The Scenery of Love
A few months back, my friends and I stepped out onto the balcony of the hotel where we stayed. A warm breeze brushed against my skin. “Isn’t that the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen?” One of them said.
Ooh’s and aah’s echoed from the others. I smiled outwardly. But inside, I fought the self-pity that sometimes tries to come in.
And I confess, there have been times when I allowed it to enter. After all, I had every reason to feel sad, deprived and discouraged. My complete blindness robbed me the pleasure to enjoy sunsets, the beauty of flowers, blue skies, the faces of my grandchildren and other views that are supposed to please the soul.
“Janet,” one of them said, “I’ll describe it to you.”
With patience and gentleness, she detailed the reds, pinks, orange and various shades of colors, the sparkle against the skies, the shimmer of hues against each other. I painted the image in my head. And I relished in all I saw with my mind.
Later on, we headed for dinner. I grabbed my friend’s arm, left the hotel room, stepped into the elevator, then crossed the lobby to the restaurant.
She did. We ate, laughed and created memories only good friends can.
That night, I lay quietly, and gratitude sang in my heart. My blindness allowed me to see what truly matters—friends’ kindness, the gentleness of those who love us, the patience of those who care.
And now, instead of self-pity, I vowed to repeat praises to God for giving me eyes to appreciate what He gave me. Rather than lament what I lost, I delight in the scenery of love and the joy of life I gained.