The Power of a Story

The following is an example of a sticky story. I heard this story in a sermon almost 25 years ago. I don’t remember the date, the title of the sermon, or the text that was preached. And I’m not sure of the preacher’s name, but I believe it was Greg. Here’s the story:

My wife sent me to the store to pick up a gallon of milk. When I arrived at the supermarket, I noticed a little boy standing just outside the main entrance, crying. I stopped and asked the little fellow what was wrong, and he replied, “My mom sent me to get some things, and she gave me $10. But when I got to the checkout, the money was gone. Now I have to go home without the groceries or the money.”

My first instinct was to take the little boy back inside the store and purchase what he needed, and then to send him home with the appropriate amount of change. The problem was I only had enough money for a gallon of milk.

Faced with this dilemma, I did the only thing I could think to do. I told the boy that I knew someone who could help. I told him that this helper’s name was Jesus and that Jesus loved him and was concerned about him. Right there in front of the supermarket I prayed with this little guy, and we asked Jesus to help us find the lost money.

After we prayed, I helped him retrace his steps through the supermarket, all the while praying furiously that Jesus would indeed let us find the money. As we turned down the cereal aisle, the boy gasped as he saw his money lying on the floor.

After a brief but vigorous celebration, Greg and the boy parted ways, each one setting out to complete his errand. Several minutes later as Greg emerged from the supermarket, he saw his new little friend standing once again by the front doors of the supermarket.

“Is everything OK? You need a ride home or something?” Greg called to his little buddy. “No, I’m OK,” replied the boy. “I just wanted to know . . . that man who helped me find my money . . . can you tell me His name again?”

Why is that story sticky? Why has it stuck with me all theses years? Is it concrete—can you picture the place? Does it move you emotionally? What was the surprise?