Written on December 14, 2007

A Few Pennies by Larry Patten

One penny shy of a quarter.

In the next sentences, I probably will make more of those twenty-four cents than they are worth.

And yet I will overvalue those pennies because I can still, a day later, recall the feelings, indeed remember the slight shiver of electricity within me, that occurred when I heard, “Don’t worry about it.”

Let me set the scene.

One of the chores on my to-do list was to mail a letter. After I had placed the stamp on the envelope, I was uncertain about the content’s first class weight. Was a single stamp enough postage?

So I went to a store where I’ve done occasional snail mailing. As a writer, even in the age of electronic attachments and zip drives, quite a few items I send must be carried by real persons, from one hand to the next. Maybe, in the last six months, I’ve been to this private business ten times. Maybe less. It’s always the same clerk; I suspect she’s the owner of the modest “pack and ship” operation.

I’ve been polite. She’s been polite. Once, when I was organizing information to get my passport, she was my notary. Her official stamp and signature legally witnessed my signature. Possibly the longest conversation we ever had was when I asked:

“Do you like country music?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

On that day, slightly different than previous visits, music softly played from a portable radio by the fax machine. I may have said a few more silly things about my lack of enthusiasm for most country music; she may have mentioned a few singers she liked.

She weighed yesterday’s letter. Forty-one first class cents was not enough. I needed two dimes and four pennies worth of postage. I reached for my wallet, and fumbled for a dollar bill. I hope I’m always a person willing to change, but I rarely carry any with me.

She said, “Don’t worry about it.”

We had talked longer about music. And it was only a few cents that she was covering for me. What are a few pennies?

It was how she looked at me.

Oh yeah, maybe it was good business. It could be said she was marketing. In the future I would spend more cash, write more checks and use my credit or debit card for her services and products.

But her look said, “I trust you.” The look said, or at least hinted, that humans aren’t mere money or just customers. The look said “thank you.” Not “thank you for your business,” but just those first two words. Thank you.

Or I could be wrong.

But I had that slight shiver of electricity. I walked away from the store, with more chores ahead of me, feeling lighter. Like birds, I momentarily imagined my bones were hollow and I could more easily take wing. Again, as with one penny shy of a quarter not being much money, the lingering feeling was not dramatic. But I felt different.

In these days leading up to Christmas I’ve been reading the traditional texts that prepare for and anticipate Jesus’ birth. This week I read the passage in Matthew (1:18-25) scheduled for the fourth Sunday of Advent: An angel of the Lord visits Joseph in a dream. Before he slept, Joseph resolved to dismiss Mary, his betrothed. After the dream, after an angelic messenger visits him, after he wakes, Joseph, scripture says, “…did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife.”

Awake. Asleep. Awake again. Different feelings.

I also read and re-read the verses from Isaiah 7:10-16. And, thinking of Joseph, thinking of feelings and moments of change, I was entranced with a couple of words found in Isaiah 7:15: “to refuse the evil and choose the good.” In fact, that phrase is repeated in the next verse.

Faith is rooted in choices. Faith grows or weakens based on our choices. To refuse evil and choose good.

Joseph awakes. And scripture, whether the Christmas story is read as all fact or awesome myth, celebrates an old carpenter’s different feeling. Awake again, a particular and new choice is made.

It was only a handful of coins. But I remember how I felt. I remember how she looked at me. I believe she made a choice that was formed and fueled by choosing the good.

In this twenty-first century season of Christmas, we will—business as usual—spend far too many coins on gifts.

But in the sharing of gifts, what has the most value?

I remember the feeling.