I once saw a picture of a small boy peering into a store
window, at Christmas time; his rosy red nose and cheeks were pressed against
the cold glass—almost as if it was a scene taken out of one of Norman
Rockwell’s paintings. Inside the store there was a Christmas party going on for
a group of children. Santa was there, and the tables were filled with lots of
sugary food, beverages and gifts. It was obvious from the merriment going on
that it was a very happy occasion for those in the party. The look on the
little boy’s face, outside that window, was not one so much of sadness, but
more of bewilderment. Maybe he had never known celebrations like this existed,
but then, maybe he did know they existed but couldn’t understand why he was excluded.
He watched for a while, and then went over and turned the knob on the door, but
it was locked. Then someone noticed him and went over to the window, pulling
the shade down.
A sometimes lavish lifestyle that brings happiness to some
can have just the opposite effect to those who are on the outside looking
in. I’m not just talking about
material things. I’m talking about being a part of a celebration, too. I
remember growing up poor, and although I was never one to envy others and what
they had, I could never figure out why they weren’t happier about their wealth.
So many of them took it in stride, as if they were entitled to it, and I never
saw that spirit of thankfulness they should have had. Some of the things they took for granted would have made me
almost giddy. But, for the most
part, I was thinking as a child would think back then. Yes, I was treating
tangible things as important things in life, but something about being excluded
made it become even more hurtful.
Way back then, I was on the other side of that glass looking
in, and although the door was probably not locked, I never thought I was worthy
of going in. Over the years, as I grew both in knowledge and wealth, I was able
to open that door and join the party. But, for some reason, my joy of being
there was always tempered by the sad looks on the faces of those on the other
side of the glass; for I had been there and I knew how it felt, and although I
couldn’t pull that shade down, yet I wasn’t asking them in. Two years ago, I
was back on the outside of the glass looking in as an adult, not because I
wasn’t invited to the party but because I ostracized myself. You see, my reason
for going to the party was gone. Oh, she was there in spirit, but my spirits
were at a low ebb and I was in no mood for a party. I preferred to be outside
with my thoughts. You see, that intricate prescription for the essence of
Christmas goes so much deeper than gifts and giving. The basic ingredient for
happiness has always been, and always will be, people. I learned that more, at
that time, than at any other time in my life.
Both open doors, and open hearts, have something in common.
We’ve removed the barriers that separate us—and isn’t that what we always
wanted. To belong to someone or something and to be a part of somebody’s life.
To be wanted has always been special but to be wanted and needed—that’s special
personified. Loneliness almost always imparts feelings of worthlessness, and
that’s just one step above having no value to anyone at all. Christmas can go a
long way towards fixing that.
