The Chestnut Seller

After visiting my parents’ house, my sister and I stopped by a restaurant near a tourist spot to order mung bean porridge—my father’s favorite—to take home. Since it would take some time for the food to be prepared, we wandered around the area, talking and taking a few photos. It wasn’t tourist season, so it felt like the whole place belonged just to the two of us.

At the entrance of the restaurant, there was a man selling roasted chestnuts, but since we had no intention of buying any, we didn’t go near his stall. However, when he noticed us, he greeted us with a bright smile and said, “Have some chestnuts!” I hesitated, feeling it would be impolite to eat something when I wasn’t planning to buy any. But he kept smiling warmly and urged us again, “Go ahead, try some!”

When my sister stepped a little closer, he handed her three warm chestnuts and encouraged her to try them. She blew on them, peeled them, and ate them one by one right there. Watching her enjoy them, he smiled with satisfaction—and then said, “Don’t buy any.”

I couldn’t help but find it curious that someone selling chestnuts would tell us not to buy any, so I wandered closer. He handed me three warm chestnuts as well. I tried one, and it was so fragrant and delicious that I finished all three on the spot. Smiling brightly at us, he handed over a few more freshly roasted chestnuts—again insisting, “Don’t buy any.”

His words made me laugh. “Sir,” I said, “aren’t you losing money doing business like this? With everything you’ve given us, it seems like you’ve already handed out a whole bag!” He burst into a hearty laugh, then lifted his eyes to the sky for a moment before speaking softly,

“To me, these chestnuts aren’t money. They’re just the chestnuts I grew myself.”

Only then did I realize that his smile—and his repeated “Don’t buy, just try them”—had all been sincere. He truly wanted people to try the chestnuts he had grown with his own sweat and labor, and he was confident that once they did, they would want to buy some on their own. And sure enough, we bought them—not only because they were delicious, but because we were moved by his generosity.

Jesus, in the parable of the talents, compared sharing the gospel to doing business (Mt 25:14—30). Through my encounter with the chestnut seller, I learned a valuable lesson about the heart we should have when preaching the gospel: to approach anyone with a warm smile and humility, to gently encourage them to listen—whether they accept it or not—and to consider their circumstances with patience. If we continue in this way, surely, in time, good fruit will follow.

The man’s words lingered in my heart. To him, the chestnuts were not merely a source of income, but cherished fruit had grown with sweat, effort, and care. Then I wondered—with what heart did our Heavenly Father give us the New Covenant Passover, established through His own flesh and blood? Thinking of our Father, who must have hidden His aching heart behind a gentle smile as His children struggled to grasp the true value of the new covenant, moved me deeply. I resolved to become a child who shares this precious inheritance with confidence and the reverence it deserves.