This month my team and I have been working at St. Nicholas’ Home, a center for the blind, visually impaired, and multi-handicapped in Penang, Malaysia. We live in the dormitory here at the Home along with the blind residents, and we work in a variety of different programs that SNH offers to provide education and vocational skills to those with vision impairment.
It’s impossible to take my sight for granted after living and working in a visually impaired community.
A few days ago I was relaxing out in the field behind our dormitory, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of twilight on Penang Island. We’ve been so blessed by the rich environment we’ve gotten to explore here, as well as living on a property with lots of quiet corners outdoors. I was stretched out on my yoga mat with my eyes closed, letting the evening sounds wash over me. There were birds singing in the tree next to me, and the night’s first bats were swooping low over the field, making a gentle swoosh as they passed over my head. I could hear the rhythmic chanting from a temple nearby, and some faint clattering came from the kitchen as the last dinner dishes were put away. I could tell the night security guard was making his rounds because he always sings cheerfully in Malay as he passes through. The clanging of a metal gate let me know that someone was retrieving clothes from the laundry room, and the hum of the cicadas was growing steadily from the trees as they revved up for the evening.
I was trying to imagine how the world would look in my mind if the only picture I had was painted by those sounds alone.
When I opened my eyes, everything looked just like I knew it would. There aren’t as many surprises in your daily life when you can see what’s coming at you. On the other side of the yard I could see two of the residents practicing throwing discus, as they faithfully do every evening. One wears thick glasses to implement his limited vision. He moved around the field slowly, careful to be a trustworthy guide to his blind friend, who holds his shoulder and tracks his every move. Here, the visually impaired lead the blind.
There’s a lot we can learn about living a seeing life by watching the blind. We talk a lot about trusting God, but watching the simple way my neighbors here trust each other through each day makes me question myself. The blind here walk confidently because they have complete trust in the one who is leading them. What do I know about trust, compared to this? Am I actually placing all my faith in the one who should be leading me? One of the most popular Christianese sayings is that we walk by faith, not by sight—that’s actually the slogan here at St. Nicholas—but do we really do it? Sometimes, I’m not at all sure that I walk confidently because I trust that God is leading me. I think that I walk around with my worldly eyes wide open, searching diligently for the clearest path, but I’m still stumbling.
Last weekend some of my teammates and I served as guides for the residents who were participating in the Penang Peace Walk. It’s actually a large competitive run held annually to raise awareness for peace and unity, but there’s a shorter walking route designated for participants with disabilities. I was walking with a quiet lady named Juanie. She and I walked arm-in-arm for 30 or 40 minutes, stepping aside for the runners passing us, navigating the ups, downs, and cracks of the sidewalks, and moving through the busy Penang traffic when our route crossed paths with local commuters. Juanie and I had never spoken before this and I couldn’t help but think, why does she trust me to keep her safe? How does she know I’m taking her the best way? I think she just made the choice to believe I would do what was best for her. Trust isn’t blind; it’s a choice.
I want to trust God that way. I am the most indecisive person I know, yet for some reason I keep trying to see the best way for myself. This month has encouraged me to stop seeing with my own eyes—figuratively, of course—so that I can learn how to follow. Maybe if I couldn’t see all of my options, I would actually be able to step back and relinquish control.
Watching the residents here make their way without sight reminds me daily that there’s a lot more to life than seeing where we’re going. I just bought a plane ticket home for the end of the Race, so right now I’d really like to see where exactly I’m going. The truth is that I don’t know what life’s going to look like after this, and I really don’t like that. The good news is that I’ve already had 8 months of experience with never knowing what’s coming next, and the awesome thing is that it’s always good. So even though I can’t see what’s coming this time, I know God’s going to bless me through it if I just take a deep breath and follow. My “plan” for going home is to treat it like month 12 of the Race—that means walking confidently forward even though I have no idea what I’m walking into, and trusting that God’s going to take me somewhere good.
