I have two paper dollars—
Just look right here and see;
And while they’re both a dollar
They appear quite differently.

For one is bright and crisp and new,
Not crinkled, creased, or worn;
Where the other bill is tattered
With an edge that’s partly torn.

But notwithstanding how they look
Or how they might impress,
Each is worth a dollar—
Not a penny more or less.

People are like dollar bills—
They’re skinny, bald, and fat;
They’re handsome and they’re crippled
Yet in spite of all of that—

All have real potential
And endless value too;
And when I say all people,
That includes both me and you.

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There is something about a two-dollar bill that just shouts nostalgia to me.  I don’t quite know what it is.  Perhaps it is because I thought for a time that they didn’t make them anymore and they were a collector’s item.  Maybe it is because you rarely see them, and their elusive nature makes them seem like something from yesteryear.  Or maybe it is because they have not gone through the fancy modernizing like other paper currency so they look old-fashion. 

Whatever it is, I like them and have a stack of them stuffed away.  I have some that are pretty new looking.  They are flat and crisp and well cared.  Ol’ President Jefferson himself seems to be giving his nod of approval from his center portrait.  But these are not my favorite two-dollar bills.  My favorite one is kept safely tucked away in my special box of favorite things.  You know the type of box I mean—the box that holds your most valued treasures—not because anything in the box has any value in and of itself but because these things have memories that they hold and stories that they tell.

This special two-dollar bill is not crisp and new.  Quite the opposite.  This one is old and wrinkled and worn.  What’s more, it has been torn into 3 pieces.  I went and found it again just now.  The tape holding it together is beginning to yellow slightly with age.  This bill is special to me because I received it from a friend for my eighth birthday.  As an eight-year-old, two dollars was really something.  With it, my siblings and I could peddle our bikes to the local store and buy a lot of penny candy—and back then the penny candy really cost a penny.  So, to me, this two-dollar bill represents sacrifice and love of a friend.  And does it matter that it is torn and taped back together?  Not at all, it is still worth two dollars.

I was reminded of this important lesson in church a few days ago.  People come in all shapes and sizes.  They come with all sorts of cultural, familial, political, social, and historical backgrounds.  They come with hardships and handicaps, failures and successes, heartaches and hope.  Some are rough around the edges and some are easier to love, but all have something in common—from each we can learn and each has value and potential.

My torn two-dollar bill tells me so.

Written: May 28, 2017