InSight

I sensed that I wasn’t the only one with my gaze directed toward her. She was not easy to ignore.

A young woman — beautiful face, clothes casual and colorful, long hair swinging as she made her way to the corner. She carried a loaded backpack, but its weight didn’t affect her happy gait. A man passed by her with a lingering look that might have caused discomfort for others.

But not this woman.

She was all confidence, with a smile that told a story of grace.

The light was red in my direction at one of the busiest intersections in town. Five o’clock traffic. I watched as she approached the corner and heard myself say, “Careful. Be careful.”

She was a few steps from the curb, and she wasn’t slowing down.

Then, with perfect timing, she stopped, turned, and flipped her cane against the traffic pole. She stretched out her arm and found the crosswalk button.

And she waited.

I wondered what thoughts others had as they observed the young woman for those moments at that bustling intersection. Did any of them:

  • decide to put aside their bad moods; 
  • make a mental note to count their blessings; 
  • vow to volunteer at Braille Institute; 
  • change their minds about holding a grudge;
  • memorize kind words to say to their spouse and kids when they got home;

Or, like me, were they reminded to be thankful for the ability to see?

As I watched her listening to the tap of her cane, using her senses to get where she needed to go, dealing with life without one blessed gift — what a contrast, I thought. What a contrast to the way I often handle difficulties in my life. Complaints and pitiful musing. Woe is me.

But there was a living example before me.

Continue with that steady walk forward, step by step, along the path that is right. Listen well. Be confident that God, my trustworthy Walking Cane, will lead the way. He will be with me as I walk through the dark valleys. Thoughts like these came to mind as I watched a remarkable young woman on her journey.

The light turned red, and I continued home, taking a last glance at her as I drove by.

Before I entered the house, I looked up. The clouds were fantastic against the orange, blue, and purple of the coming evening, washed in the colors of the sunset.

I can see.

I hurried inside, grabbed my camera, and took my opportunity to capture the gift.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. (James 1:17)

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