The pickle jar ... Thanks Bob Looney!

*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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