Matthew 13:33-35 vs.33
"The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of  flour until all of it was leavened."

"Thank You." answered her child.

Many of you learned how to say thank you at an early age, but have you learned to be grateful?

Every once in a while, you come across a story which you hope the teller doesn’t get in the way of the story.  The following is one of those stories.  I share this story hoping it will be like the yeast in today’s gospel story.  That you will mix into your life and that gratitude will emanate from your life.  A gratitude which is not dependent on prosperity or poverty, but an attitude of gratitude to God . . . . . just because.

There was an owner of a diner, who tried very hard not to be biased in hiring a handicapped person.  He was assured by the boy’s placement counselor that Stevie would be a good reliable busboy.

The owner admitted to never having had a mentally handicapped employee.  He wasn’t sure he wanted one, as he wasn’t sure how his customers would react to Stevie.

Stevie was short and a little dumpy.  He had the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Down Syndrome.

The owner told Stevie’s counselor that he wasn’t afraid about his trucker customers.  They generally don’t care who buses tables as long as the daily specials are good and the pies are homemade.

The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned him.  The mouthy high school and colleges kids.  The yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded "truck stop germ".  The pairs of white shirt business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with.

He was afraid that those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie.

After the first week of watching Stevie very closely, he noticed that Stevie had his staff wrapped around his stubby little finger.  Within a month the truckers had adopted Stevie as their official mascot.  The owner got to a point where he didn’t care what the rest of the customers thought of Stevie.

He was like a twenty-one year old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties.  Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in it’s place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table.  The only problem was convincing him to wait to clean the table until after the customers were finished.

He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty.  Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus the dishes and glasses onto the cart and meticulously wipe the table with a practiced flourish of his rag.  He took great pride in doing his job exactly right.  You had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.

Over time, they learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer.  They lived on her social security benefits and lived in public housing two miles from the diner.  Money was tight, and what Stevie was paid was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home.

One morning last August the diner was a gloomy place. Stevie missed work for the first time in three years.  He missed work because he was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve put in his heart.  The social worker said there was a good chance Stevie would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.

A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that Stevie was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine.  Frannie, one of the waitresses let out a war whoop and did a little dance in the aisle.

A regular truck driver grinned at the sight and asked, "What was that all about?"

She told him that they had just gotten word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.  The waitress proceeded to tell him and two other truck drivers about Stevie’s surgery.  She also shared her concern about Stevie’s Mom and how she would be able to handle all the bills.  After telling the truckers the story she went about waiting on her tables.

After the morning rush, Frannie walked into the owners office.  She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.  When she went back to bus the table where the three truckers had been seated she found, tucked under a coffee cup a napkin and three twenty dollar bills.  On the outside of the napkin printed in big, bold letters, "Something for Stevie."

Several other truck drivers saw her pick up the napkin with the three twenties and asked her what that was all about.  She shared Stevie’s story with them and when they left she found a paper napkin that had "Something for Stevie" scrawled on its outside and two fifty dollar bills tucked within its folds.

Frannie looked at her boss with wet shiny eyes shook her head and said simply ‘truckers.’

That was three months ago.  Now is was Thanksgiving.  It was Stevie’s first day back to work.  His placement counselor said Stevie had been counting the days until the doctor said he could go back to work.  Stevie had called ten times in the past week making sure they knew he was coming, fearful that they had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.  They arranged to have his mother bring him to work.

They were met in the parking lot, and were invited in to  celebrate his first day back.

Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn’t stop smiling as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," the owner said. "Work can wait for a minute.  To celebrate your coming back to work, breakfast for you and your mother is on me."

The owner led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.  The rest of the staff following behind as they marched through the dining room.  Booth after booth of grinning truckers and regular customers emptied and joined the procession.

They stopped in front of the big table.  It’s surface was covered with cups, saucers and dinner plates.  All sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded napkins.

"First thing you have to do Stevie, is clean up this mess," the owner said.

Stevie looked at the owner then at his mother.  He pulled out one of the napkins that read, "Something for Stevie." As he picked it up two twenty dollar bills fell onto the table.

Stevie starred at the money and then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the table ware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it.  The owner turned to his mother and said, "There’s more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table.  All from truckers, trucking companies and patrons.  Happy Thanksgiving."

"The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened."

Amen

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