*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 to 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** a**nd 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.'** *
*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 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: he 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. *
*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. 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 GOOD 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. *
*Pass this message to seven people except *
*you and me. You will receive a miracle *
*tomorrow - don't question..(just do it)*
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