Page 51 of Pete and His Precious

“Does that mean I’m shallow? Because when I look at a guy, and he’s not able to afford to support himself, I totally am not the slightest bit interested in him.”

“Maybe in a way. I guess you need to look beyond that, and see why. If he is a missionary, living in Peru, trying to bring the gospel to people, then, yeah. I think you’re shallow. Because he obviously has character. He’s obviously not afraid to take risks, take chances, and he knows where his treasure should be.”

I’m quiet for a moment. Do I really know where my treasure should be? Am I living for myself? Pursuing my goals?

“And I know, that’s because he’s a Christian, but isn’t a society better when people in it are living for things higher than themselves?”

“Or someone higher than themselves,” I muttered, knowing that I’ve gotten confused. Maybe I took my eyes off of my heavenly goals, and I have them stuck on myself.

She puts the last plate on her tray. “Right. That’s exactly right. When we stop living for ourselves, and we live for the Lord, if everyone did it, we’d have the kind of utopia that certain politicians want us to have, only they want us to stop living for ourselves and start living for the government. Except... The government is imperfect. And you don’t want to live for something that isn’t bigger and more and mightier than yourself. The way God is.”

I start setting my order which has been completed onto my tray. She’s right. If God created the universe, and everything init, if I believe that He loves me and sent His son to die for me, my reasonable service is to give my life for him, to lose myself in His will and His way. But, why aren’t I living that way?

I fill my tray and carry it out to the table. The two ladies I’m serving are regular customers as well, and I’ve been invited to their book club multiple times to do readings. Not of any books that I wrote, since I don’t write books, just because they love listening to me put the voices with the characters and bring them to life.

I end up standing at their table and talking for a few minutes. We’re not exceptionally busy, and I feel like I have the time. I know that my other order isn’t ready, and after I’m done, I fill up a couple of drinks.

I have one table to clear off. Since we don’t have a busboy, the waitresses do everything themselves.

I like to stay busy. My time here goes so much faster if I’m constantly rushing to keep up. If I have everything in hand and don’t feel challenged at all, time crawls.

Regardless, I enter the kitchen with my tray heavily laden with dirty dishes, and my eyes light on a bouquet of white roses sitting on the counter.

“Those were delivered while you were out there.” Connie’s eyes are shining, but they contain questions as well. Questions I can’t answer.

“Well, that was good timing. Is it from your secret admirer?” I say, as I set my tray down, and take the dirty dishes off of it and set them beside the sink.

“They’re for you. There’s a card,” Connie says, and I know she wants me to grab the card and read it in front of her. But I haven’t figured out who in the world would have sent me white roses? And they sent them to the diner.

So it would have to be someone who knows where I work, obviously. I see my name on the card and I’m sure they’re reallymine. Up until that point I kinda thought Connie might be mistaken.

“Oh I’ll get it in a second. This order’s up,” I say, seeing the food for Carrie and Richard is ready.

I set it on my tray, as Connie walks out with her full tray.

I figure we’ll probably both be back in about the same time, although I’m going to need to stop and take an order at a new table that was just seated.

It turns out it’s almost twenty minutes later before I get a chance to walk into the kitchen and grab the card while Connie is there. We don’t have a whole lot of exciting things going on here, and it seems kind of selfish to deprive her of the pleasure. Plus, for those twenty minutes, I’m trying to figure out who could have sent them. My sister? I haven’t really done anything, but I did say that I would give her a hand with her daughter while she was gone.

My parents? Nope. Not a chance.

Maybe a mother from the library?

I suppose there were lots of people who have heard me read, and might want to show some appreciation. Since around town, I usually do it for free.

Maybe it’s even the author of the book I just finished. I laugh a little to myself. Hardly, but I suppose it’s possible.

Still, I set my empty tray down, and pull the card off of the little holder.

Connie stands beside me, watching as I open the card.

I skim it, before I start reading aloud. I think like everyone else, I can read faster quietly than I can aloud.

My heart stops at the signature.

Thanks for a great talk last night. The roses are because I know you were tired this morning. Maybe that will brighten your shift up a bit.

Your friend, Pete.

---