[GCFL-discuss] The Pickle Jar

[gcfl-discuss at gcfl.net]

I just recieved this from one of my friends and I think it is something
that everone will like.  

Eric
NY
 
>>The pickle jar as far back as I can remember sat on the floor beside
the
>>dresser in my parents' bedroom. When he got ready for bed, Dad would
>>empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy I
was
>>always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped
into
>>the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost
empty.
>>Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled.
I
>>used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper
and
>>silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun
poured
>>through the bedroom window. When the jar was filled, Dad would sit
at
>>the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank.
>>Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked
neatly
>>in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me
on
>>the seat of his old truck.
>>
>>    Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at
me
>>hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile
mill,
>>son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not
going
>>to hold you back."
>>
>>   Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins
across
>>the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly.
>>"These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill
all
>>his life like me."
>>
>>    We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice
cream
>>cone. I always got chocolate. Dad always got vanilla. When the clerk
at
>>the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few
>>coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling
the
>>jar again." He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar.
As
>>they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each
>>other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and
quarters,"
>>he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."
>>
>>    The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in
another
>>town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their
>>bedroom, and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its
>>purpose and had been removed.
>>
>>    A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the
dresser
>>where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and
never
>>lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance, and faith.
The
>>pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than
the
>>most flowery of words could have done. When I married, I told my
wife
>>Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in
my
>>life as a boy. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how
much
>>my dad had loved me.
>>
>>    No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to
doggedly
>>drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off
from
>>the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not
a
>>single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked
>>across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them
more
>>palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for
me.
>>"When you finish college, Son," he told me, his eyes glistening,
"You'll
>>never have to eat beans again...unless you want to."
>>
>>    The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent
the
>>holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each
>>other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild.
Jessica
>>began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She
>>probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my
>>parents' bedroom to diaper her. When Susan came back into the living
>>room, there was a strange mist in her eyes.
>>
>>    She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and leading
me
>>into the room. "Look," she said softly, her eyes directing me to a
spot
>>on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it
had
>>never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already
covered
>>with coins. I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my
pocket,
>>and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking
me,
>>I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad,
carrying
>>Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I
knew
>>he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither one of us could
speak.
>>
>>    This truly touched my heart... I know it has yours as well.
Sometimes
>>we are so busy adding up our troubles that we forget to count our
>>blessings.
>>
>>    Never underestimate the power of your actions. With one small
gesture
>>you can change a person's life, for better or for worse.
>>
>>    God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another in
some
>>way.  Look for God in others.
>>
>>    The best and most beautiful things cannot be seen or touched -
they
>>must be felt with the heart ~ Helen Keller
>>
>>
>>    Happy moments, praise God.
>>
>>    Difficult moments, seek God.
>>
>>    Quiet moments, worship God.
>>
>>    Painful moments, trust God.
>>
>>    Every moment, thank God.
>>
>>
>>
>

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