Windows of Gold

This is a story I told my students when the time was right. It’s not original. You may have heard it before, or read the poem of the same name.

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Windows of Gold

A young man once lived in a valley. The people there were a simple sort, living off the land and not wanting for much. But they would always look upward as they traveled to and fro in the valley. For high above them, near the mountain’s eastern slope, was a large white house.

The house was a source of inspiration for the youngster. Whenever he walked along the road, he’d gaze upward in wonder. It was practically a mansion, the boy thought, and the people who lived there must be richer than anyone he’d ever met. He was particularly awed by the golden windows that gleamed down upon him.

Gold. Brilliant, yellow gold. The boy wanted so much to peer into those windows and see what riches were hidden there.

One day, he made up his mind and hiked up the long trail leading to the top of the mountain. He climbed and climbed, barking shins and skinning knees, pausing for resting breath occasionally. The boy stepped and trod, single-minded in his purpose: Reach the house, reach those windows of gold.

At long last, he reached the house at the top of the mountain, the house with the windows of gold. Gasping for air and bent nearly double from exhaustion, he turned the final corner.

The youngster’s eyes opened wide, his mouth dropped, and he gasped as the burning breath escaped his heaving lungs.

The windows! There they were. But they weren’t gold. They were glass. Plain, ordinary glass. Clear, transparent glass. How can that be, he thought. For years he’d yearned to look upon the windows of gold. But where was the gold?

Peering into the windows, expecting great treasures, he saw ordinary things – chairs, tables, lamps, cases, books, vases. No chains of silver, no polished gems, no golden coins. He was so sure he’d see magnificent and valuable possessions; instead he saw nothing special.

Disappointed and on the verge of tears, he trudged slowly back home, his pace reflecting how sad he was that there were no windows of gold.

His father, who’d missed him earlier, came running as the boy neared home, embracing him warmly. “Where have you been?” his father asked, “What have you been doing?”

With eyes lowered in embarrassment, the boy said he’d hiked the steep trail up to the mansion at the top of the mountain, the one with windows of gold. He spoke of his disappointment on discovering they were ordinary glass, and that everything inside was just as ordinary.

With kindness in his eyes and a smile in his heart, the father put his hands on his son’s shoulders, turned him and said, “Look up there again, son.”

The boy turned and looked. Lo and behold, he saw windows of gold. He gasped in amazement. “But, but how can that be? I was up there! There were no windows of gold!”

“It’s the sun,” his father gently explained. “It’s God’s sunlight that gives the windows their golden hue. It’s the beauty of the sunset, my son. It’s God’s gift to us.”

The boy leaned against his father, satisfied at last, and thinking that his father was the smartest man in the world. And indeed, he was.

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The lesson to be learned, I suppose, is tht sometimes it’s not what is really there that inspires a person, but what one perceives them to be. Every one of us has windows that look like gold to others.

You need to be satisfied with what you have, but you should always strive to be better. Then, and only then, will others look upon you with envy … because YOU will be the one with the windows of gold.