A friend began his ministry at little First Presbyterian Church in Aberdeen, Mississippi.   His first year as pastor he was visited by three men inquiring about one of his members, a widow who lived by herself. Was she getting out? Were her friends in Aberdeen keeping in touch? Was there anything they needed to know? The three men explained the situation, gave him their cards—one lived in New Jersey, another in Oklahoma, the other in California—and he was told to call them if there was anything they could humanly do to make her life happier or easier.

These three men arrived each year bearing presents their wives had picked out in the shops of San Francisco and New York. The men had hired a family who mowed the woman's yard, trimmed the bushes, and checked on tree branches and gutters. One of the men prepared the woman's tax returns each year, another contracted repairs on her house or made them himself. Sometimes they helped her shop for a new car. They were meticulous in wanting to check on everything and anticipate every difficulty the woman might face.

Each year they visited the President of the Bank of Mississippi in Aberdeen—there was a regular turnover in young bank executives—passed out their cards, explained that he was to notify them of any worldly need this woman might have, and they explained to the Bank President the situation.

So, what's the back story here: Sixty years ago the three men had been three soldiers standing on the ground floor of a house in Normandy just a few days after D-Day when a German potato masher grenade came bouncing down the stairs. A fourth soldier, the woman's husband, threw himself on the grenade, absorbing most of its impact. The three men lived because of his death.

After the war was over in 1945 the three men began making their way to Aberdeen, Mississippi on a regular basis to make sure that this man's widow would lack for nothing they had within their power to provide for her. They had been doing that for more than twenty-five years when my friend was pastor of First Presbyterian Church.

Isn't that a remarkable story? I'll tell you another remarkable thing: there were eighteen soldiers on the first floor of that house in Normandy. All eighteen of them were spared by the action of that one soldier's leaping on a grenade, and after the war was over three of them made their regular pilgrimages to Aberdeen, Mississippi.

Three out of eighteen: that's 16 2/3%. What would 100% gratitude look like? It would change the world.