Our Old Step Stool - 04/13/15
.
Friends, about two years ago I wrote a blog entry about a little man who came to our door one morning.
In the last two years, I've added another 150,000+ words to my blog, so the chapter is buried. In order to find it, a person would have to click down for several minutes.
For some reason, I've recently had about a dozen requests for the entry ... Our Old Step Stool. And, of course, I send a copy to those who ask for it.
The piece is also Karen's very favorite writing of mine. That sort of amazes me; of all the writing I've done, this little 960 word blog chapter is her all-time favorite.
In fact, Karen "cries for happy" every time she reads it.
So, just for kicks and giggles, I thought I'd post it here. I pray that you enjoy it.
Easter Blessings,
Steve
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Our Old Step Stool
At seventy years of age, Karen and I are getting horribly fragile. Because of this, I bought three very sturdy aluminum step stools that have wide steps and arm gizzies.
Our new step stools are heavier and more clumsy to use, but at our age we cannot afford a broken hip. We’ve seen the “broken hip death sentence” way too many times amongst our friends and folks at our church.
Rather than recycle our old step stools, I put them out on the curb. One was a bonafide antique Cosco, so I marked it at $5.00. One of our neighbors, Clara, quickly snatched up the Cosco and insisted on buying it. We offered to give it to her, but she insisted on paying.
The second step stool, a two-step aluminum one, remained on the curb for four days.
On the step stool was a note that I scribbled on the back of a 100-yard rifle target:
$3.00
Just put the money in our mailbox.
If you cannot afford to pay, please accept this as our gift to you.
God Bless You, Steve
This morning, I was sitting at our kitchen counter, eating Quaker Oats Granola and sneaking every fifth piece to Libby the Wonderdog. I was reading the obituaries and thinking that most of the dead folks were younger than Karen and me.
Oh yeah, and my ever-deadening feet (probably peripheral neuropathy or a pinched nerve in my lower spine) were REALLY BAD this morning. I was not off to a good start on the day.
Then, somebody rang our doorbell. So, I groaned audibly, limped over to the door and opened it.
And there stood a little man, a little white man, with a neatly trimmed beard. He was maybe forty-five years of age and about five-feet tall.
The neat little gnome was wearing a yellow safety vest with the legend "Road Rescue" on it.
He asked, "Are you Steve?"
I allowed, "Yep."
He said, "I'm Jose, I'm from Chile, but now I am American and I am so happy to be free. I work two jobs; I deliver your morning paper and I help people who lock themselves out of their cars."
The little man continued, "Your little ladder would make me tall enough to reach the tall windows of our American SUVS."
Jose went on, "I do not have three dollars, but I promise to bring three dollars to you just as soon as I have it."
I told him, "Jose, my new American friend, I surely do not need the three dollars. Take the ladder, use it in your wonderful job and may God Bless You."
Jose was on the verge of tears.
I watched him as he, quite embarrassed, turned around and walked to the street. Then, he took out a little camera and proceeded to take digital photos of the little ladder and my home-crafted sign.
So, I walked down to the curb and asked Jose why he was taking photos. He said, "In my old country, we were never free ... in my NEW COUNTRY, the country that I love, I am free."
He continued, "In Chile, we lived behind bars. Here, folks often leave their garage doors open and stuff in their yards. In Chile, everything that is not behind bars is stolen quickly."
"And here, you put a little ladder out on the curb. Anybody can buy it for $3 or, if they cannot afford it, they are free to take it in friendship. And then you, Steve, wish those unseen persons that God Bless them. That is almost too much for me to imagine."
Jose continued, "I take pictures like this to send to my family in Chile. If I didn't take pictures, they would not believe. That a stranger would trust anyone and everyone and then 'God Bless' is beyond belief."
Then, Jose, the happy new American informed me, "We are Catholic and what you are doing is at the very heart of our belief. I love living in a country where we can all do things like this."
I told Jose, "Karen, my wife of 48 years and I, are Catholic and living our faith is exactly what we try to do every day."
Again, Jose was on the edge of crying.
After taking his photos and lovingly folding up his new little ladder, Jose told me that he would surely not just put the $3 in our mail box. He would walk up to the door, knock and put the money in the hand of his new American friend.
I told Jose that it was not necessary to pay me, but he muttered something about “Honor and Friendship.”
We shook hands, hugged as Catholics do, and he went on his way.
In truth, today, I am a finer American and a better Catholic than I was yesterday. This morning, I saw with my own eyes a man who loves our country with all of his heart. Jose is so happy to be here and he absolutely appreciates the difference between freedom and oppression.
Seeing Jose’s rapt amazement at our freedom truly gave me a new perspective on what really means to be an American.
Further, I no longer see the old aluminum step stool as a piece of garbage. That silly, and somehow quite wonderful, little step stool will make Jose a taller man.
And being taller will greatly help Jose in the “keys locked in the huge American SUV” part of his road rescue job. To him, the little step stool is a godsend.
I rather expect a knock on our front door in a few days. And I'll open it ... and there will be a little bearded gnome standing there with three bucks in his hand.
I’ll betcha.
May God Bless You,
by Steve
.
Friends, about two years ago I wrote a blog entry about a little man who came to our door one morning.
In the last two years, I've added another 150,000+ words to my blog, so the chapter is buried. In order to find it, a person would have to click down for several minutes.
For some reason, I've recently had about a dozen requests for the entry ... Our Old Step Stool. And, of course, I send a copy to those who ask for it.
The piece is also Karen's very favorite writing of mine. That sort of amazes me; of all the writing I've done, this little 960 word blog chapter is her all-time favorite.
In fact, Karen "cries for happy" every time she reads it.
So, just for kicks and giggles, I thought I'd post it here. I pray that you enjoy it.
Easter Blessings,
Steve
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Our Old Step Stool
At seventy years of age, Karen and I are getting horribly fragile. Because of this, I bought three very sturdy aluminum step stools that have wide steps and arm gizzies.
Our new step stools are heavier and more clumsy to use, but at our age we cannot afford a broken hip. We’ve seen the “broken hip death sentence” way too many times amongst our friends and folks at our church.
Rather than recycle our old step stools, I put them out on the curb. One was a bonafide antique Cosco, so I marked it at $5.00. One of our neighbors, Clara, quickly snatched up the Cosco and insisted on buying it. We offered to give it to her, but she insisted on paying.
The second step stool, a two-step aluminum one, remained on the curb for four days.
On the step stool was a note that I scribbled on the back of a 100-yard rifle target:
$3.00
Just put the money in our mailbox.
If you cannot afford to pay, please accept this as our gift to you.
God Bless You, Steve
This morning, I was sitting at our kitchen counter, eating Quaker Oats Granola and sneaking every fifth piece to Libby the Wonderdog. I was reading the obituaries and thinking that most of the dead folks were younger than Karen and me.
Oh yeah, and my ever-deadening feet (probably peripheral neuropathy or a pinched nerve in my lower spine) were REALLY BAD this morning. I was not off to a good start on the day.
Then, somebody rang our doorbell. So, I groaned audibly, limped over to the door and opened it.
And there stood a little man, a little white man, with a neatly trimmed beard. He was maybe forty-five years of age and about five-feet tall.
The neat little gnome was wearing a yellow safety vest with the legend "Road Rescue" on it.
He asked, "Are you Steve?"
I allowed, "Yep."
He said, "I'm Jose, I'm from Chile, but now I am American and I am so happy to be free. I work two jobs; I deliver your morning paper and I help people who lock themselves out of their cars."
The little man continued, "Your little ladder would make me tall enough to reach the tall windows of our American SUVS."
Jose went on, "I do not have three dollars, but I promise to bring three dollars to you just as soon as I have it."
I told him, "Jose, my new American friend, I surely do not need the three dollars. Take the ladder, use it in your wonderful job and may God Bless You."
Jose was on the verge of tears.
I watched him as he, quite embarrassed, turned around and walked to the street. Then, he took out a little camera and proceeded to take digital photos of the little ladder and my home-crafted sign.
So, I walked down to the curb and asked Jose why he was taking photos. He said, "In my old country, we were never free ... in my NEW COUNTRY, the country that I love, I am free."
He continued, "In Chile, we lived behind bars. Here, folks often leave their garage doors open and stuff in their yards. In Chile, everything that is not behind bars is stolen quickly."
"And here, you put a little ladder out on the curb. Anybody can buy it for $3 or, if they cannot afford it, they are free to take it in friendship. And then you, Steve, wish those unseen persons that God Bless them. That is almost too much for me to imagine."
Jose continued, "I take pictures like this to send to my family in Chile. If I didn't take pictures, they would not believe. That a stranger would trust anyone and everyone and then 'God Bless' is beyond belief."
Then, Jose, the happy new American informed me, "We are Catholic and what you are doing is at the very heart of our belief. I love living in a country where we can all do things like this."
I told Jose, "Karen, my wife of 48 years and I, are Catholic and living our faith is exactly what we try to do every day."
Again, Jose was on the edge of crying.
After taking his photos and lovingly folding up his new little ladder, Jose told me that he would surely not just put the $3 in our mail box. He would walk up to the door, knock and put the money in the hand of his new American friend.
I told Jose that it was not necessary to pay me, but he muttered something about “Honor and Friendship.”
We shook hands, hugged as Catholics do, and he went on his way.
In truth, today, I am a finer American and a better Catholic than I was yesterday. This morning, I saw with my own eyes a man who loves our country with all of his heart. Jose is so happy to be here and he absolutely appreciates the difference between freedom and oppression.
Seeing Jose’s rapt amazement at our freedom truly gave me a new perspective on what really means to be an American.
Further, I no longer see the old aluminum step stool as a piece of garbage. That silly, and somehow quite wonderful, little step stool will make Jose a taller man.
And being taller will greatly help Jose in the “keys locked in the huge American SUV” part of his road rescue job. To him, the little step stool is a godsend.
I rather expect a knock on our front door in a few days. And I'll open it ... and there will be a little bearded gnome standing there with three bucks in his hand.
I’ll betcha.
May God Bless You,
by Steve
.
![[Linked Image]](http://s11.photobucket.com/user/dogzapper/media/CIMG0223_zpsgkg7vb6c.jpg.html)
![[Linked Image]](http://s11.photobucket.com/user/dogzapper/media/CIMG0237_zps6svmqq4m.jpg.html)