|
|
 |
| Pennies
In The Road |
|
| Jason
Moore |
|
It was just a penny. Not even a new penny.
Just an old, dirty worn one. I saw it on the sidewalk as I was
walking to the grocery store. I saw it like you do so many
things as you busy yourself during the day. I was barely
conscious of seeing it. It was just “something” I noted
along my path like the car that I waited to pass before crossing
the street or the bird that landed by the puddle and flitted
away. The penny was not an important thing. It was just
“something,” another “thing.”
To stop and pick the penny up was too much of a bother. I had
other pennies in my pocket. Another penny would just be another
coin to fall out of my pocket when I sat in a chair or when I
retrieved my keys. It was just another object to empty from my
pockets at home or, being overlooked, to wind up in the washer
or making a racket in the dryer. The penny was not worth the
trouble. I didn’t muse over all these things when I saw the
penny. Those are just some of the reasons that the penny
received so little thought. The only thought that went through
my mind was “penny” before it was shoved aside by more
important thoughts.
I saw the penny again later—I don’t know how much later. It
wasn’t worth taking note of how much time had passed since I
saw it last. I’m sure I had passed its exact location many
times without seeing it. This time it was on the street. Perhaps
I had even kicked it there unknowingly or, knocking it on
several occasions, moved it there in increments. I saw it and I
thought “same penny but now in the street” (or something
like that) and I thought no more.
Much later—again I know not how long—I passed the dirty,
worn penny. It had traveled to a place in the road that had been
patched with asphalt. The heat of the sun had softened the
asphalt and the frequent passage of traffic over that spot had
pressed the penny into the asphalt until it was flush like a
sort of seal. I was hardly fascinated with the spectacle though
I gave the penny a fleeting second more thought than I had
previously—not for the penny’s sake, but only for its new
predicament.
I fear that some people receive as much attention from me as the
penny now on the sidewalk, later in the road. I pass by them
often, maybe over them at times. I may even nudge or kick or
step on them—certainly not on purpose but just because my
attention is elsewhere. I don’t think of them as unimportant.
I know better. I just don’t think of them at all. To think of
them is to be bothered with them and I’m bothered with so many
things already. If I carry their burdens along with my own
that’s just something else to fill up my already bulging
pockets. That’s just something else to fall out on the floor
and interrupt my leisure when I try to sit. That’s just
something else to become tangled with other receipts, notes,
memos, names and phone numbers stuffed in my pockets. That’s
just another thing to come out in the wash—which is fine, but
I have enough laundry of my own. It’s just another problem to
go round and round with a racket in my mind like a washed and
worn penny in the dryer.
It’s not that I muse all those thoughts about other people and
their troubles. Those are just a few of the reasons why I give
so little thought to them at times. Sometimes I only think
“person” and go on my way. They are just another
“someone” like the so many “someones” and
“somethings” that are in my path—the “car” that I must
wait to pass, the “bird” that drinks from the puddle, or the
“penny” on the asphalt. I’m afraid sometimes such people
fall off the sidewalk and into the traffic without my
notice—maybe even on my account. It’s not until I just
happen to look—not because I was looking for them, but just
because I was looking around—and see that they’ve become
pressed into one of the ruts on the road. “Now they’ve done
it,” I think. They’ve gotten themselves stuck, and I can do
nothing to help, lodged as they are. Wonder why they never asked
for help?” Then, my thoughts run on to other things. I gave
them a fleeting more second’s thought than I had previously. I
briefly pity them for their new predicament and walk on jingling
the change in my pocket, oblivious to the pennies in the road.
“Lord, when did we see you hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger,
or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of
You?” And He will answer, “To the extent that you did not do
it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me”
(Matthew 25:44-45). I didn’t drop the penny that fell on the
sidewalk and wound up in the road. I just didn’t pick it up.
|
|
Copyright (C)
2008
Southside Church of Christ
All rights reserved.
|
|
|
