The sun rises over the streets of Manhattan, and you lay on top of a sewer grate, barely avoiding being blown underground. A gust of wind rushes past, and you float into the air, flutter in the breeze for a moment, and land in a puddle on the side of the street. There you lie for a moment, but then you catch someone’s eye. A young homeless girl spots you, picks you up, dries you off, and shoves you in her pocket. In the darkness, you rub against the warm fabric inside the pocket of her huge coat. An hour later, a hand reaches into the pocket, picks you up, folded in half, and lifts you through the window of a food cart. A man puts you in an old hot chocolate box with a handful of other bills. As you start to get comfortable, the same hand reaches in again and takes you and two others. You sail right back out through the same window, into a new hand, and into a fine leather wallet. On your way in, you notice several hundred-dollar bills and you immediately feel out of place. You feel inferior and useless. The torture of sitting next to the others lasts for several hours. Finally, you feel the wallet being picked up and slipped into a fur-lined pocket. You’re jostled around for about another hour, and then the wallet comes back out of the pocket and then everything is still. The next morning, before the sun comes up, the wallet goes right back in the pocket, and before you know it, you’re in a cash register at an airport. Just next door you can see quarters, dimes, nickels, pennies, and a euro. All anyone is paying attention to is the euro. The foreign stranger receives all the attention, but all you’re worried about is who’s more valuable. Even if the euro holds more value now, though, it’s no good here in America. Before you can dwell on the topic much longer, you feel yourself being lifted up and out of the drawer. The passenger crumples you, the other bill, and the coins in her hand and drops you all into a huge bag. In the dark, you can’t tell what you’re laying next to. Each time the bag opens, though, you’re farther and farther from the other money. After two days, you start to give up on being rescued from the depths of the purse.
Months pass, and finally one day, the purse is suddenly tossed upside-down and everything falls out. The woman picks you up and writes something all over you. Later that evening, she takes you in her hand and quietly enters a dark room in the house. She stumbles over toys to a bed, and gently tucks you under the pillow on the bed. You hear a child snoring as she leaves, and you lay quiet and still until morning. A scream of delight wakes you up. A young boy picks you up, lifts you over his head, and runs through the house laughing and cheering. After six trips up and down the stairs, he folds you up and forces you through an opening in the top of a ceramic pig.
Seven years later, your precious home gets smashed into pieces. The same little boy, who is no longer little at all, stares at you and the hundreds of coins and bills that were crowded into your home with you. He tosses you all into a plastic bag, closes it, carries you all downstairs, and sets you in the passenger seat. You arrive at the bank, and he carries you inside. The bright lights stun you, and before you know it, you’re in the hands of a man in a suit. He looks at you an all your housemates, sets you aside, and talks to the boy for a few more moments. The boy stands up and leaves. To your dismay, he doesn’t give you a second glance. The man in the suit picks all of you up and feeds you into a machine where you’re faced again with complete darkness.
Ok, so this could be a lot more interesting, and I’m aware that usually dollar bills travel much farther than this, but I can only write so many words. Since I’ve spent most of my time writing you a story (I hope it was as much fun to read as at was to write), I’ll get straight to my point. Why in the world does anyone care what happens to a dollar bill? Well, you see, people aren’t that different from dollar bills. We live on an earth where we don’t have a permanent home. We have an eternal home, but for the time being, we’re stuck here. We may get tossed around from place to place. We may not feel like we belong anywhere. We may get stuck next to people who make us feel a little inferior or a little less valuable. But guess what? We’re worth so much. God loves us, and we are desired and sought after because we are worth so much to Him. We may drift, or we may get stuck in the same place and rhythm for years, but we are so very valuable, and I hope none of us ever forget that.
