Half full? Or
half empty? How we view our glass of life changes our perspectives. I tend to
be a glass-half-full person. I keep a joyful attitude by focusing on what I
have, rather than what I don’t have. When I view the glass as half empty,
however, the results are disastrous.
When a winter
storm battered my community, I tossed and turned all night, hearing the
freezing rain and sleet drumming on the roof and windows. I worried about the
slippery roads I’d have to maneuver on my commute to work at the local high
school. Finally, unable to sleep, I got up in the pre-dawn dark to watch the
weather on television. I hoped school would be cancelled so I could stay home
safe, warm, and able to sleep. Watching, I learned an inch of ice and sleet had
fallen. Travel was treacherous. When I looked out the window, I saw the street
glistening from its icy coating. I saw danger and a half empty glass.
The alphabetized
list of school closings appeared on the television. Anxiously, I watched it scroll
across the bottom, waiting for “Wichita” to appear: Andover, Augusta, Derby, Goddard,
Haysville, Maize, Pratt, Valley Center, Wellington…. No “Wichita”! Every school
district was closed except one, mine! I huffed about, upset that I had to
venture out in the dangerous weather. I couldn’t see one drop of joy in my
glass.
Anger bubbled as
I anticipated the icy drive. Why had our
superintendent decided to keep school open? Along with anger, I worried: getting
safely to school, students driving on ice, scraping a one-inch layer of ice off
my car, and driving 15 miles home in rush hour traffic.
Driving on the
slippery streets, I gripped the steering wheel and prayed my car would stay on
the road. After a forty-five minute commute, instead of the usual 15, I walked
gingerly across the ice-covered parking lot, grumbling to myself.
When the bell rang, only one third of my students were present. School was in session, but little was accomplished because so few attended. Not a drop covered the bottom of my glass. Frustrated and tired, I fretted and complained. After school, I left early to beat the afternoon traffic. Still grumbling and complaining, I scraped windows in the bitter cold. As I pulled out of the parking lot, however, my attitude changed. At last, I began to see my glass full.
The low winter,
late afternoon sun shone through the ice-covered world, changing the landscape
into a magical fairyland. The dried winter grasses sparkled in the sun. The
squares of ice-coated wire on the roadside fences glimmered and gleamed. The
trees sparkled like huge crystal sculptures. Everything danced with light. Finally,
I focused on what filled my glass. I forgot my frustrations and complaints as I
viewed this breathtakingly beautiful world! All I could do was thank God and
marvel at His winter beauty.
My spirits
lifted and I rejoiced in the crystal world. I thought how my glass-half-empty, whiny
attitude had clouded the entire day. With the light dancing on the ice, I drove
home, thankful for so much: a good job, a warm house, a reliable car, and a God
who opens my eyes to see beauty in every situation. His light shone through my
grumbling, complaining attitude, letting me rejoice in the half-full glass. Joy
shattered my complaints like ice crystals breaking off the tree branches.
