Friends had invited me to spend Christmas with them. But Idid not feel up to any gaiety. I knew I would be a wet blanketat any party. So， I refused their kind invitations. As ChristmasEve approached， I was more and more overwhelmed with selfpity.
True， I should have been thankful for many things， as allof us have many things for which to be thankful. The day beforeChristmas， I left my office at three o’clock in the afternoon andstarted walking aimlessly up Fifth Avenue， hoping that I mightbanish my self-pity and melancholy. The avenue was jammedwith gay and happy crowds-scenes that brought back memoriesof happy years that were gone. I just couldn’t bear the thought ofgoing home to a lonely and empty apartment. I was bewildered.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t keep the tears back. Afterwalking aimlessly for an hour or so， I found myself in front of abus terminal. I remembered that my husband and I had oftenboarded an unknown bus for adventure， so I boarded the firstbus I found at the station. After crossing the Hudson River andriding for some time， I heard the bus conductor say： ‘Last stop，lady.’ I got off. I didn’t even know the name of the town. It was aquiet， peaceful little place. While waiting for the next bus home，I started walking up a residential street. As I passed a church， Iheard the beautiful strains of ‘silent Night’. I went in. The churchwas empty except for the organist. I sat down unnoticed in oneof the pews. The lights from the gaily decorated Christmas tree made the decorations seem like myriads of stars dancing in themoonbeams. The long-drawn cadences of the music—and the factthat I had forgotten to eat since morning—made me drowsy. Iwas weary and heavy-laden， so I drifted off to sleep.
“When I awoke， I didn’t know where I was. I was terrified. Isaw in front of me two small children who had apparently comein to see the Christmas tree. One， a little girl， was pointing at meand saying： ‘I wonder if Santa Clause brought her’. These childrenwere also frightened when I awoke. I told them that I wouldn’thurt them. They were poorly dressed. I asked them where theirmother and daddy were. ‘We ain’t got no mother and daddy，’
they said. Here were two little orphans much worse off than I hadever been. They made me feel ashamed of my sorrow and selfpity.
I showed them the Christmas tree and then took them toa drugstore and we had some refreshments， and I bought themsome candy and a few presents. My loneliness vanished as if bymagic. These two orphans gave me the only real happiness andself-forgetfulness that I had had in months. As I chatted withthem， I realised how lucky I had been. I thanked God that all myChristmases as a child had been bright with parental love andtenderness. Those two little orphans did far more for me thanI did for them. That experience showed me again the necessityof making other people happy in order to be happy ourselves.
I found that happiness is contagious. By giving， we receive. Byhelping someone and giving out love， I had conquered worry andsorrow and self-pity， and felt like a new person. And I was a newperson—not only then， but in the years that followed.”
I could fill a book with stories of people who forgot themselvesinto health and happiness. For example， let’s take the case ofMargaret Tayler Yates， one of the most popular women in theUnited States Navy.
Mrs. Yates is a writer of novels， but none of her mystery stories is half so interesting as the true story of what happened to herthat fateful morning when the Japanese struck our fleet at PearlHarbour. Mrs. Yates had been an invalid for more than a year： abad heart. She spent twenty-two out of every twentyfour hoursin bed. The longest journey that she undertook was a walk intothe garden to take a sunbath. Even then， she had to lean on themaid’s arm as she walked. She herself told me that in those daysshe expected to be an invalid for the balance of her life.
“I would never have really lived again，” she told me， “if the Japshad not struck Pearl Harbour and jarred me out of my complacency.
“When this happened，” Mrs. Yates said， as she told her story，“everything was chaos and confusion. One bomb struck so nearmy home， the concussion threw me out of bed. Army trucksrushed out to Hickam Field， Scofield Barracks， and Kaneohe BayAir Station， to bring Army and Navy wives and children to thepublic schools. There the Red Cross telephoned those who hadextra rooms to take them in. The Red Cross workers knew that Ihad a telephone beside my bed， so they asked me to be a clearinghouseof information. So I kept track of where Army and Navywives and children were being housed， and all Navy and Armymen were instructed by the Red Cross to telephone me to find outwhere their families were.
“I soon discovered that my husband， Commander RobertRaleigh Yates， was safe. I tried to cheer up the wives who didnot know whether their husbands had been killed； and I tried togive consolation to the widows whose husbands had been killedandthey were many. Two thousand， one hundred and seventeenofficers and enlisted men in the Navy and Marine Corps werekilled and 960 were reported missing.
“At first I answered these phone calls while lying in bed.
Then I answered them sitting up in bed. Finally， I got so busy， soexcited， that I forgot all about my weakness and got out of bed and sat by a table. By helping others who were much worse offthan I was， I forgot all about myself； and I have never gone backto bed again except for my regular eight hours of sleep each night.
I realise now that if the Japs had not struck at Pearl Harbour， Iwould probably have remained a semi-invalid all my life. I wascomfortable in bed. I was constantly waited on， and I now realisethat I was unconsciously losing my will to rehabilitate myself.
