The Little Blind Angel
By
Angela Koltes
On a dreary and overcast winter day, I set out with a few friends to spend
the afternoon at the nearby school for the blind. It was one of those “any old
Sundays” where I was exhausted from the week’s busy schedule and longed for the
comfort of my warm bed and the welcoming idea of lounging at home.
I had no desire to go outside; after all, almost everyone would be spending
time on themselves and taking the day off. But because we had promised to go by
the school to give the children a little cheer and fun on a lonely Sunday
afternoon, we were obligated to go.
On weekends, most of the families of students came to pick up their
children, as the blind children boarded at the school during the week. So there
were few kids this Sunday, yet each one of them showed their delight at our
coming, welcoming us with joyful expressions.
We didn’t have much of a plan, but we brought a guitar, shakers, and
bongos, hoping to bring some happiness into their seemingly colorless worlds.
The children crowded around us, listening to the music and trying to understand
where we came from and what we looked like. Some of them had their own
instruments, as most of them are musically talented, and they played along,
enthusiastically showing us what they knew.
In the midst of all the noise and activity I noticed one little
short-haired girl sitting shyly away from the other children. I wondered who
her parents were and why they hadn’t come to visit such a beautiful little
girl. I felt angry, wondering how this child could deserve to be deprived of
her sight and made to live as handicapped.
While watching her, the first thing that captured me was her bright and
radiant smile. “How could this little blind girl, in her sad condition, be so
happy?” I wondered to myself. The teacher, who followed my gaze, began to tell
us her story. Seda was seven years old and had been through a brain operation
two years before. “I could see the trees, the birds, the doctor’s face,
everything.” She added, listening to her teacher, “But after I woke up, I
couldn’t see anything anymore.”
It was as if a rock fell from a high ledge and landed at the bottom of my
heart! I could only continue to watch the little girl in silence.
“But I am so happy!” she exclaimed, giggling and playing with her hands.
“Why are you happy, Seda?” her teacher asked for us. “Well,” she began softly,
“Even though I cannot see on this earth anymore, I will be able to see again in
heaven—and I am waiting and looking forward to that day.”
My eyes filled with tears, and I knew by looking around that my friends
shared the same feeling. The rest of the afternoon Seda stuck near me. She
grabbed my hand and led me around the school. She sat on my lap and talked
about all the food she liked to eat, each vegetable and fruit she enjoyed and
why. She found such delight in the tastes and sounds around her, it was as if
she had forgotten she could not use her sense of sight.
When I drove home that evening, Seda’s face stuck in my mind. What did this
girl see in her black world that made her so happy? Later, when I would feel
the strain of a difficult workday, whatever I might be going through at the
moment, when I thought of Seda, I knew I couldn't complain.
Sometimes the dark days we are forced to pass through seem unbearable and
we see no shining rays of dawn. We struggle each day while despising what we
see around us. Yet I know if I can only strive to think as that little angel
did, whose sight had been taken from her, and look toward heaven as she did, I
can praise for each day I have been given on this earth.
Whenever I
am tempted to curse the darkness and criticize what I see around me, that
little girl’s smile comes to mind. I think of her faith and I think of the eyes
that were given to her to see the daylight of tomorrow, and I know if she can,
I surely can too.