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The Poor Example


The tattered widow made her way to the Temple in the center of the city. As she brushed through the throng she was doing something she rarely had time to do or even wanted to do, rubbing shoulders with society. Most were poor like her. Some were of a much higher class and their fine clothes and sweet smells shouted their status.

She had reached a decision. She had come to a fork in the path of her simple life. One way lead to satisfying a vow she had made to God the other way lead to a quick fix, trying to satisfy her empty stomach. She decided to fight the uproar within and pay her vow.

Her petite frame squeezed through the crush at the huge Temple door and toward the offering box. There was a line. There were many Oohhs and aahh's as various large amounts were deposited by elegant looking men. She was now embarrassed.

She scraped through her dusty threadbare bag searching for her tiny gift. It was there, she knew it. It had to be there. It was all she had. If she didn't find it would it be a sign that it wasn't God's will that she gave it? NO! She had promised. God had been so good to her. Even in her humble condition God was faithful. He always supplied her need. The two coins would not be missed. God would provide. She knew it. She prayed it.

As she slipped closer to the huge box questions raced through her brain. "Why should I give? How will my contribution change anything? What difference will it make?"

It was her turn. She stepped from the shadow, her hand clutching the two half-pennies. Her fist was so hard that the coppers were nearly lost in the fold of her tiny hand. They stuck to her sweaty palm, then dropped.

Even in the hush of the moment their landing made no sound. She searched for the exit and quickly looked to the ground blushing as she fled.  It was over they were gone. Her vow paid. She headed home. "How will this work?" she wondered as she disappeared into the city rush her stomach growling.

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