The Dirty Windows

Photo by Kay Isabedra (Courtesy of  deathtothestockphoto.com)

This past week, everybody in America was playing the lottery. The Powerball jackpot was at a record breaking amount of over 1 Billion dollars, and we were all dreaming of the wonderful things we would do if we won. 

But there are numerous stories of people who have won the lottery, and didn't live happily ever after. Some have even said that it was the worst thing that ever happened to them. The money disappeared after being spent on mostly useless things, or people were taken advantage of, and relationships dissolved. 

Of course we need enough money to live and be comfortable, but having lots of money does not lead automatically to happiness. So much of what happens to us is based more on our perceptions of things than on external circumstances. Some people move through what seem to be difficult circumstances with grace, and remain grateful for what they have. Other people seem to have everything on the surface, but are only able to see what they don't have, and don't enjoy their lives or use their talents.  

One sure way to ruin potential happiness is to worry incessantly, and it's difficult not to do that. It's easy to become isolated and overcome by our fears. So when a friend comes along to help, and offers us a fresh perspective, we have the choice to open ourselves to the light, and to new possibilities, or we can stay stuck in the darkness of self-defeating thoughts and behaviors.

The following is a slightly modernized adaptation of a story called "The Windows", which is from a book called The Golden Windows: A Book of Fables for Young and Old, by Laura E. Richards, first published in 1903. 

The Dirty Windows

     

      A man who lived alone was sitting in his room one day, thinking gloomy thoughts.

     “I cannot see as well as I used to,” he said to himself. “I can hardly see to do my work anymore.  It’s evident that my sight is failing. I will probably be blind before long, and unable to do any work! And then I will have to starve to death, or go live in a shelter to survive. Perhaps it would be better for me to go there now, while I can still see a little.”

     Just then his neighbor, who was an emotional, energetic woman, came over to visit.

     “Why do you just sit here, withering away?” she asked, with concern.

     So the man told her his thoughts: how his vision was failing and he how he would soon have to starve to death or go to live in a shelter. And while he was talking, she bustled about the room, filling a bucket of water, and rummaging through the drawers of his dresser to find a clean cloth.

     When he had finished talking, she said; “Look! Your windows are dirty; that’s all that’s wrong.” And she cheerfully washed the windows. “There!” she said, and went about her business, hoping that she was leaving him in a better state than she had found him.

     But with the windows clean, the man was even more upset than before. “Oh no,” he thought to himself, “how this glare hurts my eyes! My eyes must be weaker than I thought!” And he shut the curtains in despair.

--By Susan Sherwood, (Adapted from The Golden Windows by Laura E. Richards, 1903)

 

The Candle In the Window

The Candle In the Window

     There was a little white candle in the kitchen of a house by the sea. It stood on a high shelf, for its days of usefulness were past. It was forgotten and covered with dust. There had been a time when it had given out its light into the darkest corners of the kitchen in the house by the sea.

     All  was changed now. From the power house miles away came the electric current which lighted all the houses on the coast. It sent beams from the lighthouse to the ships, to guide them safely into the harbor.

     "Times have changed," thought the half-burned white candle, its sides bulging with tears of melted wax. "My life is over. I am useless!" The tears would not flow, they only hung like frozen icicles.

     One night a great storm lashed the coast and white-crested waves broke over the shore line in a fury. The stinging rain beat against the windows like lead pellets. An anxious woman gazed quietly toward the sea. Somewhere out there was a fishing boat carrying her husband and sons. She pressed her face close to the pane and watched for a flash from the lighthouse. That light had never failed, and tonight it was the only hope for storm-tossed seamen.

     It was hard for her to see through the rain-drenched window. It was very dark outside. She continued to look until at last she knew--there was no light! The lighthouse beam had failed! She turned away from the scene in despair, and as she did so, the electric light in her kitchen went out. The fishing hamlet was in total darkness. The power plant miles away had been cut off by the storm.

     What should she do? She thought of the old candle! It would not do very much good, but it would keep her company through the night. It was better than nothing. She groped her way to the shelf where matches were kept. She found the candle, blew the dust off its tip, and lighted it. It flickered faintly, then broke into a clear yellow flame. She had forgotten just how much light a little candle could send out. The window caught the reflection bright in contrast to the darkness outside. 

     "Out there the boats are being tossed about," she thought. "Will my fishermen be able to make the harbor? How can they without a light?" She was in great anxiety. There must be some way to help them.

     Suddenly an idea came to her, and she went into her room and came back with a small mirror. She set the candle on the window ledge and placed the mirror in back of it. At least the tiny rays would appear a little brighter to whomever might see them.

     Dawn came and the little candle gave one last sputter and burned out. The wind and rain subsided when the woman saw several figures struggling along the beach. She ran out to meet them. 

     "We rode out the storm, Mother," one of them called. "Somewhere we saw a small ray of light. We rowed for it and it brought us in to the right place."

     "It must have been the candle," she said. That was the only light in the hamlet."

by Edna J. Robb, from Sunshine Magazine, June 1957