It’s cold outside. When it’s cold, the world is darker. This time of year, darkness seems deeper. The cold has a way of seeping in through cracks. The expression is to be numb from cold - but when we are cold, we feel things more keenly. Prickling, stings, aches and above all we experience absence differently. Maybe that is why this time of year feels so silent. We notice the absence of sound. What little we may hear might feel so very distant, hushed. It is no wonder that in the dark, in the cold, our problems and woes seem to grow heavier. They weigh more on us. Because in these conditions, we feel smaller. It is very easy to feel alone.
The story I wish to share is not set in a small cozy cottage, where chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. No children giggling, building snowmen and listening for sleigh bells. It is a short story written by the Danish author Hans Christian Andersen. You may recognize him as the author of Den lille havfrue, The Little Mermaid. H. C. Andersen was a prolific writer in the 19th century, best remembered for his fairy tales. But his tales and were not only for children, many with themes that transcended ages and nationalities to this very day.
Part 8, "The Little Match Girl" by Hans Christian Andersen (Published December 1845)
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It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. Evening came on, the last evening of the year. In the cold and gloom a poor little girl, bareheaded and barefoot, was walking through the streets. Of course when she had left her house she'd had slippers on, but what good had they been? They were very big slippers, way too big for her, for they belonged to her mother. The little girl had lost them running across the road, where two carriages had rattled by terribly fast. One slipper she'd not been able to find again, and a boy had run off with the other, saying he could use it very well as a cradle some day when he had children of his own. And so the little girl walked on her naked feet, which were quite red and blue with the cold. In an old apron she carried several packages of matches, and she held a box of them in her hand. No one had bought any from her all day long, and no one had given her a cent.
Shivering with cold and hunger, she crept along: A picture of misery, poor little girl! The snowflakes fell on her long fair hair, which hung in pretty curls over her neck. In all the windows lights were shining, and there was a wonderful smell of roast goose, for it was New Year’s Eve. Yes, she thought of that!
In a corner formed by two houses, one of which projected farther out into the street than the other, she sat down and drew up her little feet under her. She was getting colder and colder, but did not dare to go home, for she had sold no matches, nor earned a single cent, and her father would surely beat her. Besides, it was cold at home, for they had nothing over them but a roof through which the wind whistled even though the biggest cracks had been stuffed with straw and rags.
Her hands were almost dead with cold. Oh, how much one little match might warm her! If she could only take one from the box and rub it against the wall and warm her hands. She drew one out. R-r-ratch! How it sputtered and burned! It made a warm, bright flame, like a little candle, as she held her hands over it; but it gave a strange light! It really seemed to the little girl as if she were sitting before a great iron stove with shining brass knobs and a brass cover. How wonderfully the fire burned! How comfortable it was! The youngster stretched out her feet to warm them too; then the little flame went out, the stove vanished, and she had only the remains of the burnt match in her hand.
She struck another match against the wall. It burned brightly, and when the light fell upon the wall it became transparent like a thin veil, and she could see through it into a room. On the table a snow-white cloth was spread, and on it stood a shining dinner service. The roast goose steamed gloriously, stuffed with apples and prunes. And what was still better, the goose jumped down from the dish and waddled along the floor with a knife and fork in its breast, right over to the little girl. Then the match went out, and she could see only the thick, cold wall.
She lit another match. Then she was sitting under the most beautiful Christmas tree. It was much larger and much more beautiful than the one she had seen last Christmas through the glass door at the rich merchant's home. Thousands of candles burned on the green branches, and colored pictures like those in the printshops looked down at her. The little girl reached both her hands toward them. Then the match went out. But the Christmas lights mounted higher. She saw them now as bright stars in the sky. One of them fell down, forming a long line of fire.
"Now someone is dying," thought the little girl, for her old grandmother, the only person who had loved her, and who was now dead, had told her that when a star fell down a soul went up to God.
She rubbed another match against the wall. It became bright again, and in the glow the old grandmother stood clear and shining, kind and lovely.
"Grandmother!" cried the child. "Oh, take me with you! I know you will disappear when the match is burned out. You will vanish like the warm stove, the wonderful roast goose and the beautiful big Christmas tree!"
And she quickly struck the whole bundle of matches, for she wished to keep her grandmother with her. And the matches burned with such a glow that it became brighter than daylight. Grandmother had never been so grand and beautiful. She took the little girl in her arms, and both of them flew in brightness and joy above the earth, very, very high, and up there was neither cold, nor hunger, nor fear. They were with God.
But in the corner, leaning against the wall, sat the little girl with red cheeks and smiling mouth, frozen to death on the last evening of the old year. The New Year's sun rose upon a little pathetic figure. The child sat there, stiff and cold, holding the matches, of which one bundle was almost burned.
"She wanted to warm herself," the people said. No one imagined what beautiful things she had seen, and how happily she had gone with her old grandmother into the bright New Year.
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What a difference it would have made, had someone seen a little girl walk barefoot and offered her their shoes or socks. Maybe offered her a ride somewhere.
What difference it would have made, had someone seen the little girl out in the cold and invited her inside to warm up by their stove for a while.
What difference it would have made, had someone invited the little girl inside for her to have something to eat. After all, say they had prepared a feast, surely there was enough to share with one little girl?
What a difference it would have made, had someone seen the little girl, barefooted and selling matches, scared to go home… And invited her inside, where the roof was whole or properly patched. Where she was safe.
Someone could have bought a box of matches and given her two cents or maybe more out of generosity. Yet, things that could have made a difference would not have cost them. Nothing that could be compared to prolonging, if not saving, a little innocent life. Quoting Homer: The charity that is a trifle to us can be precious to others.
In this time and age, we constantly calculate costs and gains. But a moment and a little kindness do not set us back, no one will ever become poor for giving them. I remind you: All those you in this moment hold dear and precious, you hold so because of moments in the past. It all started somewhere, when someone gave the other a moment or two of their time.
It’s cold outside. And it is dark. For someone, you can be a match struck, providing them with a little light and a little warmth. All it takes is a moment of your time. You might even make a difference, in a way you yourself may not fully comprehend. You might forget about it in a week, a month… But they might remember it for years to come.
Ask the question, you thought about asking, but never did. Answer the best you can, if someone comes up to you with a question. Sit down with someone who is sitting by themselves. It might be someone you have not talked to in a while, or someone you rarely speak to. It may even be a stranger.
Tell someone you forgive them, forgave them - even if you think or assume, they will not care that you do. Apologize if you feel you were in the wrong - even if you think or assume, they will not accept it. Tell those you care about that you care. Tell those you worry about that you worry about them. Pick up the phone and take the incoming call. Thank someone who did you a kindness and made a difference.
Offer what you can and have to offer. Be it a moment of your time, your handkerchief, your spare shirt. Loaning your scarf or mittens. Pouring an extra cup or two if you are brewing a pot. Hailing a cab or giving someone a ride somewhere. A small kindness or a little help from you might make all the difference to someone.
It’s cold and it is dark. Let us together light some matches.
“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another.”
- Charles Dickens
