Pennies in the Water

by Kerry Blair

A dear friend who recently returned from a mission wrote: While I was in New York we went to a Chinese place and I got a fortune that said, “Travel this year will give you a new perspective on life.” I laughed, but kept the fortune. I really hate that we can’t see the end result of the things we do now. I want to know what perspective I’ve gained. Mom says I’m different, but I feel the same. So what changed? What was the purpose of me going on a mission? Was it for me to change the world or for the world, and God, to change me?

Like Chilly, the talented, inspired young woman who wrote those words, I also wonder. Mostly I wonder about writing. Have I been granted the wondrous opportunity to write and publish because of what I have to give or because it will open windows to what I need to receive? In my case, there’s little doubt it’s that second thing. I get so much. Near the top of the list, I get letters. A lot of letters, mostly from young women. I always answer, sometimes more than once. Sometimes more than a dozen times. I’ve been answering some for so long now that I’ve received wedding invitations and birth announcements from women who were Beehives or Mia Maids when we first started corresponding. It is one of the greatest marvels—and joys—in my life. If these friendships were all I ever gained from writing, I would consider myself richly blessed.

But I get more. Just last week, for instance, I got a moving lesson in humility. One of the many online sites that encourage book reviews had a post from someone who said she was sorry to say it, but This Just In is the worst book ever published in this—or any—market. (Side note: She didn’t sound sorry. She sounded more like she wished she could turn my dog over to those people who like pit bulls about as much as Puritans like witches.) Despite the fact that there were six positive reviews alongside the negative, guess which one I’ve memorized? (Why am I like that? And while we’re on the subject, somebody please tell me I’m not the only one who is!) Anyway, it affected me so much I couldn’t look at the newly-edited book Angela had sent back for my review. Just thinking about publishing another novel made me cringe. I mean, Ghost of a Chance is probably as bad as TJI. It might be worse. Why jeopardize a rainforest - or, in the case of my print runs, a couple of scraggly pine trees - when the world has enough inanity (and to spare) already?

As it turns out, I found the answer to that question in another part of Chilly's letter. She told a story about being on Temple Square with President Monson and a little boy. In her words: I was bemoaning the fact that I have to give a talk in church on Sunday and President Monson said when he was about twelve he had to give a two-minute talk in church and wanted his dad to write it. His dad told him no, he had to do it himself, but to write about something he liked. One thing Pres. Monson likes is birds. So he went downtown to the Seagull Monument on Temple Square. He said he was looking in the water that surrounds the statue and saw lots of coins that people had thrown in to make wishes. He thought to himself that those coins weren’t doing anyone any good and a boy could certainly use them. He then said he didn’t take them. K.J., the little boy with us, volunteered, “Because you didn’t want to destroy anyone’s hopes!” It was so funny! As if taking coins from a pool destroys people’s wishes. Maybe it does. That would be a good lesson -- not to steal from wishing wells/fountains/reflecting pools.

I think my words are like those coins. They really aren’t doing anybody any good, and yet I’ve tossed them out into the world’s reflecting pool with the best of intentions. They’re my way of wishing well to anyone and everyone who happens upon them. With every book I write I wish that good could always triumph over evil. I wish that everyone could live happily ever after. At the very least, I wish we all would laugh more than we cry and get up one more time than we fall down.

I know it’s a lot to wish for. Nevertheless, I have a whole handful of coins left to me and I’m going to keep tossing them into that pool just as long as I can lift my arm. I’ll probably never, as Washington Irving said, contribute a mite to the wisdom and knowledge of the world, but I can live with that. In fact, I can rejoice in it if I let go the pressure to impress and replace it with a deep appreciation for the myriad of blessings I receive. Wherever I look, the tender mercies of God sparkle before me like newly-minted pennies in the water!