or plates lined up and down their arm. I was happy my dishes were on a tray.

As he was maneuvering the table with his left hand to get it in position for accepting the large tray, his body slightly twisted. When he did this, his right hand tilted forward just a bit. He tried to correct the tilt but that is nearly impossible with such a heavy load. Suddenly everything appeared to move in slow motion. I saw the tray tip in my direction. Then it hit. All four breakfast orders came sliding off the tray and into my chest and lap. Keep in mind we are talking about eggs, grits, pancakes, waffles, and all that goes with them. My blue blazer was folded on the seat beside me but it did not escape the onslaught of food. I could only sit and accept my fate.

I looked up and very calmly said, “Like I told you, Danny, breakfast is on me!” It seemed that everyone around breathed a little sigh of relief as they laughed nervously.

© 2008, John C. Fitts, III. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 6 (2008).

Grace Drops in Action

4/11/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

Motivated by a speaker at a grocery store chain on customer loyalty, a 19 year old bagger with Down’s Syndrome took the message to heart. He was told, “Every one of you can make a difference and create memories for your customers that will motivate them to come back. Put your signature on your job.” And so he did.

Johnny, the bagger, went home every night after work and found a “Thought for the Day.” If he couldn’t find a saying he liked, he would just make one up. When Johnny found a good Thought for the Day, his Dad helped him set it up on the computer and print multiple copies. Johnny would cut out each quote and sign the back and then take them to work the next day.

“When I finish bagging someone’s groceries, I put my Thought for the Day in their bag and say, ‘Thanks for shopping with us.’”

Here was a young man who, though with a job that most people would say is not important, had made it important by creating precious memories for all his customers. In just over a month the store manager reported incredible changes.

“When I was making my rounds today, I found Johnny’s checkout line was three times longer than anyone else’s! It went all the way down the frozen food aisle. So I quickly announced, ‘We need more cashiers; get more lanes open!’ as I tried to get people to change lanes. But no one wanted to move. They said ‘No, it’s okay—we want to be in Johnny’s lane—we want his Thought for the Day.’”

The store manager continued, “It was a joy to watch Johnny delight his customers.”

One woman said, “I used to shop at your store once a week, but now I come in every time I go by, because I want to get Johnny’s Thought for the Day.”

A few months later the store manager reported that the whole store had been transformed. Now when the floral department has a broken flower or an unused corsage, they find an elderly woman or a little girl and pin it on them. Everyone’s having a lot of fun creating memories—our customers are talking about us—they’re coming back and bringing their friends.

A wonderful spirit of service spread throughout the store . . . and all because Johnny chose to make a difference.

Told by Barbara Glanz. Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

Taps

3/27/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

The following is reportedly the story of the origin of “Taps,” played at military funerals.

Reportedly, it all began in 1862 during the Civil War, when Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe was with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army was on the other side of the narrow strip of land. During the night, Captain Ellicombe heard the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the field. Not knowing if it was a Union or Confederate soldier, the Captain decided to risk his life and bring the stricken man back for medical attention. Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, the Captain reached the stricken soldier and began pulling him toward his encampment.

When the Captain finally reached his own lines, he discovered it was actually a Confederate soldier, but the soldier was dead. The Captain lit a lantern and suddenly caught his breath and went numb with shock. In the dim light, he saw the face of the soldier. It was his own son. The boy had been studying music in the South when the war broke out. Without telling his father, the boy enlisted in the Confederate Army. The following morning, heartbroken, the father asked permission of his superiors to give his son a full military burial, despite his enemy status. His request was only partially granted.

The Captain had asked if he could have a group of Army band members play a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. The request was turned down since the soldier was a Confederate. But, out of respect for the father, they did say they could give him only one musician.

The Captain chose a bugler. He asked the bugler to play a series of musical notes he had found on a piece of paper in the pocket of the dead youth's uniform. This wish was granted. The haunting melody, we now know as "Taps" – used at military funerals – was born. The words are:

Day is done.. Gone the sun.
From the lakes. From the hills. From the sky.
All is well. Safely rest. God is nigh.

Fading light. Dims the sight.
And a star. Gems the sky. Gleaming bright.
From afar. Drawing nigh. Falls the night.

Thanks and praise. For our days.
Neath the sun. Neath the stars. Neath the sky
As we go. This we know. God is nigh.

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

Wet Pants

2/19/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

Come with me to a third grade classroom . . . There is a nine-year-old kid sitting at his desk and all of a sudden, there is a puddle between his feet and the front of his pants is wet. He thinks his heart is going to stop because he cannot possibly imagine how this has happened. It's never happened before, and he knows that when the boys find out he will never hear the end of it. When the girls find out, they'll never speak to him again as long as he lives.

The boy believes his heart is going to stop; he puts his head down and prays this prayer, "Dear God, this is an emergency! I need help now! Five minutes from now I'm dead meat."

He looks up from his prayer and here comes the teacher with a look in her eyes that says he has been discovered. As the teacher is walking toward him, a classmate named Susie is carrying a goldfish bowl that is filled with water. Susie trips in front of the teacher and inexplicably dumps the bowl of water in the boy's lap.
The boy pretends to be angry, but all the while is saying to himself, "Thank you, Lord! Thank you, Lord!"

Now all of a sudden, instead of being the object of ridicule, the boy is the object of sympathy. The teacher rushes him downstairs and gives him gym shorts to put on while his pants dry out. All the other children are on their hands and knees cleaning up around his desk. The sympathy is wonderful. But as life would have it, the ridicule that should have been his has been transferred to someone else -- Susie. She tries to help, but they tell her to get out. “You've done enough, you klutz!"

Finally, at the end of the day, as they are waiting for the bus, the boy walks over to Susie and whispers, "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Susie whispers back, "I wet my pants once too."

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

Amazing Grace

2/3/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

Grace is truly amazing. It is always coming from the most unexpected sources. When I least expect it, I guess I should . . . expect it!

Once I officiated at the funeral of a gentleman who had been almost 92 years old when he died. He had led, according to the world’s standards, a quite ordinary life. His vocation was nothing unusual. He had no hobbies that made the newspapers.

His particular gift was singing. He sang in churches, both in choirs and sometimes performing solos. His family and friends said that he sang all the time. As is my habit, I asked members of the audience to share stories about some of the times he might break out into song.

A hand went up and a smiling face said, “When waiting in line at a restaurant, he would ask the maitre d’ if he could sing. Sometimes they would say yes, and sometimes, no.” Many heads nodded in agreement. Another said, “when he visited us up north, he would go out in the road in front of our neighbor’s house and start singing early, and loudly, “O What a Beautiful Morning.”

Then a lady in the front row, sitting with the family, slowly raised her hand. She said, “At an older age, I adopted three young children. Randy would call now and then, late in the evening, and just start singing in the phone to me, singing a hymn, something beautiful and restful. When he finished, he would say, “Now, go to bed, and have a good night’s sleep.” And I would.

I couldn’t help but saying right then, what a beautiful drop of Grace that was!

© 2007, John C. Fitts, III. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

The Secret Santa

12/20/2013

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

This story occurred when my husband had been transferred from Massachusetts to Florida. We had already had several transfers, and I didn’t want to move again, especially since all my family is in Mass., and I had a job that I loved. We moved away from a small town that was truly a “Currier and Ives” setting at Christmas, from the town Christmas tree decorating to the candlelight processional from town center to the white steepled church. Florida was NOT a Christmas-y setting as far as I was concerned!

About a month before the first Christmas that I had to spend in Florida, a large box with a postmark that I didn’t recognize arrived at my house. Inside was a beautiful balsam Christmas wreath that smelled of all the Christmasses I’d ever known. No card, no identification to let me know where it came from. It remained a mystery. The next week, a second box arrived with mulling spices for cider, hot chocolate and a note from Secret Santa. A different strange postmark was on this box, still of a town where I didn’t know anyone.

Week three brought a “Christmas Traditions in New England” book from a third different town.

Week four brought a candle and “snowman making kit.”

It took a full year for me to finally discover that my friends at the job I left in Massachusetts got together to make sure I had a New England Christmas. They drove all over the state to mail the box from areas that I wouldn’t recognize, and each one I asked about it innocently denied any knowledge of the “plot” until they all decided to send me a note together. That Christmas left a “warm fuzzy” feeling for weeks, and even now makes me feel so loved and blessed when I speak of it almost 14 years later!

Maryellen Sullivan. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

Parable of the Spoons

12/4/2013

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

A holy man was having a conversation with the Lord one day and said, "Lord, I would like to know what Heaven and Hell are like."

The Lord led the holy man to two doors. He opened one of the doors and the holy man looked in. In the middle of the room was a large round table. In the middle of the table was a large pot of stew which smelled delicious and made the holy man's mouth water. The people sitting around the table were thin and sickly. They appeared to be famished. They were holding spoons with very long handles that were strapped to their arms, and each found it possible to reach into the pot of stew and take a spoonful, but because the handle was longer than their arms, they could not get the spoons back into their mouths. The holy man shuddered at the sight of their misery and suffering. The Lord said, "You have seen Hell."

They went to the next room and opened the door. It was exactly the same as the first one. There was the large round table with the large pot of stew which again made the holy man's mouth water. The people were equipped with the same long-handled spoons, but here the people were well nourished and plump, laughing and talking. The holy man said, "I don't understand."

"It is simple," said the Lord," it requires but one skill. You see, they have learned to feed each other. While the greedy think only of themselves."

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

A Trick

7/12/2013

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

A young man, a student in one of our universities, was one day taking a walk with a professor, who was commonly called the students' friend, from his kindness to those who waited on his instructions.

As they went along, they saw lying in the path a pair of old shoes, which they supposed to belong to a poor man who was employed in a field close by, and who had nearly finished his day's work.

The student turned to the professor, saying: "Let us play the man a trick: we will hide his shoes, and conceal ourselves behind those bushes, and wait to see his perplexity when he cannot find them."

"My young friend," answered the professor, "we should never amuse ourselves at the expense of the poor. But you are rich, and may give yourself a much greater pleasure by means of the poor man. Put a $20 into each shoe, and then we will hide ourselves and watch how the discovery affects him."

The student did so, and they both placed themselves behind the bushes close by.

The poor man soon finished his work, and came across the field to the path where he had left his coat and shoes. While putting on his coat he slipped his foot into one of his shoes; but feeling something, he stooped down to feel what it was, and found the money.

Astonishment and wonder were seen upon his countenance. He gazed upon the bill, turned it round, and looked at it again and again. He then looked around him on all sides, but no person was to be seen. He now put the money into his pocket, and proceeded to put on the other shoe; but his surprise was doubled on finding the other bill.

His feelings overcame him; he fell upon his knees, looked up to heaven and uttered aloud a fervent thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife, sick and helpless, and his children without bread, whom the timely bounty, from some unknown hand, would save from perishing.

The student stood there deeply affected, and his eyes filled with tears. "Now," said the professor, "are you not much better pleased than if you had played your intended trick?"

The youth replied, "You have taught me a lesson which I will never forget. I feel now the truth of those words, which I never understood before: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"

Author Unknown. Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 3 (2005).