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Once I
found myself in a group where one individual was the central
figure. He had a captivating personality, and was obviously
beloved by everybody.
Later we
were sitting apart from the others, talking. Always being
interested in what makes humans act as they do, I commented upon
his rare spirit.
"I
have a good time wherever I go," he said.
"It
is a gift for which you ought to be very thankful."
His reply
was, "It isn't a gift, being happy. It takes hard
work. For many years I was a sour, difficult
individual. I saw the dark side of everything until a friend
gave me a scolding. After thinking it over, and doing a lot
of praying, I determined to cultivate the happy side of
life."
I've
always been thankful for that conversation, because it taught me
that to live with happiness we must cultivate the happy side of
life.
I have
known a good many people who seemingly have had everything to make
them happy. But they were unhappy. And I have known
people who have had very little of this world's good and yet are
happy. The difference is that one person cultivated the
happy attitude and another, the gloomy. It is not so much
what happens to us but how we react to it that makes the
difference.
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There is
no such thing as a Pollyanna situation. Always, I suppose,
if you have a few perfect days, you can count on some kind of
trouble. But whether or not you live with a happy attitude
depends on your own cast of mind and the power of your
faith. What you think determines what you are.
Cultivate
the happy side of life. That is what the Bible tells
us: " Rejoice, it says, and again I say, rejoice" (Philippians
4:4). Don't go around with a gloomy, melancholy attitude.
Don't take a negative attitude toward life. Don't think
depressing thoughts. Rejoice. Now when you really do
it, you will find that the percentage of good days will greatly
increase. The late Dr. William Stidger once told about a
young friend of his who was awakened by his wife early one
morning. They had planned a picnic, but about five o'clock
it started raining. "It's raining hard, George,"
his wife finally said, "you'd better go downstairs and pull
in the porch furniture."
He went
down and got himself half soaked. When he turned around to
go back in he saw his little five-year-old boy, clad in pajamas,
sitting on the door step smelling the rain. The little boy
said, "Daddy, that rain smells good. I like the smell
of rain." The little fellow paused a moment, then
added: "Daddy, isn't this a gorgeous bad day?"
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