“I forgot to bring cash for the eggs, but I can write you a check.”
I had ordered eggs from a friend whose children are learning the art of raising chickens and selling eggs.
“My goodness, no. Don’t even think about it, just next time you see me is fine,” my friend assured me.
But, her 10-year-old daughter wasn’t part of our conversation.
“You mean you don’t even have $4.00?” she asked incredulously.
I grinned and told her “no.”
She was having nothing with that excuse.
“You mean you couldn’t find any money?”
Then, putting her hands on her hips, “Dr. David, did you look in your office?”
I was trying hard to suppress my grin.
But, my little friend was persistent.
“Well, then, Dr. David, I’ll just have to keep your eggs until you pay.”
I had to turn away so she wouldn’t see me chuckling.
I had an idea: I took a piece of paper and quickly jotted, “I owe you $4.00 for eggs,” and then signed my name to it.
She carefully folded it for her safekeeping and let me take my eggs.
Later, her mom and I were both smiling, shaking our heads as if to say, “That child,” as I shared the story.
“She would be an excellent debt collector,” I laughed.
Later I thought, “How many ‘I owe you’s do I have hidden in my mental ‘I owe you,’ drawer?”
I immediately thought of my mother, since she passed away only a few weeks ago. Like you, we can never return all that our mothers’ have given us. Just start with birth. If that were all, it would be more than we could ever pay back, by way of gratitude. And that’s only the very beginning, the part we don’t even remember. The “I owe you,” notes would escalate into the thousands and thousands.
Then, I owe my dad for just about everything—from my clothes and food, to my education, to the small ways he showed he cared— like his phone calls, “How are you?” or, “Where are you?” And that’s only one of his numerous, minor expressions of love.
I owe my brother, Mark, for countless hours throwing me football passes and hitting me ground balls in baseball, and my brother, Lowell, for teaching me the importance of ALWAYS opening the door for ladies. And that’s just a start, too. I could go on.
Love undergirded all these acts and autographed the rest as well.
I haven’t even mentioned my wonderful wife, the giving and loving person she is. Then there’s my amazing children. How could I possibly return “I owe you’s,” for their love and devotion?
Nor have my gotten to faithful friends, my caring and giving church family.
As I look into that “I owe you,” drawer, it grows deeper and wider.
And just imagine trying to write an “I owe you,” to God. I should think it would be quite insulting to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, to presume that by our acts of goodness, we could repay the author of life itself, and is so doing somehow obligate the God who was, who is, and is to come, to the likes of us.
I’m anxious to give my $4.00, “I owe you,” to my little entrepreneurial friend. It is after all, at least one, “I owe you,” I can return.
And now, come to think about it, I’m just going to give her a $5 bill—that extra dollar being a tiny down payment on the unconditional love I plan always to give her, with no possibility for an, “I owe you,” in return.