The other day I was pulling out of a gas station in Los Angeles and noticed two women helping a young man learn to navigate on his own using a walking stick for he was blind. They walked slightly ahead encouraging him on with their voices. The older of the two women saw me in the car and signalled to the younger woman to have the boy wait. But the younger women shook her head vehemently and motioned for me to halt, which I was planning on doing anyway.
She wanted the boy to keep moving forward. To keep claiming his path and his right to be. She wanted him to be couragous. Dauntless. Cars could wait for a blind pedestrian.
Only cars don’t always wait anymore. Not for blind people, or little old ladies crossing the street, or veterans in wheel chairs. The older woman knew this. The younger one did too. But the younger woman wanted the boy to become fierce. For him to fully live his life.
It’s terrifying to walk straight into the unknown. To not be able to see where we’re headed. The blind boy and the two women took my breath away. They were the most beautiful thing I’d seen all day.
An hour later I was on the highway and found myself behind a truck. Written on the vehichle were the words, “Helping Hands for the Blind.”
Do we have the faith of the blind? Can we walk with ease on paths we cannot see? And who guides us as we step out? From where do we get our vision and courage despite the risks?