Category: Gratitude

Heirloom

9/24/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

It had belonged to Great-Grandmother and he knew he must be very careful. The vase was one of mother's dearest treasures. She had told him so.

The vase placed high on the mantle, was out of reach of little hands, but somehow he managed. He just wanted to see if the tiny rosebud border went all around the back. He didn't realize that a boy's five-year-old hands are sometimes clumsy and not meant to hold delicate porcelain treasures. It shattered when it hit the floor, and he began to cry. That cry soon became a sobbing wail, growing louder and louder. From the kitchen, his mother heard her son crying and came around the corner. She stopped then, looked at him, and saw what he had done.

Between his sobs, he could hardly speak the words, "I broke.... the vase."

And then his mother gave him a gift. With a look of relief, his mother said "Oh, thank heavens, I thought you were hurt!" And she held him tenderly until his sobbing stopped.

She made it very clear... he was the treasure. Though now a grown man, it is a gift he still carries in his heart.

Original Story by Ann Weems, retold by Alice Gray in Stories for the Heart.

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).

White Lie Cake

7/15/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

Alice Grayson was to bake a cake for the Church Ladies' Group in Tuscaloosa, but forgot to do it until the last minute. She remembered the morning of the bake sale & after rummaging through cabinets, found an angel food cake mix and quickly made it while drying her hair, dressing, and helping her son pack for Scout camp.

When Alice took the cake from the oven, the center had dropped flat and the cake was horribly disfigured, she thought, "Oh dear, there is not time to bake another cake." This cake was important to Alice because she did so want to fit in at her new church and in her new community of friends.

So, being inventive, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake. Alice found it in the bathroom - a roll of toilet paper. She plunked it in and covered it with icing. Not only did the finished product look beautiful, it looked perfect. Before she left the house to drop the cake by the church and head for work, Alice woke her daughter Amanda and gave her some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the moment it opened at 9:30 and to buy the cake and bring it home.

When Amanda arrived at the sale, she found the attractive, perfect cake had already been sold. She grabbed her cell phone and called her mom. Alice was horrified - she was beside herself. Everyone would know! What would they think? She would be ostracized, talked about, and ridiculed!

All night, Alice lay awake in bed thinking about people pointing fingers at her and talking about her behind her back. The next day, Alice promised herself she would try not to think about the cake and would attend the fancy luncheon/bridal shower at the home of a fellow church member and try to have a good time. Alice did not want to attend because the hostess was a snob who more than once had looked down her nose at Alice because she was a single parent and not from the founding families of Tuscaloosa. But, having already RSVP'd, she couldn't think of a believable excuse to stay home.

The meal was elegant; the company was definitely upper crust old South and, to Alice's horror, the cake in question was presented for dessert! Alice felt the blood drain from her body when she saw the cake! She started out of her chair to tell the hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, the Mayor's wife said, "What a beautiful cake!"

Alice still stunned, sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess (who was a prominent church member) say, "Thank you, I baked it myself."

Alice smiled and thought to herself, "God is good."

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 6 (2008).

Glass of Milk

6/18/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

One day, a poor boy who was selling goods from door to door to pay his way through school, found he had only one thin dime left, and he was hungry. He decided he would ask for a meal at the next house. However, he lost his nerve when a lovely young woman opened the door. Instead of a meal he asked for a drink of water.

She thought he looked hungry so brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it slowly, and then asked, “How much do I owe you? “

“You don't owe me anything,” she replied. "Mother has taught us never to accept pay for a kindness."

He said..... "Then I thank you from my heart."

As Howard Kelly left that house, he not only felt stronger physically, but his faith in God and man was strong also. He had been ready to give up and quit.

Many years later that same young woman became critically ill. The local doctors were baffled! They finally sent her to the big city, where they called in specialists to study her rare disease.

Dr. Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he heard the name of the town she came from, a strange light filled his eyes. Immediately he rose and went down the hall of the hospital to her room. Dressed in his doctor's gown he went in to see her. He recognized her at once.

He went back to the consultation room determined to do his best to save her life. From that day he gave special attention to her case. After a long struggle, the battle was won.

Dr. Kelly requested the business office to pass the final bill to him for approval. He looked at it, then wrote something on the edge and the bill was sent to her room. She feared to open it, for she was sure it would take the rest of her life to pay for it all. Finally she looked, and something caught her attention on the side of the bill. She read these words..... "Paid in full with one glass of milk"

(Signed) Dr. Howard Kelly.

Tears of joy flooded her eyes as her happy heart prayed: "Thank You, God, that your love has spread broad through human hearts and hands." There's a saying which goes something like this: Bread cast on the waters comes back to you.

The good deed you do today may benefit you or someone you love at the least expected time. If you never see the deed again at least you will have made the world a better place − And, after all, isn't that what life is all about?

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 6 (2008).

When You Thought I Wasn't Looking

5/11/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator, and I immediately wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you feed a stray cat, and I learned that it was good to be kind to animals.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make my favorite cake for me and I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I heard you say a prayer and I knew there is a God I could always talk to and I learned to trust in God.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you make a meal and take it to a friend who was sick, and I learned that we all have to help take care of each other.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you give of your time and money to help people who had nothing, and I learned that those who have something should give to those who don't.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it, and I learned we have to take care of what we are given.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn't feel good and I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw tears come from your eyes, and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it's all right to cry.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I saw that you cared, and I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I learned most of life's lessons that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn't looking, I looked at you and wanted to say, "THANKS FOR ALL THE THINGS I SAW WHEN YOU THOUGHT I WASN'T LOOKING."

Happy Mother’s Day!

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).

A Split Second

3/28/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

The day was bright and sunny as the driver made his way south on the eighteen mile trek to the other facility he served. It was nearly past lunchtime and he was anxious to get to the “Cafe” and a chicken quesadilla. He approached the intersection as he had done at least three or four times a week for the past eighteen months.

Heading north in the left turn lane, at least three cars sat with their turn signals on. There was a little clearance as the first car entered the path of his car and headed west. The second car, a black SUV, followed the first one and a small alarm went off in his head as he thought, “That guy is cutting it a bit close.”

What happened next was almost a blur. In sudden disbelief, he saw the third car, a red Camaro, begin to pull into his lane to make the turn. In an instant he knew that there was no way he could either stop in time or swerve to miss the impact. Futilely he yelled to the sight ahead of him. He slammed the brake pedal and braced for the air bag to slam him. As he made impact he felt himself pitch forward and then back. All was still. There was no air bag. He was conscious, but the wind knocked out of him. He noticed people coming toward him, one talking on a cell phone.

Someone asked, “Are you O.K.?”

He sat in the seat and said, “No.”

By the following morning he was on the way home from the hospital. He had been checked thoroughly with X-rays, blood workups, CT scan, EKG, and a night of observation. The only damage was a chest that hurt when he breathed, especially deeply, or moved very much. His emotions at times were overwhelming at the thoughts of what could have happened.

By the way. I was that driver. Good to be back.

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

Grandpa's Hands

3/12/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

I'll never look at my hands the same! Grandpa, some ninety plus years, sat feebly on the patio bench. He didn't move, just sat with his head down staring at his hands. When I sat down beside him he didn't acknowledge my presence and the longer I sat I wondered if he was OK. Finally, not really wanting to disturb him yet wanting to check on him, I asked him if he was OK.

He raised his head and looked at me and smiled. “Yes, I'm fine, thank you for asking,” he said in a clear strong voice.

“I didn't mean to disturb you, Grandpa, but you were just sitting here staring at your hands and I wanted to make sure you were OK,” I explained to him.

“Have you ever looked at your hands?” he asked. “I mean really looked at your hands?”

I slowly opened my hands and stared down at them. I turned them over, palms up and then palms down. No, I guess I had never really looked at my hands as I tried to figure out the point he was making.

Grandpa smiled and related this story: “Stop and think for a moment about the hands you have, how they have served you well throughout your years. These hands, though wrinkled, shriveled and weak have been the tools I have used all my life to reach out and grab and embrace life. They braced and caught my fall when as a toddler I crashed upon the floor. They put food in my mouth and clothes on my back. As a child my mother taught me to fold them in prayer.

They tied my shoes and pulled on my boots. They held my rifle and wiped my tears when I went off to war. They have been dirty, scraped and raw, swollen and bent. They were uneasy and clumsy when I tried to hold my newborn son. Decorated with my wedding band they showed the world that I was married and loved someone special. They wrote the letters home and trembled and shook when I buried my parents and spouse and walked my daughter down the aisle.

Yet, they were strong and sure when I dug my buddy out of a foxhole and lifted a plow off of my best friend's foot. They have held children, consoled neighbors, and shook in fists of anger when I didn't understand. They have covered my face, combed my hair, and washed and cleansed the rest of my body. They have been sticky and wet, bent and broken, dried and raw. And to this day when not much of anything else of me works real well these hands hold me up, lay me down, and again continue to fold in prayer.

These hands are the mark of where I've been and the ruggedness of life. But more importantly it will be these hands that God will reach out and take when he leads me home.”

I will never look at my hands the same again. I remember God reached out and took my Grandpa's hands and led him home. When my hands are hurt or sore or when I stroke the face of my children and wife I think of Grandpa.

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).

Drinking from a Saucer

1/31/2014

© Patty Fitts. All Rights Reserved.

I've never made a fortune
And it is probably too late now
But I don't worry about that
I'm happy anyhow
As I go along life's journey
I'm reaping better than I sowed,
I'm drinking from my saucer
'cause my cup has overflowed.

Ain't got a lot of riches
Sometimes the goings rough
But I've got friends that love me,
That makes me rich enough.
I thank God for his blessings
and the mercy he's bestowed.
I'm drinking from my saucer
'cause my cup has overflowed.

I remember times when things went wrong
and my faith got a little thin
then all at once the dark clouds parted
and the sun broke through again.
So Lord, help me not to gripe
about tough rows I have hoed.
I'm drinking from my saucer
'cause my cup has overflowed.

And if God gives me strength and courage
when the way gets steep and rough
I'll try not to ask for blessings
I'm already blessed enough.
And may I never be too busy
to help another bear his load
For I'll keep drinking from my saucer
'cause my cup has overflowed.

Reprinted from Grace Drops, Volume 5 (2007).