I’m freshly home from a Disney vacation, and I have a confession: it’s a little bit ridiculous how much we love Mickey Bars.

Our collective love for them is enormous. On a Disney vacation, I give us this daily splurge, this afternoon indulgence into chocolate-dipped ice cream bars shaped like Mickey’s face, at five bucks a pop. We plan our days around it, you guys. It’s a glorious start to the week, that First Mickey Bar, and it’s a sad ending to the vacation, that Last Mickey Bar.

I’m telling you: it’s a fierce and romantic love.

I act like it’s such an indulgent splurge to have one, my goodness, every-blessed-day, when really it’s my weary sense of self-control. We shall have just one a day you guys. Just one. Every day.

I believe we were on our third or fourth afternoon of the magic and pixie dust, when Tucker got his long-awaited Mickey Bar of the day… and he promptly dropped it. I’m not a germophobe, and I’m a firm believer in the five-second rule. Maybe even ten seconds, depending. But you can’t recover Mickey Bar that has fallen on the ground. Now it’s all cracked and sad. The magic is gone.

We looked at it on the ground, like we had just seen a small animal run over by a car. An animal we loved. By a car that we hated. The grief was mounting.

But before we could scramble for napkins or get back in line for another one, a cast member stepped from behind his ice cream cart, and he handed my son a new one. “Here you go, buddy. You need a new one.”

And that was that. No getting in line, no paying again, no questions asked. Just a perfect replacement of all that had been lost. It was the very picture of grace.

How much did it cost the Walt Disney World company to replace my son’s Mickey Bar? Nearly nothing. But how much value did they add to our experience, even to my son’s worth as their guest? There’s no price tag for that.

Sometimes someone else’s relief costs you just a few pennies. How beautiful it is when you share the wealth.

(I think that’s how grace works.)

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