"Please Mommy," my five-year-old begged, "can't we go to McDonald's?"
"Sorry, Scott, Kanab doesn't have a McDonalds," I told him.
We were in the process of moving from the Chicago area to Las Vegas and had spent the better part of the week on the road. My husband and I were getting pretty tired of fast food. At that time we had six children ranging in age from one to eleven and when we were on trips we often frequented McDonalds because the kids loved their hamburgers and their breakfasts.
I'll never forget the comment the cashier made one time when we all piled out of the car and ordered breakfast.
"Wow! Twenty dollars!" she said, "I've never rung up a bill that big before!"
We laugh now, but during those days, twenty dollars was an enormous amount of money to spend on breakfast, especially when there wasn't a lot to go around.
We had stopped in Kanab, Utah for a few days to visit with family, but because there were eight of us, we stayed in a motel. We wanted to try and get an early start, but knew that we needed to eat breakfast before we left.
"Ross, what if we just go into Parry's Lodge to eat?" I asked. "They're distantly related and it would be nice to give them our business."
Ross turned to me and said, "We don't have a choice, remember, Kanab doesn't have a McDonalds." An audible groan was heard from the back of the car.
We arrived at Parry's and I said my 'hellos' to the few I still recognized from years before. They had to put two tables together in order to fit us all in. We were put back in the corner for which I was very relieved. My biggest concern was that the kids not disturb other people around them. My main focus was to get them fed quickly and keep them quiet.
Surprisingly enough we made it through breakfast without making a scene. As we finished eating and began looking for the bill, three eager waitresses came running up to our table. They seemed very excited about something.
“We could hardly wait until you finished eating," Debbie, our waitress said. "Did you notice the man and his wife sitting three tables away?"
I shook my head 'no'. I had been too busy with the kids to notice anyone.
Before Debbie could finish, another waitress blurted out her secret. "They paid your bill!"
"Yeah, they told us that they remembered when they used to travel with their young children," Debbie interrupted. "They said they were grateful that they were in a position now that they could afford to help out. They know how financially draining it can be to feed a large family."
We were shocked! I quickly turned to see if I could catch a glimpse of them, but they were gone. The waitresses all said that they didn't recognize them. They must have been tourists.
When we got in the car, we told our children what had just happened. They hadn't seen the elusive couple either. The kids couldn't understand why someone who was a total stranger would pay our bill and then leave before we could thank them. We drove away with full stomachs and full hearts.
As the years have gone by and most of our children are grown and gone, I've often reflected on this Christ like act. Kind thoughts fill my heart and tears fill my eyes as I remember the unselfishness of this couple and the financial relief they gave to us.
However, not until I began telling this story for the purpose of publication, did the full impact of the incident finally hit me. In the very act of re-telling it, I have come to realize the desire and the responsibility I have in passing on the good deed.
As I sit here contemplating those events, my mind whirls into a reflection process. I am not able to finish telling the story because I realize that there is no ending. We are the ones who will continue the story by our actions. It is a mushrooming effect. As we, and in turn each of our children, find opportunities to secretly do as was done for us, the Christ like love grows and enriches more lives. Not until I took time for this reflection did I see the unfinished picture. It is a lesson learned. One I wish to pass on in hopes that your reflections, like mine, will move you to action.
--Keralee Oblad, mother of seven
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