So I began to think about it.
After
some thought I guessed I might be doing alright with “Come what may,
grit your teeth and hang on,” or “Come what may, tolerate it and try to
keep a smile on your face,” or “Come what may and pray hard that it goes
away soon.” But, love it? All of it? No. And why love it?
What’s wrong with hating the rotten times anyway?
My
mind went back to a “stone day.” You know, the ones described in that
old country song. How does it go? “Some days are diamonds and some days
are stones.” Well, this day was one of the rocks.
It
was just a few years ago. I was teaching high school. It was after I’d
dismissed my kids with the last bell. I’d made an appointment with a
colleague to come to my room to meet with my husband and myself. I’d
asked her to come on a personal matter.
She
was the visually impaired teacher, a dear woman, with extremely limited
sight herself. She arrived at school every day on the city bus,
sometimes using her white cane to cross the street and get to her
office. All of her students were blind or with severe vision issues. I
didn’t know her well, except that she always seemed to be cheerful and
smiling and was ready to go the extra mile with any of my kids and their
teachers.
I’d
asked her to come because my husband had lost his job. After a lifetime
of doing work that he didn’t care about just to support his family,
he’d finally found a job that he truly loved. And after eight years he’d
lost it. He often said that he’d pay the company to let him work for
them. He spent 12 hours a day driving huge, 18 wheel, belly dump
trucks. They were usually filled with steaming, smelly asphalt or tons
of crushed rock. He hauled this stuff all over the city and state to
build roads and freeways with it. I never understood why he loved it but
he did. The man had been to college for Pete’s sake! I remember once
driving up the mountain on Highway 260 through a construction zone.
There was a long line of trucks waiting to dump their black goo. State
Patrolmen stopped traffic. Flaggers in their hard hats and orange vests
waved cars through behind a pilot vehicle. As we passed the line of
waiting trucks one driver jumped out to stand on the step next to his
seat. He waved wildly and yelled, “Hey Babe! It is Babe isn’t it?” It
was Larry. As I waved back all I could think was, “I don’t understand it
but there goes a happy man.”
Anyway,
this happy truck driver was also a diabetic. And twenty-five years of
diabetes had finally taken its toll. He came home from work one Friday
and on Saturday his retinas hemoraged. That was it. He couldn’t see. Big
trucks were gone. Income was gone. Even simply hopping in the car to go
to the store was gone. Total blindness was a distinct and terrifying
possibility. Surgery was soon scheduled but the doctor said driving was
over.
We were both scared about so many things. The fact that our income had just been cut in half was the least of them.
Anyway
I’d asked the vision teacher to come in to see if she knew of some
resources or programs that might help. Larry and I waited in my
classroom silently, both thinking of dark possibilities. As I sat there
my heart was breaking for this man I’d loved for so long.
In
walks this bright and beaming blind lady carrying a huge suitcase. She
started talking the minute she came through the door. “Wait til you see
the goodies I have to show you!” she chirped. She pulled out all sorts
of “gadgets for the blind” from devices to turn your TV into a huge
print magnifying glass to pill bottles with braille markings. She kept
pulling for a long time, chatting and explaining nonstop all the while.
Then she informed us that she’d already made an appointment with a
career counselor to start training for jobs that didn’t require sight.
It would begin with aptitude testing and there were hundreds of career
choices she assured us. I don’t think she stopped talking the whole hour
that she was there. Seems there’s a whole world out there we knew
nothing about. People who can’t see are actually working, going places,
having families, living busy, happy and worthwhile lives. We hadn’t
realized.
Then
she said something that’s stayed with me ever since. Larry was telling
her about his beloved big trucks. She put her hand gently on his arm
and said brightly, “I know, I know. Driving big trucks was fun. But
this will be fun too!”
Yes,
she really said that. “This will be fun too.” She couldn’t be serious,
I thought! Being blind and all the loss that meant. Being
unemployed. Starting over after 55. That was going to be fun? I
looked hard at her. I could tell she meant it!
Later
on the way home, I realized that when she said that short sentence
something changed. What changed was that I began to feel better.
Maybe
everything wasn’t ending. Maybe, even if the worst happened, life could
still be good. Maybe we could still have fun together. It looked like
the worst had happened to this sweet lady and we’d seldom seen anyone so
upbeat.
After
she finished I offered to drive her home. She refused, saying that the
city bus ride was very important to her. (Having to depend on public
transportation was one of the bitterest possibilities for Larry, who had
loved cars since he was 16.) She explained that being so busy it was
the only time she had to listen to the audio books she got from the
library. She was almost finished with one and couldn’t wait to see how
it turned out. That was also when she studied audios for her ASU class.
So. Come what may and love it. Why is that important enough for
Heavenly Father to have one of his apostles speak to the world about it?
Why?
I thought hard. Well, I decided, maybe it’s because if you can do
that you’ll be happy. And I know Father wants his children to be happy.
Every
one of us will surely have some “stone” days coming our way. That’s a
given. Those stones may even turn into weeks or years. Somehow this dear
lady actually found joy in hers. What does the scripture say? “Man is
that he might have joy.” I don’t think there’s a footnote that says,
*This applies only when everything’s going well and you don’t have any
really hard problems.
My colleague wasn’t a member of the Church. But she sure knew what Joseph Wirthlin was talking about. Think about it.
