In grade school, I knew a part-albino girl who was legally blind. When she tried to read, she leaned over the desk and pressed her face right against the paper, straining to see each and every letter. Most of the time, she was virtually silent because undoubtedly, much of her energy was spent struggling to see. On the playground, she sat on a log, slowly peeled an orange, and stared off into the distance. Every single day, she sat there alone. Here and there, someone would reach out to her, but she only responded in whispers. She wasn't that shy; she just couldn't see who was speaking to her. In class, even if I approached her and stood nearly touching her, she couldn't tell who I was until she heard my voice. Back then, whenever I looked at her, I often wondered what it would be like to grow up knowing the world through voices and shapes.
Years later, I had to take my cat to the vet, and my regular vet was booked, so I drove across town to see another one. When we arrived, they shuffled us into Room 2, and we waited for the assistant to come in. Minutes later, a beautiful, pale-skinned woman with snowy, waist-length, thick, blond hair entered the room. Her eyes were round and perfect, a see-through blue, and she stood tall, holding a clip board. On her left hand -- a huge wedding ring, a shiny diamond made for a classy lady. And she did indeed appear classy and smart. When she smiled, her entire face glowed. And so did her hands. She was absolutely stunning.
And then I smiled, realizing that it was the same girl who was nearly blind in grade school. I was floored. There she was, looking right at me, not missing a beat, working at saving animals' lives. As we talked about the cat, I assumed that somewhere along the line, she'd had eye surgery, and her vision had been restored. She seemed thriving, happy, outgoing, and ever so free, but since she had never been able to truly see me in grade school, she didn't recognize me at all.
But then there was this moment -- she blinked hard, shutting her eyes, listening to me speak, and I could tell that
all at once, she knew my voice. Lighting up, she smiled brightly, opened her eyes, and took some
notes, wishing me on my way.
As I drove home, the vision of her stayed with me, building a presence somewhere in my heart and mind. Here was that shy, lonely girl I once knew. Now, she was suddenly transformed into a sharp, confident, glowing woman. I felt my chest fill
up at the thought of the change. I thanked the universe for my sight, for her
sight, and for the passage of time, which can sometimes show how miracles develop, grow, and radiate outward.
Back in the day, such a quiet girl, one who would seem to slip through the cracks. But in the end, sometimes it's the quietest ones who shine the most. Sometimes, behind the scenes, without barely even a whisper, without the faintest desire to be seen, without any need for recognition, one humble person can save lives.
C.A. MacConnell
