A modern day parable
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An old man who owned a hardware store in a small town passed away. The store was near bankruptcy at the time of the man's death, and his properties were seized after his death due to unpaid income taxes and city tax.

His family was left penniless.

Hundreds of townsfolk came out for his wake. The funeral parlor was packed to overflowing.

Another proprietor, a rival sundry store owner in the same town, sauntered up to the widow and her children, offering them his magnanimous condolences, then passed the grieving widow an envelope with one-thousand dollars in it.

"My dear sir, I cannot accept this," the grieving widow exclaimed.

"Pray tell, why not, madam? Are you not penniless? Didn't your husband die a poor man?" The widow snuggled her children in close, as tears streamed down her face.

She looked around at the multitudes of loving, caring people; people whom the old proprietor had extended credit to, or had shown kindness, during his forty-three years of owning Marlowe's hardware store. She looked into the eyes of the smug, sneering man. He was certain she was going to accept now!

"No, dear sir, my husband was not a poor man. Just look around this room. He was far richer than you will ever be..."

If anyone would have looked closely at the body of Arthur Marlowe, in his sparse, wooden coffin, they would have noticed something strikingly peculiar about the man's countenance just then, at that precise moment. They would not be able to ignore the fact that the old proprietor's face was locked in a perpetual grin, beaming broad, and wide...

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