A kind girl善良女孩

My childhood and adolescence were a joyous outpouring of energy, a ceaseless quest for expression, skill, and experience. School was only a background to the supreme delight of lessons in music, dance, and dramatics, and the thrill of sojourns in the country, theaters, concerts. And books, big Braille books that came with me on streetcars, to the table, and to bed.

Then one night at a high school dance, a remark, not intended for my ears, stabbed my youthful bliss: “That girl, what a pity she is blind.” Blind! That ugly word that implied everything dark, blank, rigid, and helpless. Quickly I turned and called out, Please don‘t feel sorry for me, I‘m having lots of fun. But the fun was not to last.

With the advent of college, I was brought to grips with the problem of earning a living. Part-time teaching of piano and harmony and, upon graduation, occasional concerts and lectures, proved only partial sources of livelihood. In terms of time and effort involved, the financial remuneration was disheartening.

This induced within me searing self-doubt and dark moods of despondency. Adding to my dismal sense of inadequacy was the repeated experience of seeing my sisters and friends go off to exciting dates. How grateful I was for my piano, where—through Chopin, Brahms, and Beethoven—I could mingle my longing and seething energy with theirs. And where I could dissolve my frustration in the beauty and grandeur of their conceptions.

Then one day, I met a girl, a wonderful girl, an army nurse, whose faith and stability were to change my whole life. As our acquaintance ripened into friendship, she discerned, behind a shell of gaiety, my recurring plateaus of depression. She said, “Stop knocking on closed doors. Keep up your beautiful music. I know your opportunity will come. You’re trying too hard. Why don’t you relax, and have you ever tried praying?”

The idea was strange to me. It sounded too simple. Somehow, I had always operated on the premise that, if you wanted something in this world, you had to go out and get it for yourself. Yet, sincerity and hard work had yielded only meager returns, and I was willing to try anything. Experimentally, self-consciously, I cultivated the daily practice of prayer. I said: God, show me the purpose for which You sent me to this world. Help me to be of use to myself and to humanity.

In the years to follow, the answers began to arrive, clear and satisfying beyond my most optimistic anticipation. One of the answers was Enchanted Hills, where my nurse friend and I have the privilege of seeing blind children come alive in God’s out-of-doors.

Others are the never-ending sources of pleasure and comfort I have found in friendship, in great music, and, most important of all, in my growing belief that as I attune my life to divine revelation, I draw closer to God and, through Him, to immortality.


我在童年和少年时代激情四溢,无时无刻不追求展现自我、磨砺才艺和体味生活。学校里的音乐、舞蹈和戏剧课让我欢欣不已,而剧院和音乐会更让我身心为之震颤, 乡间流连的时光也同样美妙,还有我的书,那些厚重的盲文书籍无论在我乘车、用餐还是睡觉时都与我形影不离。

然而,一天晚上,在高中的一次舞会上,一句我无 意中听到的话霎那间将我年少的幸福击碎——“那女孩是个瞎子,真可惜!”瞎子——这个刺耳的字眼隐含着一个阴暗、漆黑、僵硬和无助的世界。我立刻转过身, 大声喊道:“请不要为我叹惜,我很快乐!”——但我的快乐自此不复存在。

升入大学之后,我开始为生计而奔波。课余时间我教授钢琴及和声,临近毕业时还偶尔参加几次演奏会,做了几次讲座,可要维持生计光靠这些还是不够,与投入的时 间和精力相比,它们在经济上的回报让人沮丧。

这让我失去了自信和勇气,内心郁闷苦恼。眼看我的姐妹和伙伴们一次次兴高采烈地与人约会,我更觉消沉空虚。所 幸的是,还有钢琴陪我。我沸腾的渴望和激情在肖邦、贝多芬、勃拉姆斯那里得到了共鸣。我的挫败感在他们美妙壮丽的音乐构想中消散。

直到有一天,我遇见一位女孩,一位出色的女孩,这名随军护士的信念和执著将改变我的一生。我们日益熟稔,成为好友,她也慢慢察觉出我的快乐的外表之下内心却 时常愁云密布。她对我说,“门已紧锁,敲有何用?坚持你的音乐梦想,我相信机会终将来临。你太辛苦了,何不放松一下——试试祷告如何?”







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