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There is nothing as blind as judgment, and I cannot see.
I awoke today etched with internal pain caused by my own dereliction of duties to self-care. As I struggled to see the good in the day ahead, a friend I chatted with suggested I find the small miracles that lay in front of me—gratitude she called it—privately I scoffed at the idea.
As I do, I made a few jokes, wrote back a few lethargic words and went about the business of distracting myself.
It is odd how in my life sometimes that the smallest of things are like the proverbial pebble tossed into the ocean that makes a wave.
That small thing was a walk, and almost immediately my eyes grasped the beauty that is this city I have found myself in. I took a few pictures—some showcase the grandeur of my home; others are subtle reminders that God’s work is always on display—when I dare look.
But the miracle came when I stepped into a store on my way back.
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There, in front of me, were two people near the counter. The second was an elderly lady propped up by a pull buggy. She held a newspaper in one hand, and she gazed at me with fear. Not overt fear that I was about to attack her but she studied me with a fear of the unknown that I refused to understand.
My first thought was oh no, she is going to take forever at the counter and slow my day down. I looked at the clerk and back at her, creating a repugnant story inside my head of how this person was getting in my way.
Then just as the person in front of her left, I heard a man’s voice over my shoulder call out “It’s okay, I have it.”
I turned and saw an elderly gentleman walk back in and hand her an old purse that he draped over her shoulder. The clerk smiled. She knew them both by name and made a few light comments to assure them it had been no bother. He carefully took her by the arm as they left the store.
The clerk is a lovely, gentle person I have come to know. She explained that the woman has Alzheimer’s and often leaves things behind when she is out. Her husband had run back to the last shop to get her purse and asked the clerk to watch over his wife. The wife is often confused and fearful whenever she is without her husband.
I walked out of the store feeling like a small man.
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Then as I moved down the walk, I saw them slowly shuffling along the street ahead of me. Instead of bolting by and getting on with my day I held back and became a voyeur of theirs.
They stopped at a fruit and vegetable shop where he bought a small bunch of flowers. I watched as he held them in front of her; her tiny head leaned forward, and as she smelled the flowers I felt a tear start to build.
I followed them a little while more until I decided to walk ahead, and then when far enough away I stopped and pretended to check my phone.
As they got closer, that look of fear in the woman’s face was gone. She clung tightly to his arm. She was safe, in his love.
I have wondered at times what it would be like to look after a loved one like this—as I looked at him and hoped I would be him. His soft eyes reflected care and compassion. I could tell this was not his duty. This was his purpose, and he loved it.
As I sit here putting my fingers to keys I am struck by how I have lots to be grateful for. When I open my eyes and allow myself to see, I witness miracles.
Love never sees fear. Acceptance is never scared. Self-pity only keeps me from being the best me I can.
I love you. I’m sorry. Forgive me. Thank you.
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