Cynic and Yellow Jacket: A Short Story

Hi friends! I wrote the short story you’re about to read a couple of months ago, and it’s inspired by how my mama has described to me the different mindsets we can have about life as a different pair of glasses we wear.

There are times I can think clearly and honestly about a situation, but there are other times—like today—that I struggle with worry. I focus on the difficult things instead of remembering that God is with me, lives inside me, and is ready to be my strength.

Though this story is completely fiction, I wrote this story from my perspective as someone learning to change the pair of glasses I wear, because it can be a struggle to learn to see the good in things, or even remember that there are good things in the situations I walk through because of my tendency to often see the bad or hard things instead.

But life is a process, God is renewing us and changing us from the inside out. We’re still breathing, and that means that God isn’t done with us yet. He promises in Philippians 1:6 that He will continue to work in us until Jesus returns (or if He chooses to take us home to be with Him before that.) So, with that, here is the story of what I call Cynic and Yellow Jacket.

One bench sits in the middle of a field, and it drips with water from the unexpected drizzle starting. The field itself is wide in expanse, resting on the top of a mountain overlooking a valley. In the valley, people, young and old, sit or stand occupied with what is before them.

You and I stand at the topmost peak of the mountain, wind blowing against our faces. You chuckle at the hair whipping in your face, and my muscles tense at the steep cliff below us.

We notice the two travelers at the same time, both on the path we’ve only recently ascended. One is hunched and pulls their collar up. The other has a bright smile on their face and swings their arms back and forth as they move steadily up the mountain path.

The latter reaches the bench first, and from my place farther behind them I notice him swing his head as he takes in the view. His shoulders move up and down from a deep sigh.

“Contented,” I nod to you, and you do the same in response.

A minute passes. Two. Ten minutes later and the hunched figure makes it to the field, plopping down onto the bench. He pushes his soppy wet hair from his face and throws up his hands.

“Frustrated.”

You smile.

“Oh, dear. Did I get the wrong answer?”

You nudge my arm. “No, you got it right.”

“How are you reading my mind like that?” I inhale, trying to focus on the task at hand and not my embarrassment of a mind less functional.

The first person to sit, dressed in a yellow raincoat, that reminds me of sunshine and sunflowers, turns to the second.

I strain my ear towards them. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.”

You motion towards a cluster of bushes closer to the bench.

“Are you sure they won’t think we’re spying on them?” I ask, hesitant.

An upturn of your eyebrows and a shrug of your shoulders, yet you say nothing to my question as you lead the way. I have no choice but to follow. As soon as we’re in a broad sense of the word comfortable, crouched behind the bushes, I try to focus again. The wind still blows, and even though muffled, I can hear their voices. And from this angle, their faces are in a better line of sight.

“Why are they wearing sunglasses? It’s raining,” I whisper.

“Just wait and listen,” you whisper.

“What do you see?” It’s Yellow Jacket asking.

“What do they see?” I ask, incredulous. “The same thing that we all see!”

You put a hand on my arm, an amused smile on your lips. “Shh. Just watch.”

Apparently the second figure things the same because they let out a sarcastic chuckle. “What do I see?”

A nod from Yellow Jacket.

“Well…” Cynic throws up his hands again, letting them fall into his lap. “For one it’s raining, and I’m soaking wet. I see the huge, gray clouds, the steep path that was so difficult to climb to get here. Some places were so muddy that I thought I was going to slip and fall.” A moment silently passes.

“What else do you see?”

“All those poor people in the valley. They’re sopping wet too, and some are even trying to light their fires. That one little girl,” - he points towards another hunched form - “looks cold and probably hungry too. It doesn’t even look like she has a family to stay with, or a home to get out of the rain from.”

The four of us, two different groups, yet somehow connected by the same observation, sit quietly lost in our own thoughts.

Yellow Jacket breaks the silence. “Can I share with you what I see?”

“I guess…if you really wanna.”

“What I see first is this field covered in wildflowers, blue ones, orange, yellow, pink, and even purple. It’s been so dry lately, they need this rain.” He stops, and I wonder what will happen, who will say something next, and I almost turn to ask you what’s happening, when he tilts his head upward, letting the rain fall down his face.

“What else do you see?” I hear the smirk in Cynic’s tone.

I study Yellow Jacket’s face, waiting to see what his response will be, the grin spreading on his face becoming contagious on mine.

“Well…” he prolongs the word. “I see that beautiful fox, its red coat reminding me of a sweater my grandma made me when I was a kid. I see the people down in the valley working hard, inspiring me to do the same. I see this bench we’re sitting on, grateful for a place to rest.”

He pauses. I watch as his expression turns serious, sad even. “What is he thinking?” I ask, more to myself than to anyone else.

But you gently answer my whispered question, “Just wait and listen. It’s going to be something important.”

“Do you know what else I see?” Yellow Jacket asks.

Silence. And it makes me squirm in uncomfortability.

He continues, “I see that same girl, scared, cold, and hungry. I see that little boy numb and grieving a childhood he will never have because his father left him and now, he has to help provide for his mama. I see that young lady who is hurt and wounded from those closest to her.”

As he points out each person, I see colors swirl around them, blue, black, and purple. A tear falls slowly down my cheek.

“I see something else though. Can I share?” His vision is trained straight on me and though his gaze is gentle, I quickly look away, feeling guilty of my eavesdropping. I notice a quiet nod from Cynic towards Yellow Jacket, who slowly turns back to the valley.

 “I see that woman there, her name is Dorthy carrying a big basket of food to the little girl, along with a blanket and warm coat. She will ask the girl if she wants to come home with her and live with her.”

A bright white swirl of light surrounds the woman Dorthy.

“I see that young man, married but no kids of his own, walking towards the younger boy. His own father left him, and now he is grateful for a chance to pour into and invest in someone who is going through something similar.”

The man is shining so brightly, I shield my eyes as they start to burn.

“I see those two young women. They’ve been hurt and wounded, in fact their hearts are bruised even now, yet they see another lonely heart needing comfort and hope and healing.”

I watch as the whole valley becomes a mix of swirling colors, pain being met with healing, lonely hearts finding a friend, scared souls finding hope and peace. It’s painful, a bittersweet ache in my chest.

Yellow Jacket and Cynic continue talking. I watch as the first hands the second a new pair of lenses, and Cynic slowly reaches up and swaps the glasses he'd been wearing for the new ones.

“A swap of perspectives. Not the best, for a better one. An opportunity for change. A grateful heart for the blessings we have.” I’m quiet in my observations, scared to cause a shift in the thoughtful, somber mood.

You nod. There’s a proudness I see in your eyes. “You’re a fast learner. How will what you saw today, affect your tomorrow?”