The PARABLE of THE SNOOPY PIGGY BANK
When I was a young child (sometime before I was old enough to attend school), my parents had given me a Snoopy Piggy Bank. It was about 8-10 inches tall. It was made of clear glass, so that you could watch the contents of the bank increase as money was deposited. It was a savings bank--one that could only be opened only through breaking the glass of the piggy bank. My parent's intent in giving me the bank was exactly the purpose of the bank--to learn how to save money; however, in my childlike impatience of learning this valuable lesson--I learned another lesson.
I had only had the bank for a short time when I grew impatient with the growth of the money. I wanted to see the bank full. I imagined what it would look like, and I longed for it to be a reality. One day as I was contemplating the importance of filling my piggy bank, it occurred to me that my mother's purse always had money. This thought brightened my mind with excitement, and I rushed to ask my mom if I could use the money in her purse to fill my piggy bank. When I found my mom, she was talking on the phone, and so I sat by her side patiently waiting for the moment in which I could ask her permission. However, I wasn't waiting for long before I grew impatient, and I determined that I didn't need to ask for I was sure that my mother wouldn't care if I used her money. I was so convinced that she would share it with me that I began filling my piggy bank with the contents of her purse--without asking for permission. I remember feeling completely ecstatic as I watched the money grow inside my bank. With my limited understanding, I had no concept of the actual dollar amount that was being placed into my piggy bank. The only understanding I had was that the contents of the bank looked more than it had previously, and for a few bliss moments--I was satisfied.
My naive understanding was awakened later that day when my mother and I went grocery shopping and I watched my mother try to pay for the groceries. I watched as she explained to the clerk that she really did have money. I watched as she grew embarrassed while she searched the contents of her purse. I watched as she cried apologizing to the clerk, and then as we left the store without the groceries. I listened as my mother cried to my father about the disappearance of the money. And my understanding was no longer naive, and my heart was no longer gladdened by the amount of money in my piggy bank. I knew that I had done something wrong, and I knew that I needed to tell my mom and dad what I had done, but I was nervous. And so I sat on the stairs, holding my piggy bank, and I cried. I cried because I knew that my piggy bank was going to be broken. And I cried because I was sorry for what I had done. I remember sitting on the stairs for quite some time gathering the courage to face my parents. And then I remember facing them. I remember handing my father my piggy bank, and apologizing to my mother for what I had done. I remember standing in front of them expectantly awaiting my punishment. My father looked at me for a long time, and when he spoke--it was kind and loving. He told me that he was proud of me for having the courage to tell the truth. He then handed me my piggy bank, and said that he wasn't going to break it. He said that he wanted me to remember the lesson of the piggy bank. He wanted me to remember the feelings I had when I had done something wrong, and also to remember the feelings I felt when I had repented. He wanted the piggy bank to serve as a reminder of choosing to be honest. And he wanted me to BE honest.
My dad's wisdom in allowing me to keep the piggy bank profoundly affected my life. It not only taught me about honesty, but many other lessons were embedded within the parable of the piggy bank. As I grew older and I looked through the glass at the money within my piggy bank, I began to realize the sacrifice it must have been to allow me to keep the piggy bank--there were hundreds of dollars jammed into the crevices of that piggy bank. And somehow seeing this taught me that being Christ-like is more valuable than any amount of money. I was so touched by the lessons of the piggy bank that I shared this lesson with many friends. Numerous people held and touched the piggy bank, and numerous people learned from my dad's wisdom. Then one day the bank was gone. I searched for hours, but to no avail. And somehow--it seems fitting that the piggy bank would be gone after so many years--for it had served its purpose. It had given me the resolve to always be honest, and it allowed me an understanding of a parent's love for a child with a lesson of not only honesty, but the proper perspective on money. As I remember the Snoopy Piggy Bank, I remember what it means to be Christ-like and THAT is worth more than a piggy bank full of money.
