The Dime
Stories
Lightly Goes the Good News
Scripture Stories For Reflection
"So, I've lost the dime. It's only ten cents." Freeda tried to dismiss the loss as trivial. "What can you do with a dime these days anyway?" she muttered scanning the table where she knew she had stacked ten dimes but now could find only nine. "Buy a pack of gum? Xerox one page of the Jerusalem Gazette? Get a second rate postcard at one of the flea markets on David Drive? So who needs a dime?" She shrugged her shoulders and cut the air with her hand, signaling to herself that the case was closed.
Freeda marched across the room to the easy chair and sat down. She closed her eyes for a little rest before continuing her chores. However, after a couple of seconds her eyes had involuntarily opened and focused on the table where the nine coins lay neatly stacked. She shook her head, tapped her left foot softly on the rug and wondered, "But what happened to it? Where could it have gone? It's not important, of course. I don't need it. Plenty more of them in the bank." Once more she closed her eyes, all the time tapping her foot. Soon she noticed her finger restlessly rapping the arm of her chair. "That's it," she sighed as she got to her feet. "It's not important but it's got to be here somewhere. And I'm going to find it." Freeda wasted no time retracing her steps to the table.
"It will only take a minute. I'll find it," she said confidently. "Most likely it's on the rug beside the table. Maybe even underneath the table." Her eyes narrowed as she brought her forefinger to the side of her nose and paused before making her descent. Then she slowly got down on all fours and lowered her head close to the floor, squinting as she scanned the rugged terrain of the shag rug while she carefully ran her fingers over its surface. She stopped, studied the rug again, and repeated the maneuver. Then her right hand halted, her eyes lit up, and she started to say, "I found it!" But she had barely blurted out the word "found" when she realized that her discovery was a paper clip, hardly what she was looking for.
"It isn't worth it. It isn't worth it. It isn't worth it," she declared over and over as she got to her feet. Then seemingly unaware of what she had just resolved, Freeda cried out, "Now where are you? I am going to find you! Wherever you are!"
Obviously, Freeda was no longer in any mood for games. Hands on hips, she surveyed the whole room like a field marshal preparing to attack. She swept the floor with her eyes and continued her gaze right up to the ceiling. The sleuth in her knew perfectly well that the chances of finding the dime on the ceiling were highly unlikely but this didn't prevent her from inspecting each of the wooden beams and every inch of plaster between them. For a minute she paused as she noted cobwebs in the corners. "I've never seen those before." There was alarm in her voice. "I've got to get rid of them." She hesitated. "Later, later," she added as she resumed her investigation and examined the four walls. Her eyes rested on a picture. "No, that's ridiculous. It couldn't be there," she laughed as she took down the picture of her late husband and looked inside the frame between the picture and the cardboard backing. No dime but a love letter lodged there for years. She had forgotten about that letter and her fingers caressed it as tears formed in her eyes. "I'll read this tonight," she promised herself tucking the letter in her apron pocket and straightening the picture in its frame.
"I bet the dime is under the cushion of that chair. It has to be there." She removed the cushion from her favorite chair. There were a couple of kernels of popcorn, two rubber bands, and a fifty cent piece. "Fifty cents!" she exclaimed. "But I don't want fifty cents. I want that dime. It's not important but I want it." Plopping the cushion back on the chair, Freeda buried the popcorn, the rubber bands, and the fifty cent piece for another undetermined length of time.
She looked out the window and wondered if she could have lost the dime on her porch. Highly unlikely she thought. She had hardly stepped outside since her husband died. But she felt she would have no rest until she checked out the porch. Freeda cautiously opened the front door, peeked outside, put one foot and then the other on the well-worn porch. As she quickly swept the porch with her eyes, she spied a couple of forget-me-nots waving gently in the breeze alongside the porch. "How lovely," she thought as she leaned forward to get a closer look.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" a voice rang out.
"What?" Freeda was startled as she saw two women from the neighborhood standing on the walk in front of her house. "Oh, yes! They're beautiful."
"It's nice to see you, Freeda. We haven't seen you for such a long time."
"Well...." Freeda didn't know what to say.
"Are you looking for something?" one of the women asked.
"As a matter of fact I am," Freeda confessed. "I lost a dime. I know it's unimportant but I want to find it."
The two women came closer. "Where did you lose it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Can we help?" And without waiting for an answer the two women started looking alongside the porch in the grass that had grown unattended for weeks. One of the women started pulling weeds so the forget-me-nots had greater visibility and more breathing space.
"Really, it isn't all that important." Freeda was apologetic.
"We don't mind. We really don't. Even if we don't find the dime, I have an extra one in my purse," one of them volunteered.
"Oh, no!" Freeda interrupted. "The dime I'm looking for is very important. It...." Freeda caught herself. "Important? I said, 'Important'?"
"Well, if that's the case ... by all means, let's find that dime," the other woman added.
And so that whole afternoon they looked and looked. They went through Freeda's yard, straightening overturned garden chairs, pruning back overgrown window vines, retrieving abandoned garden tools, and generally putting the yard in order as they searched. The three women even moved into the yard next door and picked a few weeds growing in the flower bed of an elderly gentleman whose arthritis had him confined to a rocking chair on his porch. As other neighbors walked by, the two women enlisted their support. Since the search continued into the evening hours, some of the neighbors volunteered to bring sandwiches, pretzels, and coffee for the workers. Freeda and the others were very tired when they finally retreated to her porch late that evening, forced by the growing darkness to suspend their efforts.
"I don't think we'll ever find that dime," Freeda said as she munched on a pretzel. "I just don't know why it became so important to me," she puzzled. "Why that dime?" she asked the others. They shook their heads. They didn't know as they all ate and drank their food together under the stars that night. They simply didn't know.
Freeda sighed and put her hands in her apron pockets, and ... "What's this?" she gasped as she felt a small round thin object in her right apron pocket. It couldn't be, but it was ... what she had been looking for ... what they all had been looking for since morning. It had been with them from the beginning. Freeda smiled broadly.
As she looked around her and all that had happened that day, she knew now why that dime of all dimes was so important. She relaxed, settled back among her rediscovered friends and the party continued.
Reflection
Freeda's search for the lost dime is limited to a day's time. But this story is about much more than a single day's search; it prefigures the quest for meaning which, like Freeda's search but on a much larger scale, involves us in a struggle we hadn't anticipated. The struggle finds expression in the phrase "still searching."
When someone goes through a period of intense questioning, we can be very understanding at first. The person might be confused about his or her identity, sexuality, life career choice, education, etc., and this may lead to drifting and exploring a variety of lifestyles. But once that person is forty or fifty, and still hasn't settled down, we may be inclined to be more judgmental. "You're still searching? When will you ever settle down?" Maybe a word or two is in order on behalf of those still searching.
Settling down, setting in, rooting, getting grounded, finding one's niche; knowing who we are, what we want, and where we are going are all the opposite of "still searching." But while having arrived sounds appealing, the dark side of having arrived is complacency and stagnation. Settling down and in, our curiosity and wonder disappear. And relationships can suffer because in our complacency we think we know all there is to know about friends, relatives, lovers, and yes, even God.
So from time to time we need to become exposed to the unsettled, confused, searching, still searching side of ourselves which rescues us from the side that has settled in. That still searching side makes us pilgrims again, restless questors, merchants in search of the pearl of great price. The sign of the kingdom is as much in the searching as it is in the object of the search, the pearl. And seeking after the pearl necessarily involves us in getting lost and confused about our direction.
It is true that our "still searching" can be a sign of irresponsibility rather than of our commitment to searching for the kingdom. We have to ask ourselves whether in our still searching we become more open and aware of fellow pilgrims along the way? Do we reach out in greater compassion and understanding to others who are lost or confused or broken? That distinguishes a holy quest from an exercise in self-indulgence.
Freeda marched across the room to the easy chair and sat down. She closed her eyes for a little rest before continuing her chores. However, after a couple of seconds her eyes had involuntarily opened and focused on the table where the nine coins lay neatly stacked. She shook her head, tapped her left foot softly on the rug and wondered, "But what happened to it? Where could it have gone? It's not important, of course. I don't need it. Plenty more of them in the bank." Once more she closed her eyes, all the time tapping her foot. Soon she noticed her finger restlessly rapping the arm of her chair. "That's it," she sighed as she got to her feet. "It's not important but it's got to be here somewhere. And I'm going to find it." Freeda wasted no time retracing her steps to the table.
"It will only take a minute. I'll find it," she said confidently. "Most likely it's on the rug beside the table. Maybe even underneath the table." Her eyes narrowed as she brought her forefinger to the side of her nose and paused before making her descent. Then she slowly got down on all fours and lowered her head close to the floor, squinting as she scanned the rugged terrain of the shag rug while she carefully ran her fingers over its surface. She stopped, studied the rug again, and repeated the maneuver. Then her right hand halted, her eyes lit up, and she started to say, "I found it!" But she had barely blurted out the word "found" when she realized that her discovery was a paper clip, hardly what she was looking for.
"It isn't worth it. It isn't worth it. It isn't worth it," she declared over and over as she got to her feet. Then seemingly unaware of what she had just resolved, Freeda cried out, "Now where are you? I am going to find you! Wherever you are!"
Obviously, Freeda was no longer in any mood for games. Hands on hips, she surveyed the whole room like a field marshal preparing to attack. She swept the floor with her eyes and continued her gaze right up to the ceiling. The sleuth in her knew perfectly well that the chances of finding the dime on the ceiling were highly unlikely but this didn't prevent her from inspecting each of the wooden beams and every inch of plaster between them. For a minute she paused as she noted cobwebs in the corners. "I've never seen those before." There was alarm in her voice. "I've got to get rid of them." She hesitated. "Later, later," she added as she resumed her investigation and examined the four walls. Her eyes rested on a picture. "No, that's ridiculous. It couldn't be there," she laughed as she took down the picture of her late husband and looked inside the frame between the picture and the cardboard backing. No dime but a love letter lodged there for years. She had forgotten about that letter and her fingers caressed it as tears formed in her eyes. "I'll read this tonight," she promised herself tucking the letter in her apron pocket and straightening the picture in its frame.
"I bet the dime is under the cushion of that chair. It has to be there." She removed the cushion from her favorite chair. There were a couple of kernels of popcorn, two rubber bands, and a fifty cent piece. "Fifty cents!" she exclaimed. "But I don't want fifty cents. I want that dime. It's not important but I want it." Plopping the cushion back on the chair, Freeda buried the popcorn, the rubber bands, and the fifty cent piece for another undetermined length of time.
She looked out the window and wondered if she could have lost the dime on her porch. Highly unlikely she thought. She had hardly stepped outside since her husband died. But she felt she would have no rest until she checked out the porch. Freeda cautiously opened the front door, peeked outside, put one foot and then the other on the well-worn porch. As she quickly swept the porch with her eyes, she spied a couple of forget-me-nots waving gently in the breeze alongside the porch. "How lovely," she thought as she leaned forward to get a closer look.
"Beautiful, aren't they?" a voice rang out.
"What?" Freeda was startled as she saw two women from the neighborhood standing on the walk in front of her house. "Oh, yes! They're beautiful."
"It's nice to see you, Freeda. We haven't seen you for such a long time."
"Well...." Freeda didn't know what to say.
"Are you looking for something?" one of the women asked.
"As a matter of fact I am," Freeda confessed. "I lost a dime. I know it's unimportant but I want to find it."
The two women came closer. "Where did you lose it?"
"I'm not sure."
"Can we help?" And without waiting for an answer the two women started looking alongside the porch in the grass that had grown unattended for weeks. One of the women started pulling weeds so the forget-me-nots had greater visibility and more breathing space.
"Really, it isn't all that important." Freeda was apologetic.
"We don't mind. We really don't. Even if we don't find the dime, I have an extra one in my purse," one of them volunteered.
"Oh, no!" Freeda interrupted. "The dime I'm looking for is very important. It...." Freeda caught herself. "Important? I said, 'Important'?"
"Well, if that's the case ... by all means, let's find that dime," the other woman added.
And so that whole afternoon they looked and looked. They went through Freeda's yard, straightening overturned garden chairs, pruning back overgrown window vines, retrieving abandoned garden tools, and generally putting the yard in order as they searched. The three women even moved into the yard next door and picked a few weeds growing in the flower bed of an elderly gentleman whose arthritis had him confined to a rocking chair on his porch. As other neighbors walked by, the two women enlisted their support. Since the search continued into the evening hours, some of the neighbors volunteered to bring sandwiches, pretzels, and coffee for the workers. Freeda and the others were very tired when they finally retreated to her porch late that evening, forced by the growing darkness to suspend their efforts.
"I don't think we'll ever find that dime," Freeda said as she munched on a pretzel. "I just don't know why it became so important to me," she puzzled. "Why that dime?" she asked the others. They shook their heads. They didn't know as they all ate and drank their food together under the stars that night. They simply didn't know.
Freeda sighed and put her hands in her apron pockets, and ... "What's this?" she gasped as she felt a small round thin object in her right apron pocket. It couldn't be, but it was ... what she had been looking for ... what they all had been looking for since morning. It had been with them from the beginning. Freeda smiled broadly.
As she looked around her and all that had happened that day, she knew now why that dime of all dimes was so important. She relaxed, settled back among her rediscovered friends and the party continued.
Reflection
Freeda's search for the lost dime is limited to a day's time. But this story is about much more than a single day's search; it prefigures the quest for meaning which, like Freeda's search but on a much larger scale, involves us in a struggle we hadn't anticipated. The struggle finds expression in the phrase "still searching."
When someone goes through a period of intense questioning, we can be very understanding at first. The person might be confused about his or her identity, sexuality, life career choice, education, etc., and this may lead to drifting and exploring a variety of lifestyles. But once that person is forty or fifty, and still hasn't settled down, we may be inclined to be more judgmental. "You're still searching? When will you ever settle down?" Maybe a word or two is in order on behalf of those still searching.
Settling down, setting in, rooting, getting grounded, finding one's niche; knowing who we are, what we want, and where we are going are all the opposite of "still searching." But while having arrived sounds appealing, the dark side of having arrived is complacency and stagnation. Settling down and in, our curiosity and wonder disappear. And relationships can suffer because in our complacency we think we know all there is to know about friends, relatives, lovers, and yes, even God.
So from time to time we need to become exposed to the unsettled, confused, searching, still searching side of ourselves which rescues us from the side that has settled in. That still searching side makes us pilgrims again, restless questors, merchants in search of the pearl of great price. The sign of the kingdom is as much in the searching as it is in the object of the search, the pearl. And seeking after the pearl necessarily involves us in getting lost and confused about our direction.
It is true that our "still searching" can be a sign of irresponsibility rather than of our commitment to searching for the kingdom. We have to ask ourselves whether in our still searching we become more open and aware of fellow pilgrims along the way? Do we reach out in greater compassion and understanding to others who are lost or confused or broken? That distinguishes a holy quest from an exercise in self-indulgence.
