57 Cents
You don’t need to go looking for diamonds. Just start digging.
The Internet bombards us daily with headlines that feel like they’re written just to make us feel inadequate:
“The Secret Formula to Making Your First Million in 90 Days”
“How This 23-Year-Old Built a $50 Million Empire from His Garage”
“Quit Your Job and Travel the World with This Simple Side Hustle”
These stories promise transformation that seems to happen only to special people in faraway places. They suggest that success requires some magical combination of connections, funding, and insider knowledge that remains out of reach for ordinary people.
We’re taught to believe that the diamonds are always elsewhere – in Silicon Valley, on Wall Street, or in some exotic locale where opportunity supposedly grows on trees.
But what if I told you about a little girl whose humble contribution of 57 cents sparked something remarkable? What if I told you her story reveals the most profound truth about transformation that no flashy headline will ever tell you?
The Little Girl and the Church That Couldn’t Hold Her
In 1886, Philadelphia was a city of stark contrasts. Elegant mansions lined certain avenues while working-class families crowded into modest homes nearby. It was in one of these humble neighborhoods that a young girl named Hattie May Wiatt lived, not far from a small church at Berks and Mervine Streets.
The church was led by a Baptist minister named Russell Conwell – a man whose name wouldn’t become famous until years later. But on this particular Sunday, Conwell noticed something unusual as he approached his church.
Outside stood a little girl, her clothes worn but clean, wiping tears from her eyes.
“What’s wrong, child?” Conwell asked, bending down to meet her eyes.
“I can’t go to Sunday School,” she sobbed. “It’s too crowded, and they said there isn’t room for me.”
Conwell looked at the small church building, which was indeed filled to capacity. The congregation had grown steadily over recent years, but the building had not. Children packed the Sunday School room wall to wall, sitting shoulder to shoulder on small benches.
Taking Hattie’s hand, Conwell said, “Come with me. We’ll find you a place.”
He led her through the crowd, eventually finding a small spot where she could squeeze in among the other children. As she settled in, he saw her face light up with the simple joy of inclusion – of being welcomed in a place she desperately wanted to be.
“Someday,” Conwell told her as he prepared to leave for the main service, “we’ll have a church big enough for everyone who wants to attend Sunday School. No one will have to stand outside.”
The little girl nodded solemnly, taking his words to heart in a way he couldn’t have imagined.
What Conwell didn’t know – what he couldn’t have known – was that his casual promise to a tearful child would set in motion events that would transform not just his church, but an entire community, creating ripples that continue to this day.
A Child’s Mission
Over the next two years, Hattie May Wiatt undertook a mission. With single-minded determination that only children seem capable of, she began saving her pennies.
She didn’t spend them on candy or trinkets. She didn’t use them for herself at all. Instead, she carefully tucked each coin into a small purse – a worn and crumpled little purse that appeared to have been rummaged from some trash dump, but served her purpose well.
Each coin was a step toward the church building that lived in her imagination – a church big enough that no child would ever again stand crying outside its doors.
Meanwhile, Conwell continued his ministry, the conversation with Hattie May one of countless interactions that filled his busy days. He likely gave little thought to his promise of a larger building. After all, ministers make many well-intentioned statements that practical reality holds at bay.
Then word reached Conwell that Hattie was very sick, and her family asked him to come see her. He visited their modest home and prayed with the child. After leaving, he walked up the street, continuing to pray for the little girl’s recovery, yet all the while with the conviction that it was not to be.
Hattie May Wiatt died.
After the funeral, Hattie’s mother approached Conwell with something clutched in her hand.
“Pastor,” she said, her voice breaking, “we found this little bag under Hattie’s pillow. She wanted you to have this.
She pressed into his palm a small, worn purse. When Conwell opened it, he found 57 cents inside and a note written in Hattie’s childish handwriting that read:
“To help build bigger church so that more children can go to Sunday school.”
Fifty-seven cents. The accumulated wealth of a child who had taken his casual promise with the seriousness that only children possess. Fifty-seven cents toward a new church building – a sum so small it was almost nothing in the face of what such a project would cost.
But sometimes, value isn’t measured by the number on the scale.
The Power of a Small Beginning
The following Sunday, Conwell stood before his congregation and told them about Hattie May. He showed them the little purse and the 57 cents it contained. He explained how she had been saving this money to help build a bigger church.
“This child,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “has given more than many of us who have so much more to give. She has given her all.”
Something shifted in the room as he spoke – a collective recognition of something profound in this child’s sacrifice. People who had been attending the church for years without ever considering its limitations suddenly saw them through Hattie’s eyes.
Conwell announced that he wanted to do something special with Hattie’s gift. He exchanged the 57 cents for 57 individual pennies and offered them for sale as a memorial to her.
The response was immediate. Church members purchased those pennies for far more than their face value. Some paid a dollar, others five, some even more. When all was said and done, Hattie’s 57 cents had multiplied to $250 – an amount still far short of what a new building would require, but significantly more than anyone could have expected from such a humble beginning.
What happened next defies conventional wisdom about how change occurs.
A group of church members, inspired by Hattie’s sacrifice, formed what they called “The Wiatt Mite Society” (named after the biblical widow’s mite). Their specific purpose was to raise funds to purchase property for the church’s Sunday School.
The story of Hattie’s 57 cents began to spread beyond the church walls. A Philadelphia newspaper published an account of the child’s sacrifice and the congregation’s response. The story reached a local real estate developer, who was so moved that he offered the church a property worth thousands of dollars.
When church representatives explained they couldn’t possibly afford such a valuable lot, the developer made an extraordinary proposal: he would sell them the lot for just 57 cents as the first payment, with a mortgage for the balance.
Within five years, Hattie May Wiatt’s 57 cents had catalyzed donations that grew to $250,000 – a large sum for that time. The new church building became Temple Baptist, with capacity for 3,000 people. No child would ever again stand outside for lack of room.
But the story doesn’t end there.
From 57 Cents to a Legacy
In the house purchased with the first $250 raised from Hattie’s pennies, Conwell began teaching classes for working men who wanted to pursue education but couldn’t attend traditional colleges. This humble beginning would eventually grow into Temple University – an institution that has educated hundreds of thousands of students over the decades.
Additionally, the Good Samaritan Hospital (now Temple University Hospital) emerged from the same movement of generosity sparked by one child’s sacrifice. It has provided medical care to countless patients since its founding.
All of this – a major university, a hospital, a church that has served its community for generations – began with 57 cents saved by a little girl who simply wanted to ensure that other children would have a place in Sunday School.
The Diamonds Beneath Our Feet
This story might sound too remarkable to be true – more legend than history. Yet it is thoroughly documented in Russell Conwell’s writings, in the archives of Temple University, and in contemporary newspaper accounts. The worn purse and some of the original pennies were preserved for many years at Temple Baptist Church, important reminders of their humble origin.
Conwell himself would later become famous for a lecture he delivered over 6,000 times across America, titled “Acres of Diamonds.” Its core message emerges directly from his experience with Hattie May:
“Your diamonds are not in far distant mountains or in yonder seas,” he would tell his audiences. “They are in your own backyard, if you but dig for them.”
The lecture tells of an ancient Persian farmer named Ali Hafed who sold his farm to travel the world searching for diamonds, only to die in poverty and despair. Meanwhile, the person who purchased Ali’s farm discovered what became one of the world’s richest diamond mines right there on the property – in Ali’s own backyard.
“Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar,” Conwell would say, “he would have had acres of diamonds.”
Conwell had witnessed this truth firsthand. The greatest contribution to his ministry came not from wealthy benefactors or his own ambitious fundraising, but from a child with 57 cents and the faith to believe it mattered.
What This Means for You
We live in a world that constantly tells us that transformation requires something we don’t have or can’t access. The message is always the same: “The diamonds are elsewhere. The opportunity is with other people. The answers are out there somewhere.”
But the story of those 57 cents reminds us of a different truth – one that’s both more challenging and more liberating:
The seeds of transformation are already within your reach.
Think about it. What seems small or insufficient in your own life right now? What contribution or beginning feels too modest to matter? What dream have you dismissed because the resources at your disposal seem laughably inadequate?
Perhaps you:
Have an idea but “not enough” expertise
See a need but have “only” your voice to address it
Possess a skill but “only” in its beginning stages
Hold a vision but “merely” the first steps toward it
The world would tell you these beginnings are too small to matter. But Hattie May’s 57 cents remind us that transformations rarely begin with grandeur. They begin with one small act taken with complete conviction.
The most remarkable achievements around us often have the most humble beginnings:
Apple began in a garage
Amazon started with one man selling books online
Alcoholics Anonymous grew from one conversation between two struggling men
The civil rights movement gained momentum from one woman refusing to give up her seat on a bus
Each of these world-changing movements started with something as seemingly insignificant as 57 cents. The difference was that someone decided that small beginning was worth investing in – worth treating as if it already contained within it the seed of something magnificent.
The Courage to Begin Where You Are
The hardest part of any transformation isn’t necessarily acquiring something new. It’s recognizing the value of what you already have and having the courage to invest it.
When we look at others who have created impact, we often focus on what they had that we don’t. But perhaps the real difference is that they saw potential where others saw limitation. They recognized the diamonds beneath their feet when everyone else was looking to distant horizons.
This perspective changes everything. It means:
You don’t need to wait for perfect conditions to begin
Your current resources, however limited they seem, are enough to take the first step
The most valuable asset you have might be hiding in plain sight, disguised as something ordinary
Small beginnings, invested with conviction, can catalyze resources you cannot currently imagine
What would change if you looked at your own 57 cents – your modest resources, beginner skills, initial ideas, first drafts – and instead of dismissing them as insufficient, you invested them fully, trusting they contain the seeds of something significant?
Finding Your 57 Cents
So what is your 57 cents?
Maybe it’s:
A skill you’ve overlooked because it comes too easily
An idea you’ve dismissed for being too simple
A story you’ve never told because it feels too ordinary
A small act you keep putting off because it doesn’t feel like enough
It doesn’t matter how small it seems.
What matters is your willingness to offer it.
Hattie May Wiatt didn’t build Temple University.
She simply gave what she had – with conviction. And that offering lit the spark for something far bigger than she ever could’ve imagined.
Your next chapter may not begin with a grand gesture.
It might begin with one clear decision. One brave sentence. One small act of generosity or truth.
You don’t need to go looking for diamonds.
Just start digging.
All my best,
Chris
P.S. If you’re in the middle of digging—trying to figure out what’s next or where to focus—hit reply, or comment below.
I’d love to hear what you’re uncovering.
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