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What's Most Important In Life
Author Unknown
It had been some time since
Jack
had seen the old man. College, girls,
career, and life itself got in the way.
In fact, Jack moved clear across the country in pursuit of his
dreams.
There, in the rush of his busy life, Jack
had little time to think about the past and often no time to spend with
his
wife and son. He was working on his
future, and nothing could stop him.
Over the phone, his mother told
him, "Mr. Belser died last night.
The funeral is Wednesday." Memories flashed through his mind like
an old newsreel as he sat quietly remembering his childhood days.
"Jack, did you hear
me?"
"Oh, sorry, Mom. Yes, I heard
you. It's been so long since I thought
of him. I'm sorry, but I honestly thought he died
years ago," Jack said.
"Well, he didn't forget
you. Every time I saw him he'd ask how
you were doing. He'd reminisce about
the many days you spent over 'his side of the fence' as he put it," Mom
told him.
"I loved that old house he
lived in," Jack said.
"You know, Jack, after your
father died, Mr. Belser stepped in to make sure you had a man's
influence in
your life," she said.
"He's the one who taught me
carpentry," he said. "I wouldn't be in this business if it weren't
for him. He spent a lot of time teaching me things he thought were
important. Mom, I'll be there for the funeral," Jack said.
As busy as he was, he kept his
word. Jack caught the next flight to
his hometown. Mr. Belser's funeral was
small and uneventful. He had no
children of his own, and most of his relatives had passed away.
The night before he had to return
home, Jack and his Mom stopped by to see the old house next door one
more
time. Standing in the doorway, Jack
paused for a moment. It was like
crossing over into another dimension, a leap through space and
time.
The house was exactly as he remembered. Every step held
memories.
Every picture, every piece of furniture …
Jack stopped suddenly.
"What's wrong, Jack?"
his Mom asked.
"The box is gone," he
said.
"What box? " his Mom asked.
"There was a small gold box
that he kept locked on top of his desk.
I must have asked him a thousand times what was inside. All he'd
ever
tell me was 'the thing I value
most,' " Jack said.
It was gone. Everything about the
house was exactly how
Jack remembered it, except for the box.
He figured someone from the Belser family had taken it.
"Now I'll never
know what
was so valuable to him," Jack said.
"I better get some sleep. I
have an early flight home, Mom."
It had been about two weeks since
Mr. Belser died. Returning home from
work one day Jack discovered a note in his mailbox.
"Signature required on a
package. No one at home. Please stop by the main post
office within
the next three days," the note read.
Early the next day Jack retrieved the package. The small package
was
old
and looked like it had been mailed a hundred years ago. The
handwriting was difficult to read, but
the return address caught his attention. "Mr. Harold Belser" it
read.
Jack returned to his car and
ripped open the package. There inside
was the gold box and an envelope.
Jack's hands shook as he read the
note inside.
"Upon my death, please
forward this box and its contents to Jack Bennett. It's the thing
I valued most in
my life." A small key was taped to
the letter.
His heart racing, as tears
filling his eyes, Jack carefully unlocked the box. There inside
he
found a beautiful gold pocket watch. Running his fingers slowly
over
the finely etched
casing, he unlatched the cover.
Inside he found these words engraved:
"Jack, Thanks for your time! Harold Belser."
"The thing he valued most
... was ... my time."
Jack held the watch for a few
minutes, then called his office and cleared his appointments for the
next two
days.
"Why?" Janet, his assistant asked.
"I need some time to spend
with my son," he said. "Oh,
by the way, Janet ... thanks for your time!"
*****
"Life is not measured by the
number of breaths we take but by the moments that take our breath away."
*****
Have a GREAT day!
And by the way ... Thank you for your time.
Defining
Moments
Archives
Copyright
© 2007, Jace Carlton. All International Rights Reserved.
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