Since Cracker Barrel is in the news these days, I thought I’d relate a cute story that — somewhat uniquely — has nothing to do with the logo.

The year after my father died, Lisa and I drove from Florida up to Virginia with a few of our children to visit my mom.

Over the days we were with her, my mom kept saying that my dad had left some cash and she wanted us to take it to pay for some of our travel expenses. I kept resisting her offer. She tried to hand me a few $100 bills, but I kept handing them back to her.

But after she had mentioned this to me several times over several days, I had an idea.

You see, my dad loved Cracker Barrel — and everything about it. For a number of years, my dad would take my mom on a regular Thursday evening date to Cracker Barrel. 

If someone asked me on a random Thursday night where my mom and dad were, I’d tell them, “It’s Thursday. They’re at Cracker Barrel.”

My dad was a leg amputee, so every time he went to Cracker Barrel, he needed someone to help him get his wheelchair out of the trunk of his car. (The process of helping him had become very difficult for my mom.)

When Lisa and I went to Cracker Barrel with my parents one Thursday, I lifted the wheelchair from the trunk and helped my dad get into it. And I whispered to my mom, “How does Dad get the wheelchair out of the car when we’re not here?”

She said, “Oh, someone always helps him.”

“So a different Cracker Barrel customer just happens to come along every week to help him with the wheelchair?”

She assured me that this is exactly what happens.

(I think it was at that moment that I developed an affection for Cracker Barrel diners everywhere.)

Now, fast forward back to my mom trying to hand me money and insisting that Dad would have wanted me to have that money.

I said, “Mom, you know what Dad would have wanted with this money? He would have wanted us all to go to the Cracker Barrel. Let’s do that as a homage to Dad.”

My mom agreed. So I accepted a $100 bill, and we got in the car, drove to the Cracker Barrel, and had a late lunch together.

And while we ate country-fried steak and meatloaf and sandwiches, and drank sweet peach tea, we talked a lot about my dad during lunch. It just felt right in lots of ways.

We all agreed: Yes, this is what Dad would have wanted.

And then the waitress brought us our bill. When I picked up the bill from the table and saw it, I let out a gasp, and then a smile.

You see, we ordered whatever we wanted without any particular thought about how much to spend. That would have been silly.

We just wanted to come back to the place where my dad had spent so much time — where my dad had been assisted by strangers, where he had gone on so many dates with his wife, where every Thursday felt like Thanksgiving for him. Yes, he wanted us to be here, together, to remember him.

And though the bill could have been for many different amounts, it wasn’t just any amount. It was an exact amount, to the penny.

One hundred dollars.

Not $99 or $101. Not even $99.99 or $100.01.

Exactly $100.

I suppose people can take away lots of different things from this story. Some will simply dismiss this as pure coincidence.

But I don’t.

I believe that messages from Heaven can come in many forms — and sometimes, even on Cracker Barrel bills.