Have you ever thought about how much a window and a mirror have in common? They’re both made of glass, and yet they give us two entirely different views. One allows us to look out and see what’s happening around us, while the other keeps directing our attention right back to ourselves. I came across that thought recently, and the more I considered it, the more I realized there’s a rather uncomfortable little truth hiding in there. We can spend an awful lot of time looking at ourselves without ever standing in front of an actual mirror.
Now, I don’t mean admiring our reflection or fussing over our appearance, although I suppose some of us have had our moments. I’m talking about the way our thoughts can become so wrapped up in our own little world. Our worries, our responsibilities, our disappointments, the things we wish were different, the things people have said or failed to say, and the prayers we’re still waiting for God to answer. Before we know it, nearly everything we encounter gets filtered through one question: How does this affect me?
And the interesting thing is, we don’t necessarily recognize when it’s happening. We can be loving, generous, God-fearing people and still find ourselves looking into that mirror more often than we’d care to admit. Life can be exhausting, and some days just getting through our own circumstances requires more strength than we feel we have. I certainly understand that. There are days when our troubles seem to pull up a chair, make themselves comfortable, and show absolutely no intention of leaving anytime soon!
But I’ve been thinking about something. While we’re sitting there entertaining our troubles, what’s happening on the other side of the window? Who might be struggling just as much as we are, only they’re doing it quietly? Who might be waiting for a word of encouragement, a little kindness, or simply the reassurance that somebody remembers they exist?
I think one of the saddest forms of loneliness must be feeling invisible while surrounded by people. You can have conversations, exchange pleasantries, smile at all the appropriate moments, and still go home feeling as though nobody really saw you. And sometimes the people who experience that loneliness most deeply are the very ones who spend their lives making sure everyone else feels loved and appreciated. They’re so accustomed to being the encourager, the helper, the dependable one, that people forget they have tender places in their hearts too.
That makes me think of something in Luke 7 that I find especially touching. Jesus was approaching the city of Nain when He encountered a funeral procession. A widow was burying her only son. Can you imagine the weight of that sorrow? She had already buried her husband, and now she was walking behind the body of her only child. Along with her grief came the frightening uncertainty of what life would look like without him.
What touches me most is that she never asked Jesus for help. At least Scripture doesn’t record her asking. She was simply there, carrying a sorrow too heavy for words, and Luke 7:13 tells us, “And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said unto her, Weep not.”
I’ve read that account many times, but those words, when the Lord saw her, have taken on a special sweetness for me. There were crowds around Him, people following Him, undoubtedly wanting something from Him, yet His attention settled upon this one grieving woman. He understood the depth of her loss without requiring her to explain it, and His compassion moved Him to act.
I wonder how often we miss opportunities like that because we assume the cheerful ones are happy, the strong ones are managing, and the quiet ones simply prefer their solitude. But appearances can be deceiving, can’t they? Sometimes the person who seems to have everything together is the very one who goes home and cries when nobody is looking.
And I don’t think we have to possess some extraordinary gift of discernment to make a difference. Instead of rushing through a conversation, we can linger long enough to hear what’s underneath the words. Instead of assuming someone knows we care, we can tell them. Even a few minutes of our undivided attention can be a precious gift to someone who rarely receives it.
There’s a verse in Proverbs that I’ve always loved, and it seems especially fitting here. Proverbs 11:25 says, “The liberal soul shall be made fat: and he that watereth shall be watered also himself.” Isn’t that a beautiful thought? We tend to think of giving as something that leaves us with less, but God describes a different kind of exchange. When we pour encouragement, compassion, and kindness into another person’s life, He has a way of refreshing our own hearts in the process.
Of course, that doesn’t mean we should ignore our own needs. There’s a difference between caring for ourselves and becoming so preoccupied with ourselves that we lose sight of everyone else. And isn’t it interesting how our feelings can sometimes change when we stop dwelling on something that’s upsetting us and turn our attention toward helping another person? Our troubles haven’t necessarily disappeared, but they may no longer seem quite so overwhelming because, for a little while, they haven’t occupied the center of our attention.
I think about how Jesus lived with the knowledge of what awaited Him at Calvary. He knew the suffering that was coming, the betrayal, the rejection, and the terrible weight He would bear. Yet He continued noticing people. He had time for children, for the sick, for the overlooked, and for those society had pushed aside. Even as He hung upon the cross, suffering beyond anything we can comprehend, He made provision for His mother’s care. That kind of love is humbling, especially when I consider how easily my own concerns can occupy so much of my attention.
And I think that’s what I want to remember the next time I find myself becoming a little too absorbed in my own circumstances. Somewhere beyond my little world, someone may be longing for a listening ear, a thoughtful gesture, or simply the comfort of knowing they haven’t been forgotten. And while I certainly can’t meet every need or mend every broken heart, I can be more intentional about how I respond to the people God places in my path.
So the next time I catch myself spending a little too long looking into that mirror, I hope I’ll remember to turn toward the window. Not because my own concerns don’t matter, but because they aren’t the only ones that do. And if looking beyond myself allows me to bring even a little encouragement into someone else’s day, I’d say that’s a view worth having.
Same glass. Different view. And sometimes, that simple change in perspective can make all the difference in someone else’s world.
If this Fireside Chat warmed your spirit and sparked fresh resolve to live what you believe, fan that flame with Scripture—“Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly” (Colossians 3:16). Pull a little closer to the Light, and carry it into the week ahead.
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