The Window

The Window

         You’re beautiful, and you know it. Everyone does, it’s not hard to see. You’re part of a grand cathedral, but even in a place like this, where breath-taking art isn’t uncommon, it’s hard to miss a piece like you. There are other stained glasses, sure, but none of them are quite like you. There’s something different about the way you shine that catches people’s eyes.

         No one knows how hard you try just to get by. Lovely as you are, you’re only glass, and the foundations upon which you were built aren’t sturdy. Stress and time have made you fragile, and every pane is webbed with cracks. The same cracks that make the light shine a thousand different beautiful ways bring you to your knees and splinter further every day.

         The weather where you are is dismal. Sometimes the sun comes out, and for a few hours the cathedral glitters with promise. Most days, the sky is gray, like all the clouds have come to watch you struggle. And on those cloudy days, you lose hope. The sun is gone, and all you cast are dirty shadows on the floor. People forget about you; no one wants to see you when all your bright colors are faded. This is my future, you think. A life of dreams gone dim and empty rooms.

         It’s not your fault. Whoever designed you spent all his time making you beautiful, and never thought about where you would go. So you’re stuck here, jammed into a too-tight corner where the light rarely shines, and every day you feel the weight of the stones around you push a little harder.

         It’s easy to blame him. Why couldn’t he make you like his other windows? What purpose did it serve? But blaming him is tiring, and doesn’t help the pain. In the end, you wind up back with yourself, and because there’s nothing to be done about it, you start praying that the good days come around. Why can’t the sun just stay out, you wonder? That way, at least, the fight would be worth it.

         The way I see it, the sun must be jealous. No one can look it in the eye. It needs people like you to shine through, so that parents walking by can say to their daughter, “Look, darling. Isn’t it wonderful?” And it is wonderful. The light is beautiful. But only because you’re here.

So don't give up hope.

Be strong, and soldier on.