MOST PRECIOUS THINGS
© 2006,2015, 2026 Carolyn R. Scheidies
I was younger then, arrogant and visiting a friend in the neighborhood. The kid was maybe six or seven, sitting outside of his house near the sidewalk under the watchful eye of his mom who peeked out the front window from time to time, but didn’t interfere with her entrepreneurial son.
The lad perched on a rickety folding chair behind a card table that had seen better days. A carefully lettered sign read FOR SALE. On the table, placed with the care of a child, were a child’s treasures: a painted rock, a few large colorful marbles, comics—not in the best of shape, three much used toy trucks, two old children’s video games—much played, and a doll without hair that he assured me belonged to his sister.
Very solemn, he told me the proceeds would go to his sister. I smiled, thinking he didn’t want me to think he played with dolls or that he’d taken her toy without permission and that he’d, of course, give her the money he earned by selling her doll.
The price on the items ranged from five to fifty cents.
“I need the money,” he said, as though that would propel me into a sale. His presentation needed work.
“Why?” I figured he planned on buying a new video game or other toy and silently applauded his efforts to earn the money. I nodded my approval at his mom, checking on her son. Was there a certain tightness in her expression?
The toys weren’t worth much, but still, something about the kid’s initiative brought forth my better instincts, and I purchased a couple comics, the painted rock and two trucks. After all, I could always dump the stuff. I left a five-dollar bill that lit up the boy’s face with such gratitude I felt guilty as though I hadn’t done enough, as though he knew what I planned to do with his “treasures.”
Picking up a video game, I threw down another dollar. “I like your initiative. I hope this will help toward that special something you’re saving for.”
The boy took my money and tucked it away in a plastic pencil box. “Thank you, Mister.” Polite, too. I was impressed, especially when he pulled out a plastic bag for my purchases.
I thought little about my “stuff,” almost embarrassed as I carried them into my friend’s house. He nodded toward the bag, and I explained how impressed I was with the initiative of his neighbor’s son. I laughed about it, until the expression on my friend’s face stopped me.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?
“He’s not earning money for himself.”
“No?” I waited, feeling I wasn’t going to like what came next. I was right.
“That little child is selling his most prized possessions because his little sister has cancer. He overheard how expensive the treatments were, way out of the reach of his family’s meager resources and decided to help out by selling the possessions that are most valuable to him.”
The bag hung like lead in my hands. I felt like I’d stolen a boy’s heart. Yet, I’d purchased them for more than their worth…or had I? How magnanimous I’d felt. Now I just felt small. Traded treasures for arrogance. As my friend filled me in, shame filled me. I choked back unmanly tears.
My friend’s words stripped away my arrogance and the veneer that had been the heart of a surgeon who once upon a time pledged to help and heal—not just feather a financial nest. I discovered the sister was a patient I’d turned down for my highly acclaimed and expensive skills because the family was unable to come up with even a smidgen of the cost for the expensive surgery needed
That day changed my life. I called my office and scheduled an appointment with the family’s doctor. As I set things in motion, I discovered something I’d forgotten--life isn’t all about getting; it’s about giving, sacrificing that others might live.
The little girl came through the surgery, her brother ever vigilant and protective of his little sister. As for me who seldom took time for others? I found something more valuable than a kid’s toys. I found out that, after all, life is not only for giving, it is also for living—every day to its fullest.
Little choices can change everything. Tomorrow I welcome that loving brother as a new surgeon to my clinic, a clinic dedicated to helping regardless of financial means. A fitting end, I think, to a little boy’s determination to help his sister by selling his MOST PRECIOUS THINGS.
Most Previous Things
Special Birthday Surprise
SPECIAL BIRTHDAY SURPRISE
© 2005-2026 Carolyn R. Scheidies
He hustled through the front door, his arm behind his back. A smile hovered on his lips.
A just-turned five-year-old tornado hurled himself at the tall, well-proportioned man entering the living room. “Dad! Dad, you’re home!”
“Son, hold on.” The man chuckled as he caught his wriggly son with his free arm. His laugh deepened. “Why so excited?”
The boy straightened. He was tall for his age with shock of blond hair. His deep blue eyes widened. “My birthday, Dad. It’s my birthday. You didn’t forget?”
He caught his breath. “Me and Mom and Brother and Sissy, we’ve been decorating all,” he flung out his arms, “morning.” A moment later, he tugged his dad’s arm, frowning a bit with impatience. “Dad, come on in. Come see.” He pointed toward balloons dancing against strings tied and taped around the room—red, yellow, blue, purple, white.
“Hurry, dad. I get to decorate my cake. Wanta watch?”
“Of course.” Still the man didn’t move further into the room.
“Dad?” A pleading note sounded in the boy’s tone along with uncertainty. “Why are you standing in the doorway?” He motioned toward the couch. “See. Gramma and Grampa are already here and the ice cream’s going to melt and I wanta decorate my cake and eat and open presents.” He sucked in a deep breath as he pointed to the brightly wrapped gifts piled on an end table.
“Sissy,” he called to his one-year-old sister heading for the table. “NO! Those are MY presents.” He turned toward the kitchen away from the front entrance. “Mom! Stop Sissy.” When his sister suddenly sat on her bottom and crawled away, he glanced back at his dad. “Come on, Dad.”
His father’s eyebrows rose as a smile quirked on his lips. “I have a surprise.”
The boy’s face lit up like a birthday candle. “Surprise? Oh, what is it, Dad? What is it?” He tried to peer behind his father, but his dad held him off.
“Son, what did you want for your birthday?” A sound caused him to clear his throat to cover it.
The boy yelled. “Dad, that wasn’t you.” He tried to duck under his dad’s long legs as he talked. A robbo-robot game, a tanker truck with a ladder that goes up and down and, and a puppy. A real live puppy all my own.” His shoulders slumped. “But you always say, ‘no pets.’
“Well, I didn’t get you a puppy, Son.” The man shook his head, grinned. “But I did bring you something…well, someone.” Stepping aside, the man let a young woman slide passed him into the room. She needed no introduction as his son squealed,
“Aunt Katie! My favoritist aunt in the world! You came to my party!”
He hesitated. “But you live far away. How did you get here?” Not waiting for her answer, he launched himself into her waiting arms. As he knew she would, she caught him up in her famous hug and swung him around.
His aunt, dad’s sister, had come back for his party. Somehow, he almost, but not quite missed sight of the box she’d quickly handed to his dad. Once she put him down, she retrieved it and knelt to be face-to-face with him. “Happy Birthday, Sport.”
The box shook as he grasped it. “Careful, Son,” his dad cautioned. “Don’t drop it.”
The boy knelt beside his favorite aunt. Ahh. Two little eyes stared out at him through a hole in the box. “Oh.” With his aunt’s help, he opened the box and simply stared. It couldn’t be. “But, Dad said he wouldn’t get me a puppy.” He seemed afraid to touch the wriggly bundle of fur as though afraid it might disappear or be taken away.
With a laugh, Aunt Cassie lifted the brown and white fur ball from the box. “Because I told my brother, your dad, I was bringing this little one for you.” Gently, she placed the squirmy mutt into the boy’s waiting arms.
The boy’s eyes widened in wonder and a giggle escaped when the little dog licked his face. He got all protective when his brother and sister crowded him. He instructed, “Gotta be nice to him.”
His joy reflected on his face. Holding the puppy close, he glanced around the room at all the smiling, caring adults who’d come to his party. He sounded very grown-up. “I prayed for a puppy and for Aunt Katie to come to my party. I didn’t think God would really answer, but He did.” He giggled as the puppy snuggled against his chin.
His dad knelt beside him. “Sometimes God says, ‘no’ or ‘wait.’”
The boy nodded. His tone earnest, he said, “But, Daddy, this time I just needed to know He heard.”
Only the Father knows the cry of our hearts, knows the motives of a young boy’s need and answers abundantly because He is living and present and compassionate.
Call unto me, and I will answer thee, and show thee great and mighty things, which thou knowest not. Jeremiah 33:3
