Thanksgoating - Day Three hundred seventy seven. Yeah, you didn't see this coming.

capnjb went on a bit of a rant said
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Hi, It’s me again! I am not goating like I used to but like I said this time last year, this is a true story I wrote some time ago and I like to revisit it and share it around Thanksgiving because it reminds me to be a good human.

Just a quick update on some things since I goated last year… I’m now two years out of the hospital… and embarrassingly healthy. Staying a steady 170 pounds. Woo! Celebrated 23 years of my wife putting up with me yesterday. Cooked all day and napped during my teams football game. My daughter continues to be amazing and also had her first driving lesson yesterday. And she has finally started picking up my guitars and is enjoying learning how to play. It seems that when dad shuts up about asking if she wants to learn how to play that’s her cue to take over.

Anywho… here is my Thanksgiving message once again. Don’t mean to step on any hooves, but I like to use all the words

Today I am thankful for The Value of a Dollar

It was 1977. I was six years old and dressed in my Sunday best. My father pulled out his comb and did his best to straighten out the rat’s nest in my hair. I held the comics in my lap as we drove to church. It was a Sunday just like every Sunday I remembered.

We sat where we always sat, and I did my best to pay attention to the service. I’d eventually grab my dad’s gold pen and doodle on the program. It was Sunday and this was how I did Sunday at six years of age. During the announcements, the pastor, Louis Evans, spoke about a church mission that was raising funds to bring irrigation to an African village where crops would perish because there was no water. It seemed like a noble cause to me.

Being a six-year-old of reasonable means, I thought I would do what I could to help this cause. Later, after lunch, I went up to my room and pulled my treasure chest bank from its shelf and spilled its contents on my bed. Nickels, dimes, pennies… probably a few dollars’ worth, were spread across my bed. But there in the middle of these coins was a rather new silver dollar. I plucked it from the smaller coins and decided that this dollar was going to church with me next Sunday.

The following Sunday was just like every Sunday that had come before. Except this time, I had a large silver dollar in my pocket. I turned the dollar over and over in my pocket until it was warm. Did I really want to give up my favorite coin? Over and over I turned the dollar. The announcements came and Dr. Evans spoke again about the need for irrigation and I stopped turning the dollar. I was going to do this.

After the service we headed to the parlor where there was a small reception. I saw Dr. Evans and broke away from my family to give him my dollar. Weaving through the crowd I eventually made my way to Dr. Evans. He was easily twice my height, so I looked up and tugged on his pants leg, hoping to get his attention. He looked down, said hello, and smiled as he always did. I pulled the silver dollar out of my pocket and lifted it up to him and told him I wanted it to help with the irrigation project. He took the coin from me, thanked me very much and told me it would be very helpful. And although I lived in a very small world at six years of age, I felt like I had done something big. I liked having that coin, but somehow it was more valuable now that I didn’t have it. Pretty profound for a six-year-old I think.

I would then forget this day for a very long time.

Twenty years later I was visiting my parents and we all went to church for Sunday service. We sat where we always did, which was expected. I spent a good part of the service looking around for familiar faces and was surprised how many I saw. At the conclusion of the service, I stood up, hoping to make eye contact with an old friend I hadn’t seen in years. While I was trying to peer over the crowd, an older gentleman came up to me and introduced himself. He knew my family but knew that I probably didn’t know him. He handed me a tattered envelope and began to tell me a story that started twenty years prior.

He had been standing in the parlor, talking to Louis Evans about his sermon when a tow headed six-year-old came up and wanted to donate a silver dollar to the African relief fund. He spoke of the moment in such great detail it was as if I was there again. It was obvious that he had remembered this moment on more than a few occasions. He said that he was so moved by this action that later he exchanged a paper dollar bill for the silver dollar and tucked it away in his pocket. He told me that he had put that silver dollar in his sock drawer and looked at it every morning, remembering the generosity of a six-year-old. He went on to say what a profound impact it had on his life, starting every day with that silver dollar and what it represented.

I opened the envelope he gave me to find the same silver dollar I had once owned as a six-year-old. The envelope was tattered because it had made the trip to church in this man’s pockets for several years, hoping to once again find me. It was a very humbling moment for a twenty-something. This single dollar had now made a second impact on my life in a very roundabout way.

Now, more than a decade later, I’m a husband and father. I do what I can do to be a good man, but I still have my moments.

And I still have my silver dollar. In my sock drawer.

When things get difficult and times get hard, I can always take that coin and turn it over and over again in my pocket until it gets warm and reflect on what was important to a six-year-old.

It’s a great place to start when working through things.

Have a hopeful and thankful November everyone. And go have fun being human