Saturday, 27 June 2009

  • Margaret

    I once met an elderly lady at church who was deaf. Strangely enough, she always volunteered to be the greeter. She would take your hand in both of hers and hold it tight as if you were the guest of honor that day. Sometimes if she got excited enough about seeing you, you could hear her whimper a little bit. She wanted to speak with you, but sadly enough, most people couldn’t read her sign language or return it.

    She had eyes deeper than I’ve ever seen. I could see inside her through them. I could tell that she ran deeper than anyone I’ve ever known. I wasn’t sure what was inside of her–at least I couldn’t tell you with words. But my soul connected to hers. Every time I saw her, I felt for the moment I met eyes with her that I could feel her soul, feel what she was feeling. I ached to communicate with her; I wanted to sit at her feet and learn her humility. Something burned inside me to know her, to tell her story.

    Her husband passed away before I knew her. He was deaf, too. That alone makes me admire her. I can’t imagine the struggles they went through as a couple, but the fact that they stayed together ’til his death inspires me. I want that kind of love that says, “I don’t care what challenges you face, they’re mine, too…” or just that willingness to be a team. Although some people might think they were at quite a disadvantage to both be deaf and try to live “normal” lives, I think it might have been a blessing. Their relationship must have relied on an incredible amount of trust and positive communication and patience. I can’t imagine that either of them had a temper.

    I think she does everything on her own now. Last summer, I saw her at Wendy’s after church. I helped her order food because the guy behind the counter was quite unaccommodating. I admired her patience with him while mine was waning under the frustration with his rudeness. She pointed and wrote on napkins until he understood everything she wanted. While we waited for our food, she and I carried on a conversation on a yellow Wendy’s napkin. I still have that napkin tucked away in my purse to remind me of the tears that gathered in my eyes as I drove home that day.

    I want to be as loving, as patient, as beautiful as she is one day. She has touched my life without saying a single word. I never thought it was possible for a human being to do that (other than Christ himself). Being a writer, I often overdo it with words; I say too much and drown people in language. She drowns people in love and compassion.

    I felt her heart. It overwhelmed me. I wonder if someday I can overwhelm someone with a handshake.

    (And learn sign language, too.)

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