A Cross or a Ladder?

ONE DAY Maitre Hauchecome, principal character in Guy de Maupassant's famous story, "The Piece of String," was walking to the marketplace. He noticed a piece of string on the ground; and, being a peasant of frugal disposition, he stooped to pick it up. Later it was learned that a purse had been lost at that same spot, and he was accused of having found it.

Although Hauchecome protested his innocence, the chief of the gendarmes took him to the mayor's office for questioning. Next day the purse was found, but never again did Maitre know peace of mind. Humiliated by the accusation and detention, he began to brood over the incident. "The piece of string" became an obsession. Increasingly, he neglected his duties in order to tell acquaintances and strangers about his wrongful arrest. He became neurotically ill, mentally poisoned by his unwillingness to forgive and forget. As he lay dying, his last words were, "A piece of string, a piece of string look here it is, M'sieu the Mayor."

Most persons have had their "pieces of string," life's heart aches and misfortunes of one kind or another. In all probability you, the reader, have had your share of them.

Your face may be wreathed in smiles. Your words may be cheerful and courageous. But deep in your heart is scar tissue in your heart and everybody else's.

Perhaps the scar in your heart was caused by the loss of a loved one, by the crippling effects of an accident or illness, by a broken marriage or a child turned way ward, by the loss of material possessions, or by a betrayal of friend ship. . . .

There is a far better way to approach misfortune than the emotionally immature way of nurturing resentment, of shaking a fist at earth and heaven. William James, the father of applied psychology, suggested the first step: "Be willing to have it so" to acknowledge that certain things come within your power and that others do not, and that there is wisdom in distinguishing between them.

John Milton, blind at the age of forty-three, wrote: "It is not miserable to be blind. It is only miserable not to be able to endure blindness." . . .

Whatever your personal misfortune may be, after you have become willing to have it so, to accept a situation that you cannot change, there remains a second step to be taken: to transcend yourself and sublimate natural resentment into some concrete service for humanity.

"When one door closes another door opens," wrote Alexander Graham Bell, "but we so often look so long and so regretfully on the closed door that we do not see the ones which open for us." . . .

Few persons would have considered Charlss Steinmetz during his childhood a likely candidate for eminence. Born in poverty and as a hunchback, he had at least two strikes against him to start with.

However, by transcending his handicaps he became one of the world's most renowned electrical engineers. Out of the laboratories of this lifelong cripple, who, in order to be free of pain, often worked in a half-standing, half-leaning position, came discoveries and inventions that revolutionized industry. As a result of his tireless work, more than 200 patents were obtained by the General Electric Company with which he was associated. . . .

Suffering can also serve a redemptive purpose. Without sorrow we would be satisfied to keep our eyes on things of earth. We would have little incentive to look heavenward.

When Sir Harry Lauder's only son was killed in World War I, the grieving father said: "When a man comes to a thing like this, there are just three ways out of it: There is drink, there is despair, and there is God. And by His grace it's God for me." . . .

Without suffering, many of the promises of the Bible would be meaningless. If we had never been toilworn, there would be no incentive to accept the gracious invitation offered in Matthew 11:28: "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest."

If you had never known bur dens, there would be no reason to cast "all your care upon Him; for He careth for you." 1 Peter 5:7. . . .

Jesus, the Son, knew sorrow when He walked as a Man among men, "despised and rejected . . . ; a Man of Sorrows, and acquainted with grief."

Even on the cross the Man of Sorrows identified Himself with the needs of humanity. There was a thief to the right of Him and an other to the left. Right up to the last He thought only of others, even during His most intense suffering. Thus He transformed the cross, till then a symbol of torture and death, into a symbol of triumphant living, a ladder to eternity.

Which will you make of your sorrow, your suffering, your disappointment? a cross, or a ladder?