One thing I learned when perusing a Cedar City book store was the
meaning of CTR, which appears in rings, on bookmarks, children’s coin banks, in
books and literature, on necklaces, and just about anywhere else you can imagine. I asked
the clerk in the book store what it meant, and she said,
“Choose the right..
It means whenever you have a choice about what you should do,
always choose the right thing.”
It is so important to the Mormon culture that they find numerous ways
to use it so that people are constantly aware of it. Hmmm…
CTR. Very simple, very right.
It is a principal that speaks to my heart; I don’t think a person has to be
Mormon to embrace and appreciate it. But sometimes what is right is
unclear.
I was driving home recently, after picking up some materials from school
that I needed for lesson planning over the weekend. As I was approaching my home, I saw a
pickup truck parked at the end of my yard; a young man was walking out of my driveway with
something in his hand.
He saw me and dropped his hand out of sight, slightly behind his back.
Then it registered what I saw. He had picked roses from my bushes.
As he climbed into his truck, I stopped my car directly across from him,
rolled down my window, and just looked at him. He flushed and looked nervous. “Why are
you picking roses from my bushes?” I asked grimly.
He looked a little panicked, then said, “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.
I knocked on the door and no one was home; I wanted to ask. It was an emergency. I need
them for my wife.”
That piqued my curiosity.
I had never heard of an emergency requiring stolen roses.
“They sell flowers at the Safeway,” I said, still looking grim.
“I can’t afford them,” he said, looking sad. “Really,” I replied. “So, you just take them from
me?” “I am so sorry,” he said. “I’ll never do it again.
Look, I’ll give them back.” I just stared at him. “What’s your name?”
“Manny *,” he said. “Where do you live?” “Right here, in town.”
By now the guy was sweating bullets. I continued to stare at him for a moment.
What to do? I could call the police, make a scene,
really stir up trouble for him. After all, he stole those flowers right out of my yard! I wanted to
make the right choice. He looked so sorry. He could have been self-righteous or belligerent;
he could have ignored me and raced off in his truck. But this guy looked pathetic. Again,
that Mormon concept of Choose The Right came to me. You could make a good
case for busting him, or helping him. I made up my mind. “Manny,” I said, “follow me. I’ve got
something to give to you.” He looked surprised, wary, but he did it. I parked in my
driveway. I gestured toward a wicker chair on my porch. “Sit there, I’ll be out in a moment.”
He sat. I came outside with a squat, clear glass vase filled with water and some kitchen
shears. “Go get the roses out of your truck,” I said.
Looking puzzled, he did as I asked. We squatted on the walkway and I trimmed the flowers
and put them in the vase. “We need more,” I said. “I’ll clean up these leaves,” he said,
nervously.
He gathered up the cuttings and put them into my dumpster and I went to cut more flowers.
As I trimmed the new flowers, I explained to him that these roses, unlike those from a florist,
had a very strong, beautiful smell, and invited him to see for himself. He agreed they were
wonderful.
“Do you like flower scents?” he asked shyly. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, my wife used to sell wonderful candles; I’ll bring you one. They are the best smelling,
best burning candles!” “Okay,” I said, not believing him, but enjoying the moment. He
seemed so much more relaxed.
This was starting to be fun. He told me that he was thirty years old, with small children.
He said that he felt so bad about the conflict he had with his wife and he hoped that this would
help him make up with her.
When we finished up with the flowers, I handed them to him. “
After the flowers wilt and you are finished with the vase, just bring it back and leave it on my
porch. Now, go sit down again,” I said, pointing to a white wicker chair on my porch. “I have
something else for you to take.”
I came back outside with a paper bag and filled it with the small white peaches growing
abundantly on the tree in our front yard, then brought it to him. “Stay there, I’m not finished,” I
said, and went back into the house.
I printed out a thank you card for him; as I did that, I found a nice, new bottle of perfume that I
did not want, put it into a sheer pink drawstring bag,
and took both out to him, with a clipboard and a pen.
He looked up, surprised. “Thank you so much,” he said with feeling.
“I’m going to bring you two candles.” I laughed.
“Now, you can write a thank-you card for your wife, telling her thanks for all she does and that
you’re sorry. And give her this perfume. She’ll love it.
I have to get one more thing,” I said, then disappeared one last time into the house. I found a
nice gift bag and white tissue and brought them outside, putting the perfume inside the bag. “It’
s not the best thing for this occasion,” I said, indicating the bag, “but she’ll like it anyway, and
it’s nice.” He thanked me profusely and handed back the pen and clipboard. He slipped the
card into the envelope and carefully tucked it into the bag with the perfume. He shook hands
with me. “I’m Manny Garcia*,” he said, smiling broadly. “Thank you so much for all of this. I
will never forget it.”
“Thank YOU,” I said. “I’ll never forget it, either. It was truly a gift.”
He walked away with a bounce to his step, hope in his face, and peace in his
eyes.
I reflected on the various scenarios that could have played out, grateful that I
chose the one that left me feeling great the rest of the day.
I know, without a doubt, that I did choose the
right.
Postscript
When I originally wrote this, I had no clue what the outcome would be, but I didn’t care. I was
filled with such a special feeling the rest of that week that it did not matter to me whether he
brought the vase or the candles.
Several weeks passed. One evening I opened my front door to
take my dog for a walk. There, right next to the door, was my vase,
two small jar candles, and a small box of tea lights. I took them in and sniffed each one; ah,
they were heavenly! There was no note, but the message was very clear to me.
Once more, I got to feel that special elation. And I can’t wait for that next
opportunity to
choose the right.*name changed
meaning of CTR, which appears in rings, on bookmarks, children’s coin banks, in
books and literature, on necklaces, and just about anywhere else you can imagine. I asked
the clerk in the book store what it meant, and she said,
“Choose the right..
It means whenever you have a choice about what you should do,
always choose the right thing.”
It is so important to the Mormon culture that they find numerous ways
to use it so that people are constantly aware of it. Hmmm…
CTR. Very simple, very right.
It is a principal that speaks to my heart; I don’t think a person has to be
Mormon to embrace and appreciate it. But sometimes what is right is
unclear.
I was driving home recently, after picking up some materials from school
that I needed for lesson planning over the weekend. As I was approaching my home, I saw a
pickup truck parked at the end of my yard; a young man was walking out of my driveway with
something in his hand.
He saw me and dropped his hand out of sight, slightly behind his back.
Then it registered what I saw. He had picked roses from my bushes.
As he climbed into his truck, I stopped my car directly across from him,
rolled down my window, and just looked at him. He flushed and looked nervous. “Why are
you picking roses from my bushes?” I asked grimly.
He looked a little panicked, then said, “I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again.
I knocked on the door and no one was home; I wanted to ask. It was an emergency. I need
them for my wife.”
That piqued my curiosity.
I had never heard of an emergency requiring stolen roses.
“They sell flowers at the Safeway,” I said, still looking grim.
“I can’t afford them,” he said, looking sad. “Really,” I replied. “So, you just take them from
me?” “I am so sorry,” he said. “I’ll never do it again.
Look, I’ll give them back.” I just stared at him. “What’s your name?”
“Manny *,” he said. “Where do you live?” “Right here, in town.”
By now the guy was sweating bullets. I continued to stare at him for a moment.
What to do? I could call the police, make a scene,
really stir up trouble for him. After all, he stole those flowers right out of my yard! I wanted to
make the right choice. He looked so sorry. He could have been self-righteous or belligerent;
he could have ignored me and raced off in his truck. But this guy looked pathetic. Again,
that Mormon concept of Choose The Right came to me. You could make a good
case for busting him, or helping him. I made up my mind. “Manny,” I said, “follow me. I’ve got
something to give to you.” He looked surprised, wary, but he did it. I parked in my
driveway. I gestured toward a wicker chair on my porch. “Sit there, I’ll be out in a moment.”
He sat. I came outside with a squat, clear glass vase filled with water and some kitchen
shears. “Go get the roses out of your truck,” I said.
Looking puzzled, he did as I asked. We squatted on the walkway and I trimmed the flowers
and put them in the vase. “We need more,” I said. “I’ll clean up these leaves,” he said,
nervously.
He gathered up the cuttings and put them into my dumpster and I went to cut more flowers.
As I trimmed the new flowers, I explained to him that these roses, unlike those from a florist,
had a very strong, beautiful smell, and invited him to see for himself. He agreed they were
wonderful.
“Do you like flower scents?” he asked shyly. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, my wife used to sell wonderful candles; I’ll bring you one. They are the best smelling,
best burning candles!” “Okay,” I said, not believing him, but enjoying the moment. He
seemed so much more relaxed.
This was starting to be fun. He told me that he was thirty years old, with small children.
He said that he felt so bad about the conflict he had with his wife and he hoped that this would
help him make up with her.
When we finished up with the flowers, I handed them to him. “
After the flowers wilt and you are finished with the vase, just bring it back and leave it on my
porch. Now, go sit down again,” I said, pointing to a white wicker chair on my porch. “I have
something else for you to take.”
I came back outside with a paper bag and filled it with the small white peaches growing
abundantly on the tree in our front yard, then brought it to him. “Stay there, I’m not finished,” I
said, and went back into the house.
I printed out a thank you card for him; as I did that, I found a nice, new bottle of perfume that I
did not want, put it into a sheer pink drawstring bag,
and took both out to him, with a clipboard and a pen.
He looked up, surprised. “Thank you so much,” he said with feeling.
“I’m going to bring you two candles.” I laughed.
“Now, you can write a thank-you card for your wife, telling her thanks for all she does and that
you’re sorry. And give her this perfume. She’ll love it.
I have to get one more thing,” I said, then disappeared one last time into the house. I found a
nice gift bag and white tissue and brought them outside, putting the perfume inside the bag. “It’
s not the best thing for this occasion,” I said, indicating the bag, “but she’ll like it anyway, and
it’s nice.” He thanked me profusely and handed back the pen and clipboard. He slipped the
card into the envelope and carefully tucked it into the bag with the perfume. He shook hands
with me. “I’m Manny Garcia*,” he said, smiling broadly. “Thank you so much for all of this. I
will never forget it.”
“Thank YOU,” I said. “I’ll never forget it, either. It was truly a gift.”
He walked away with a bounce to his step, hope in his face, and peace in his
eyes.
I reflected on the various scenarios that could have played out, grateful that I
chose the one that left me feeling great the rest of the day.
I know, without a doubt, that I did choose the
right.
Postscript
When I originally wrote this, I had no clue what the outcome would be, but I didn’t care. I was
filled with such a special feeling the rest of that week that it did not matter to me whether he
brought the vase or the candles.
Several weeks passed. One evening I opened my front door to
take my dog for a walk. There, right next to the door, was my vase,
two small jar candles, and a small box of tea lights. I took them in and sniffed each one; ah,
they were heavenly! There was no note, but the message was very clear to me.
Once more, I got to feel that special elation. And I can’t wait for that next
opportunity to
choose the right.*name changed
copyright Holly Whitman November 2006
A year ago last summer my family decided to explore new
areas of Utah. We had taken several trips there, but never
had we gone to the heart of the state, where the Mormon
faith is evident everywhere and the values shared by
Mormons affect every aspect of life, both public and private.
A year ago last summer my family decided to explore new
areas of Utah. We had taken several trips there, but never
had we gone to the heart of the state, where the Mormon
faith is evident everywhere and the values shared by
Mormons affect every aspect of life, both public and private.
| THE WAY I SEE IT a column by Holly Whitman |
Copyright © 2008 HouseWife Mafia All Rights Reserved. Unauthorized use prohibited. HouseWifeMafia.com copyright materials may not be reproduced in whole or in part by persons, organizations or corporations without the prior written permission of the Legal Department HouseWifeMafia.com.Housewifemafia.com and all its derivatives have been recognized and documented by the Library of Congress, Copyright Office, Washington D.C. Copyright HouseWife Mafia Media & Publishing. |
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| CHOOSE THE RIGHT by Holly Whitman |
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