The beautiful object waited quietly in the corner shop window. Someday she knew a collector would come and choose her from among all the other beautiful objects that sat around her. One harmonious day when the sun was glinting off her well polished surface she saw the collector she had been hoping for, the collector who had come to appreciate her, and choose her from among all the other beautiful objects. When he looked on her, when he chose her, when he took her home, she was filled with a shimmer that shined from the depths of her heart. Joy glowed out through her beautiful exterior illuminating her many miraculous colors.
The collect wrapped her carefully in paper and held her carefully in his arms as he carried her home. Once home he took her from the box and held her in his hands. He turned her over looking on her with pride and then placed her with love upon a shelf where he could see her always from anywhere in the room. The beautiful object was filled with joy to be so loved and appreciated and to have been chosen from among so many other beautiful objects.
The days pass, she was happy and he watched her from afar, moving through his day, through his life, seeing her from the corner of his eye, and smiling. Yes, she was a beautiful object, and she knew in her heart that he loved her and she loved him. But the days grew longer, she saw him less often, and dust begin to gather upon her beautiful exterior.
After what seemed like an eternity she heard his return and her heart lifted. In time he came to her and taking her gently in his hands he wiped the dust from her eyes, from her head, from her beautiful exterior, and held her so lovingly that once again she began to glow with joy, and hope, and love, and light. Then without ceremony he sat her down again upon the shelf.
A long time past before he touched her again. She grew sad and lonely on her self. She wanted to see him, to be held by him, to be touched by him, to have the dust washed from her eyes, and from her glowing exterior. She wanted to be beautiful, and to be bright, to be loved, but he was gone missing somewhere in the world. The dust grew thicker and thicker until she could no longer see the sunlight coming in the window and it could no longer pierce the filth that clung to her beautiful sides leaving her un-illuminated. And yet she longed for the moment when he remembered that she existed, for the moment when he came and dusted away the dust, and held her in the light, and loved her for her beauty, for her fine lines, and for the way she lit up when he looked on her.
One day he came home and he held under his arm a thing carefully wrapped in paper. The beautiful object could not see yet she heard the paper and she felt his appriciation through the dust, thought it was not directed at her. She felt him grow closer and her heart began to glow. She felt the light that would pour through her when he cleaned away the dust, when he held her in his hands, when they were once again reunited, and he appreciated her the way she deserve to be appreciated.
But when he came to her he pushed her aside and he placed before her a new and beautiful object. He did not take her from the shelf, he did not dust her, he did not clean the dirt away from her eyes, or hold her in his hands and appreciate her. instead his eyes were focused lovingly on the new beautiful object that glowed with sunshine and with light, basking in the warmth of his attention.
With time the beautiful object became completely blinded by the dust and debris of her life on the shelf and she even began to forget what it was to be held, to be touched, to be loved, to be looked at, and appreciated. She languished in blindness for many years. On the last day that she would spend with the collector who had shown her such love, she thought only of the memory of sunlight and the way she used to glow. She felt no hope, she felt no light, she felt no love, she only felt a sudden longing for movement forward toward something new, something unknown.
The movement came, the unknown followed. When the dust was finally washed from her eyes and the light again poured through her beautiful sides she found herself in a new place, held in new hands, dusted with new love. New eyes regarded her with great appreciation for her beauty, for her unique lines, for the special figure that she was. And her heart bloomed again as it had of old, and she felt love pouring through her, she felt light shimmering inside her, and she felt happiness pouring over her. Everyday the new collector held her, dusted her eyes and lifted her to the light mesmerized by the way the sunshine played through her miraculous colors. Once again, the beautiful object who had hoped, and wished, and longed, began to learn trust, certainty, and peace. And she learned that she had value not because of the joy she gave but because of the joy she felt inside herself when the light filled her and she remembered what it was to glow.
Glow on beloved brothers and sisters. You were born to be the light.