 Several years ago, Chuck Colson in Breakpoint wrote about the power of gratitude. In a groundbreaking research project, university psychologists delved into the transformative effects of gratitude and thanksgiving on our well-being. Dividing participants into three groups, the psychologist’s findings were eye-opening. The first group engaged in simple yet powerful daily exercises, such as jotting down their blessings in a gratitude journal. The outcome? Astonishing! Participants reported elevated levels of alertness, determination, and optimism. They radiated energy and, remarkably, experienced lower levels of depression and stress compared to the control group. The contrast with the second group was stark. While the gratitude practitioners were on a happiness high, the second group had a challenging task – keeping a daily account of all the negatives in their lives. Unsurprisingly, they found themselves on the lower end of the well-being spectrum. Perhaps the most striking finding was that the benefits of gratitude extended beyond religious practices. One psychologist emphasized that irrespective of faith or lack thereof, anyone can enhance their sense of well-being simply by counting their blessings. It turns out, the age-old wisdom in Philippians 4 has a universal application.  6-7 Don’t fret or worry. Instead of worrying, pray. Let petitions and praises shape your worries into prayers, letting God know your concerns. Before you know it, a sense of God’s wholeness, everything coming together for good, will come and settle you down. It’s wonderful what happens when Christ displaces worry at the center of your life. So it's time to tap into the extraordinary power of gratitude. Start your journey to a happier, more fulfilled life by embracing the simple act of counting your blessings. Better yet, keep a gratitude journal you can look back to whenever you feel discontent. Your well-being will thank you for it!"
Reflection Corner Start by counting your blessings today! What are you grateful for? Think of some or a couple of things that you have, but never thought you would?
10/30/2023
How to Deal with Negativity in Life In my last post, we uncovered the shocking truth: life is basically just one epic wilderness and we’ll enjoy life’s surprises if we walk with God through the journey and hone our skills to be like Indiana Jones in our own way. But I realized I’ve been a grumbler through my journey, not unlike the Israelites who travelled through the desert to reach the Promised Land. hence this series of reflections which I can compare to opening Pandora’s box. Recently I can picture myself stuck in the South America jungles, not as Indiana Jones but as Inspector Jacques Clouseau from the "Pink Panther" film series. While Indiana Jones is a skilled archaeologist, adventurer, and fighter, Clouseau, portrayed by Peter Sellers, is a bumbling and incompetent French detective. Add to that the trait of a chronic grumbler and that would be me as a traveler. "I was stumbling and swaying as I blindly (pun intended) navigated my way through my journey, each step feeling like a precarious dance between determination and uncertainty, I was suddenly pierced with a “Curare” poison covered arrow as I slowly slumped into paralysis. Author Krzysztof Ziarnek describes What you would experience if you came into deadly contact with the Curare plant as it as a cure all or kill all. What happened? Amidst the relentless demands of work and the chaotic symphony of life issues: my family and household, my days have become an intricate dance with stress in the backdrop of current rumors of world wars. One day I woke up so weak I couldn’t even hold up to do my usual routine, not to mention work. I’ve been calling in sick but one early morning my husband had to rush me to the Urgent Care. It was a wake up call to say the least. As I was desperately praying for divine healing, I was reminded how so many times I said, “I wish I weren’t ever born,” or “Why can’t God take me right now?” Well at that point, maybe God was answering my prayer to take me to our heavenly home but there I was, begging for dear life. I guess I didn’t really want to die. Job 2:4 Satan answered, “A human would do anything to save his life. In that moment, as I lay in the Urgent Care, my life hanging in the balance, I realized the gravity of my own mortality. I had often grumbled and complained about the challenges life had thrown at me, but when faced with the real possibility of losing it all, I discovered a newfound appreciation for the precious gift of life. As the doctors and nurses worked tirelessly to diagnose and treat my ailment, I couldn't help but reflect on the journey I had been on. Just like Inspector Jacques Clouseau stumbling through the South American jungle, I had been navigating the twists and turns of life with all the grace of a bumbling detective. I had been blind to the beauty of the wilderness I was traveling through, too focused on my complaints to see the surprises that lay around each corner.  In my weakest moment, I found strength in my faith. I realized that my grumbling had been like the Israelites' complaints in the desert, a lack of trust in the path that had been laid out for me. I had been so caught up in the chaos of life that I had forgotten the importance of gratitude and resilience. The wake-up call was stark, but it was also a gift. It made me reevaluate my priorities and my perspective. I understood that life's challenges and uncertainties are part of the journey. We can't control every twist and turn, but we can choose how we react to them. I had been given a second chance, and I was determined to make the most of it. The experience reminded me of Job 2:4, where Satan suggests that a person would do anything to save their own life. In my moment of desperation, I realized the truth in those words. I would do anything to hold onto the beautiful, complex, and sometimes challenging journey of life. As I slowly recovered, I embraced each day with a newfound sense of purpose and gratitude. I let go of my grumbling ways and chose to walk the path with a heart full of faith and a spirit ready to face life's surprises. Just like Indiana Jones, I honed my skills for this epic wilderness, not to conquer it, but to savor every moment of the adventure. Life was a gift, and I was determined to live it to the fullest, cherishing every twist and turn as part of the grand journey. Reflection
Stop and think for a moment about the recent events in your life. Have you been having grumble-itis? What are some things in your life you're grateful for? Hold onto these things and thank God for the Good things He has done in your life. Remember, it's better to live the rest of your life than wasting it away on negativity. Until the next one, everyone!
10/16/2023
Grumbler 2.0 My name is Christina, and I'm a grumbler. In my last post, I expressed how I feel like I walked out of the pages of the book of Numbers. So, in my imagination, God zaps me back in time to be with the bunch of Israelite grumblers where I belong? There I would be, a meal offering to the bugs the size of my fist. I'd be wilder than the untamed animals that I'll probably scare away because of my relentless screaming "yuck," "ewe," "ugh," and "ouch." I'll act worse than Job's wife as the bars I'll get would not be on my gadgets but on the sand. Out of despair, I'd probably brew mother nature's pine needle tea in a desert boil of slimy water to dunk my share of manna. #Necessity is the mother of invention. And #Addiction will find a way. Every hour, I'd ask, "Moses, are we there yet? What does God's Positioning System (GPS) say our ETA is? I wouldn't be attentive to the divine sunscreen, God's cloud during the day, and the pillar of fire at night. I'd be complaining without ceasing, so I won't reach the Promised Land like the hundreds of thousands of grumblers who died in the wilderness. But here I am, alive, blessed with a happy family, good health, and a lucrative job, albeit challenging. I dwell in a comfortable home beyond the reach of bugs and wild animals. My internet is giga-fast, and I enjoy bottomless tea and coffee of my choice, not to mention chocolates that give me a dopamine rush. More than my scary imagination, the realization of God's boundless grace drove me to reflection and repentance. It's astonishing how swiftly I can lose sight of my Father's countless blessings when life takes an unexpected turn or when challenges loom large. When circumstances diverge from my expectations, it's often tempting to perceive the guiding hand of fate as one that has dealt me misfortune. While I'm grateful God didn't exile me to the desert with the grumbling Israelites, I have a wilderness to traverse. Everybody does; it's that inhospitable terrain unique to every person laid out in the pilgrimage of life. The wilderness I traverse is unlike most people's. A pilgrim without sight, I wake up every morning to a never-ending game of "hide and seek" where I'm always "it." Navigating the world is like trying to assemble a puzzle without a picture – sure, I've got the pieces, but good luck figuring out if it's a puppy or a giraffe! I'll never forget when I was a commuter and how crossing the street was always a heart-pounding adventure. I felt like a Samurai brandishing my white cane of a sword at speeding cars to reach the workplace or the coffee shop without being a traffic statistic. Rest assured, you'll hear more of my adventures in the future. For now, I'd like to talk about the wilderness in my job.  At work, I rely entirely on assistive technology's wonders to perform a job, which was God's answer to my prayers several years ago. However, the existing assistive technology often struggles to keep pace with the ever-evolving nature of our workplace. The system limitations impede providing a resolution for my customers promptly and efficiently, degrading my performance. I could have been a corporate superhero without the kryptonite of system limitations. Needless to say, I spend most of my life at work, a minimum of eight hours a day on my computer and sixteen hours feeling the impact of stress. Perhaps your wilderness is passing through financial hardship or hurdling unemployment. It could be a relentless battle against a terminal illness. You may be tangled in the thorns of prodigal children or a challenging marriage. But make no mistake, every battle is in a wilderness of sorts, and our natural reaction is to grumble, kick, and cry our way to freedom, break down, or throw in the towel. Our response to these arduous wilderness experiences is to avoid them at all costs. In our quest to escape the trials of our wilderness journeys, let's consider a radical notion: What if we were to wholeheartedly embrace the wilderness? This untamed terrain has the power to transform our very essence, for it compels us to be wholly dependent on our Heavenly Father. True liberation emerges when we relinquish control and place our unwavering trust in the hands of God. It is precisely during these trying times that our Lord unearths His most profound revelations. Wasn't Moses raised in the desert to lead the Israelites out of slavery to the Promised Land? He wouldn't have met the angel of the LORD who appeared to him in flames of fire from within a bush if he weren't in the desert tending his father-in-law's flock. David spent a lot of desert time hiding out from Saul before God made him king. John the Baptist lived in the desert and lived on yucky locusts... And our Lord spent forty days in the desert praying and fasting before His official ministry. It was also where our perfect Savior overcame temptation. The crucible of my wilderness experiences melts the scum from my heart – the negativity, ungratefulness, joylessness, etc. so my praising software will be updated to the latest version. But he knows the way that I take; when he has tried me, I shall come out as gold. Job 23:10 In the heart of every wilderness, there lies a purpose, God's grand design. It may not always be clear, and the path may be treacherous, but rest assured, there is meaning to be found in every step of your journey.
 Picture this: On a Monday morning, I'm standing in front of the coffee machine, silently fuming as it takes its sweet time to brew my life-saving elixir. My coworker, one who has mastered the art of calling at the bad time rings me. I mumble a forced “hello” to let on that I didn’t want to be engaged. In my head, I'm concocting a monologue that would put Shakespeare to shame—all about the cruel tyranny of Mondays and the injustice of unwanted callers. Cheery chirping voice: Well, looks like somebody has the Monday blues. Ouch! The truth hurt, so I retorted, “and especially because you called.” Voice: “That’s not very nice, I’ll call another time.(hangs up) I was terribly sorry and embarrassed. I found my foot in my mouth as usual, and what a testimony for a professing Christian. It's at that precise moment that it hits me, like my hot coffee was doused on my head: I might be a habitual grumbler - hence my reflections. I know in the past I wasn’t a grumbler. I was known to friends as “Ms. Toxic Optimism” and as an “Unrealistic Positivist” to my daughter – until recent changes in my job. Using contemporary lingo, my job is my biggest trigger that renders me “dysregulated”. I run like a headless chicken before reporting, and I countdown the hours and minutes before my duty ends. I worked for the weekend and often find my self swimming in the deep end. I look forward to hump day knowing it will go downhill from there. I’ve labelled Thursday as the eve of freedom and then finally TGIF – Thank God it’s Friday. What awful work ethics, or the lack thereof. Let me try to justify why I gripe, hoping I’ll win some readers to my grumbling side. I’m totally physically blind and the system I use for work is not fully accessible. Well, some apps are accessible but worse than a labyrinth to navigate. Because there are too many processes that regularly change, I struggle to figure out how to complete a task. Head-scratching is often the solution. Although there’s support, I’m tired of asking people for help because I feel I need a sustainable fix to my issues. There was a time when accessibility issues were addressed shortly after reported, but this reversed when society’s concept of inclusion changed. I guess people who are blind are not so much the priority today. Have I justified my grumbling attitude yet? Nevertheless, I have allowed this weed of bitter discontent with my job ruin my garden of life. Today grumbling impacts most areas of my existence. When it rains, I can’t hang out in the backyard. In the summer, it’s too hot, and my daughter had convinced me that UV is lethal. I scowl when my husband stocks the pantry with chocolates but throw hate speech if he doesn’t. Whatever the situation, I find something to grumble about.  One time, I questioned God about why He asked Noah to take a pair of mosquitos in the ark. And don’t even get me started about my weight and my perennial effort to set loose the skinny woman imprisoned inside me. If only I get paid to grumble, I’d be the wealthiest woman in the world. Bottom line, grumbling has become a full blown epidemic in my life and I want to address it before it becomes a pandemic affecting most of our community. After all, I know I’m not alone. I have yet to meet a non-grumbling person.
The book of Numbers paints a full picture of grumbling and how it angers God. While leading the Israelites to the promised land, God heard nothing but incessant grumbling. Israelites: “Seriously, God, manna again? We want the menu changed.” And God’s like, “I just split the Red Sea for you and now you’re complaining about the catering?” I imagine God saying, “Alright, you grumbling bunch, you want drama? I’ll give you drama,” And just like that, a two-week road trip from Egypt to the Promised Land turns into a never-ending, tortuous pilgrimage stretched to a whopping forty years. I feel like I walked out of the pages of the book of Numbers and updated my grumbler software for today’s times. The update made me a relevant grumbler, but my heart is just as evil as those Israelites in the book. I haven’t met a poisonous snake nor have I dropped dead after that time when I ate some leftover Cornish chicken meat only because I’m in the grace period. “After all, I grumble because I’m advocating for a cause,” I justified. However, the unrelenting small voice was urging me to exchange my grumbler identity with His joyful one. After some restless nights wrestling with the voice encouraging me to address my mistaken heart, I agreed with the voice that I am wrong, and I needed to change my mind about basic issues. So I clamber to the psychologist couch of my Heavenly Father who has searched and known me. His Word pointed out some behaviors I needed to work on. There’s no doubt He has forgiven them, I just needed to exercise the grace He has given me to change – things I’ll discuss in the next article. Reflection Questions What do you grumble about? Why do you grumble about these things?
10/2/2023
Little GirlI felt the nagging pain in my heart. I know I’m not called to do what I’ve been doing. Not that I can do better, it’s the feeling of unfulfillment, the knowledge that there ought to be more, a mismatch of my skillset. I have a job, not work. Nostalgia crept in. I recalled the “high note” in my life when I was empowering the marginalized, bringing out and developing the best in them – and getting paid for doing so. It was a more difficult work but the reward of seeing people build their lives outmatched the hardship. I felt contained. Will I ever hit the next high note in the remaining quarter of my life? Nostalgia turned into negativity. I couldn’t help but look back to my childhood when it was ok to be a chocoholic, read, play and nap when I want to. So I wrote the following.  Little Girl  Matthew 18:2-3 Reflection
More often than not, God talks to us in subtle ways. We have to look out and pay attention for us to hear Him. When was the last time you've tried to just stop and listen? Maybe He's telling you what you need to hear right now. When did you last open yourself up to receive God's Word like a child would towards their parents? Let's challenge ourselves to look out for God's word this week.  2 Corinthians 6:3 Pastors and preachers are the chief offenders in the church! I was preaching one Sunday about speaking the truth. I started with this joke. Question: Why do scientists hate atoms? Answer: Because they make up everything. This humor spurred my preaching to what I thought was the most effective and engaging sermon. However, after the service, one of the members approached me to speak in private. Woman: I’m so offended by how you used me as an illustration in your preaching. Now, those who know me well are aware that I make a joke of mostly everything, even in the face of anger and threat. My unassuming husband believes it’s because I can’t make eye contact, but I think I’m just insensitive and too eager to make people laugh. I jokingly replied, “Why, are you an atom?” The woman was livid. She rebuked me and walked out, threatening she’d never attend the church again. It’s ridiculous how I often find my foot in my mouth. Intending to make someone laugh, I unintentionally banished someone from church, perhaps even away from God. I’ve repented and reached out to the woman, but my epic failure also got me thinking about the offenses that occur in the church. Let me explain the preacher’s perspective. Unless a preacher abuses authority by rebuking specific individuals in a sermon, the pulpit could sometimes be a stage for divine comedy. It’s not that the preacher is a stand-up comedian, it’s just the fact that a good preaching guarantees spiritual feathers to be ruffled. And, instead of being convicted, some Christians get offended. Remember that discomfort from conviction is what God wants His people to feel because it leads to repentance, but some Christians feel attacked instead.  Pastors might offend church goers even at the beginning of a service. How?
If a pastor fails to greet a member, he’s a snob. If a pastor welcomes a church member, the latter feels interrupted. If a pastor shakes one’s hand, the person says it hurt his arthritis. If the pastor hands out a ministry sign-up card, members feel he’s interested in tithes. You get the gist? The pastor can’t win if members wear their feelings on their sleeves. Like a pilot preparing for take-off, the poor pastor can’t account for every Tom, Dick and Larry who attends the service. As a chatty blind preacher, I personally long to have physical contact with people because I can’t make eye contact. Some folks are the same, but others get weirded out by a touchy-feely first meeting experience, especially most people can’t tell I’m blind at first glance. The following is another offender for some people. If a pastor requests help from volunteers, members may think he’s lazy. Some Christians believe pastors are called to do all church-related work even if they’re not paid. Surprisingly, this includes setting up and tidying up church areas, doing visitations and even evangelism. Yes, some church goers don’t evangelize because they believe it’s the pastor’s job, not theirs. On the contrary, Shepherds don’t produce sheep, he feeds them and raises up shepherds. Meanwhile, sheep produce sheep, so church members also need to spread the Gospel. If you’ve stopped going to church because you’ve been offended by a pastor or preacher, I encourage you to have a private conversation with your offender. If you’re too embarrassed to do so, please pray about the “F” word – “Forgive” and return to the flock. This is the worst time to be isolated from the fellowship. We need to be a part of the community of believers and strengthen our weakest link. After all, it’s one of the secrets on how to live longer. Reflection Questions Share an experience wherein you were offended by a pastor or preacher? If you’re a pastor or preacher, share how you’ve unintentionally offended a church member.  One Sunday we checked out a church. Driving through the parking lot, my husband observed several elderly people, and that the “disabled” parking spaces were full. Disappointed, I instantly assumed a stand-offish attitude made obvious by my raised eyebrows. “I don’t see myself in this church,” I resisted. I have a perennial senior moment about my age and my blindness so I’m always critical about these conditions. I prepared myself to walk into a loud worshipping congregation. Churches in theatrical structures usually play worship music loud enough to damage ear drums, so I keep several sets of earplugs in my purse, just in case. Take note, I also have a Google Pixel Pro earbuds, best for noise cancellation, which I flaunt when I’m around a younger group. This time though, in this particular church, I didn’t need earplugs. The church was in a small building, the music volume was just right and there was no earth-shaking base. The music instruments were traditional, and I thought it sounded “unpa-lumpa-ish”. The songs were old too. My eyebrows raised to a higher altitude thinking I won’t reach high worship. But, I unconsciously started to sing along with the congregation. In fact, I sang with vibrato when I heard the old lady behind me sing, as if to tell her, “I can do better.” I scowled when I heard an elderly man was going to preach the message. “An elderly preacher to match the congregation?” mocked my evil mind. He even possessed the shaking voice characteristic of the fire and brimstone preachers of yesteryears. But lo and behold, that shaking voice roused the fallow part in my heart that had been longing to hear about my resurrected Jesus who has all authority and power over everything. Unlike other contemporary preaching, this was not a gospel about a user-friendly God dispensing therapy to His anxious buddies with crippling depression. Nor was it about a Prince Charming Jesus who would save us from this evil world to live happily ever after in heaven someday. I really hate the thought that I need to die to be joyful. Don’t get me wrong, I want to go to heaven. But for right now, like Caleb, there are still mountains to conquer. (Take note Kaleb was 80 when he said this.) Neither do I need a holy emotional euphoria that will spur me to cry, laugh and scream all at once and then Monday will feel so-so, business as usual. The preaching was about Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, the Great I Am, who is anything and everything for my moment. The one who gives me reason to get up every morning to work alongside with Him on the Kingdom-family business. The one who spurs me to stand behind Him fighting giants hindering Kingdom progress. This old preacher God sent to us, an old congregation, threw me from denial to a complete surrender! I realized that I’ve bought in to the lie of this youth-oriented culture that espouses “planned obsolescence,” (please Google that for now) and ignored the vast wisdom and resources of elderly people like me. (gulp)  Therefore we do not lose heart. Even though our outward man is perishing, yet the inward man is being renewed day by day. But today I begin my journey to surrendering to God’s natural processes, aka growing old.
How do you feel about growing older? Please share stories how older folks have inspired you.  Jem is on a jet right now! The days with her flew just as fast as the speed of the plane. Didn’t I already know this? In fact, before her arrival, I feared the too familiar emptiness from her departure more than anticipate her homecoming. “It’s going to end soon,” whispered the contemptuous demons in my head. I tried to cancel them, but to no avail. One would assume that I should’ve learned how to cope with children’s departures by now from all too many experiences, like when my son went to boot camp, and when he was deployed for ship duty, or when Jem studied in Japan, or when she left to finally work there, but what heart preparation could a mother do when children leave home? At the departure scene, I always think I’ve got a handle on the situation because I feel numb. But this was because I just pulled an all-nighter. I zombie through the airport hurdle race that starts with the baggage check-in. When the mighty TSA demand that I take off my shoes, I lose the ability to cat-walk and become mousy. At that point, I loose mental fortitude. And as soon as my mind has rested, the unnerving moments when she yelled at me for being a “Boomy-Boom” (an endearment for a boomer), refused to go kayaking because of UV-phobia, or try a new restaurant because of weight gain suddenly become ridiculously cute. And then loneliness enshrouds me. I need to process and regroup every time a child leaves home. So I turn to my go-to verse. Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our tribulation, that we may be able to comfort those who are in any trouble, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.  We’re told that God is a God of comfort, and I needed to verify that “comfort” wasn’t like an old lady stroking my back, or a religious elder arrogantly dismissing my case as a part of God’s plans, or a word of rebuke from the pulpit that I just need to have faith and pray unceasingly. I don’t need the theory of Christianity and its empty vocabulary. I need true comfort for a real situation. Looking up “comfort” in Greek, I find “paraclete” means helper, advocate and strengthener, which leads me to this verse. And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper… It’s the Holy Spirit, the comforter Himself, the Helper, Strengthener, Advocate, the Reliever of loneliness and He who calms our fears – He’s who I need right now. The Comforter is a Being who puts on my shoes of faith so I can cat-walk through life’s troubling circumstances.
As I read further, I realized that we go through troubling times so we can comfort others with the same comfort – the Holy Spirit. Thus I’m sharing my troubled heart to those who need the Comforter. I don’t think mothers can really process long distances away from children. We can only either suffer the grief or clip the children’s wings. But with the Holy Spirit, we can watch our children fly the horizons of their vocation, relationships, and faith journey through teary eyes, but with faith. Have you accepted Jesus as your comforter?  Part 1 For You formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother's womb. “Worried to death,” says my tombstone. And boy, am I glad I saw that coming before it became a reality!
I was a part-time nursery teacher at a private preschool for rich kids. Fresh out of college and working my way through a Special Education master's degree, I was more terrified than confident in the workplace, especially of my superiors. The directress, religious and strict, fit the part of the stereotypical spinster in the movies. One day, on my way to the kitchen, she confronted me. “I was observing you with the children and noticed your eyesight is fading. The board is wary about criticism from parents, so we’ll have to let you go. You have two weeks.” she said sternly. I might have turned pale and white, for the spinster fled to the kitchen like she saw a ghost when she noticed my reaction. Anyway, the long and short of it is that I developed ulcers while waiting for my termination. Laboring through sleepless nights, irregular meals, and consuming worry gave birth to indigestion, nausea and vomiting, severe abdominal pains, dizziness, and absolute weakness. I hung out regularly at the emergency room enough to get a Miss Friendship award among the healthcare workers. I’ll never forget what the doctor said, “You ate worry, now it’s eating you.” The doctor was right. I did eat worry because I had nothing else to eat that’s pleasurable. How could I enjoy food when I lose my job and not land another? What about my future? My career? Could I sustain my master’s education? What would my friends and family think? Would I ever have a family? I fed my mind questions that could not be processed. The wheels of my mind turned endlessly, like a never ending teacup ride at the fair. I was stuck, worrying about why I wasn’t worrying for the real reason – my visual impairment! The spinster detonated worry and anxiety. Not only was my vision fading, but most likely my chance to enjoy life. Exit Tina who was trying to leverage visual impairment, and enter the down and out bum. You see, the severe and rare eye condition Aniridia (undeveloped iris) chose my family. Only one out of every 100,000 children have the same condition worldwide. We’re five children, and four of us don’t have irises. My only sighted brother has irises, and they were big, beautiful, stunning eyes. What a discriminative ailment! I mean, my sighted brother’s irises could be enough for all of us if “sharing is caring” applied to all situations. Big-name ophthalmologists welcomed us into their clinics as interesting test subjects, often more like guinea pigs, with the rare disease. One by one, we’d seat ourselves facing a torture instrument called a “tonometer” (a device that measures eye pressure). The victim sets his face on a chin rest. The probe is inserted into the eye, and the familiar blue light searches for the missing iris, like those flashing lights used by police in a car chase. Most eye experts teach in medical universities. Unfortunately, my siblings and I ended up as their subjects. One by one, ophthalmology interns and students took turns probing our eyes while our faces contorted to hold our eyes open. On one occasion, I had to keep my eyes open for too many students that my ocular muscles forgot how to close them. That night, I felt like I slept with eyes still wide open, and my world appeared laser blue for three days. I feared seeing the doctors so much that I promised my mom I’d eat carrots, the vegetable I abhor, if only she wouldn’t take me to the ophthalmologist. Her refusal proved that I needed to work on my bargaining skills. Medical expertise and the intelligence of the numerous heads that examined us regularly couldn’t figure out how we could see. To the ophthalmology community, this was a time when an apparent miracle thwarted scientific facts. In my simple mind, despite the eye anatomy, I figured we gather visual information differently. Extremely nearsighted, we would bring our faces close to things we look at, sometimes to the point of kissing them. To see, I’ve unintentionally kissed random stuff; small print book pages, newspapers, appliances while reading knob labels, a dead rat, my classmate who was showing a small mole on her face, etc. Aniridia made us look weird, but being born with the condition, we just had to roll with it. We felt comfortable in the family because Aniridics comprised the majority. My sighted brother and parents had to adjust to the near-sighted world instead of the other way around. This was our family’s version of “reverse inclusion,” the paradigm that taught me to leverage exceptionalities. Mainstreaming was unheard of at that time, so school became the cradle of coping mechanisms, aka “charm my way through.” With the boys turned off by my eyes, I learned how to flirt using my wit, humor, voice, and personality. Need I say more? In general, my top-secret formula for being accepted was to like people and be likable. This worked perfectly with the young children I taught. I demonstrated how it’s cool to do things differently, the non-traditional way. And they understood— for the most part. In fact, some kids tried sticking their faces into a book to imitate how I read. I had to tell them the method was not for everybody. My students understood they can always try different ways of doing things and stick to what works best. Partnerships with parents resulted in several breakthroughs. Children diagnosed with autism— an old school classification or whatever label the medical field slapped onto them— started to communicate verbally, socialize, read, or write. Rewards for good behavior motivated kids to act their best. There was never a bored child in my classroom. We all learned together while having fun. Many times, the spinster caught me on my fours playing with the kids, and she disapproved of it. But I did worse. We rolled on the floor, finger-painted our faces, sang nursery rhymes to different tunes, invented games and so on. My students and I were tight! They liked me, and I loved them. And, I was losing my job and my beloved children. (To be continued)  “Choose” is the last in our series of January reflections to make 2022 a life of joy and laughter. It’s also a segue to a succession of articles I’ll be writing to the beat of my heart— of which I am prisoner. I’ll appreciate your suggestions and feedback as we search our hearts together. Choose And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart.
Jeremiah 29:13 |
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