Category Archives: Lifestyle

HAVE YOU SAID THANK YOU TO YOUR BODY? FOUR QUESTIONS TO HELP YOU START

Being thankful for the body that you live inside doesn’t always come easily. It’s a lot easier to wish it would look different, act different or be something else entirely than to be thankful for what it is and what it does to keep you alive. Thinking about your body can conjure up many emotions and these aren’t always positive–and that’s okay.

But I believe learning to practice gratitude in “all circumstances” [I Thessalonians 5:18] extends to our bodies, too. They are created by God and given by Him for a purpose even though we may not know what that is. With that in mind, I’d like to invite you along the journey that I’m taking in learning to be thankful for my body [and trust me, it’s not a comfortable one]. Take some time and reflect on these questions. Write in a journal, talk with a friend, or spend time in prayer with God. I believe it’ll be worth it.

• Have you ever said thank you to your body for everything it does for you?

• What does your body need from you that you may not be giving it right now?

• Is there a way you can show thankfulness for other peoples’ bodies, no matter what shape, size or ability they come in?

• How could you keep an attitude of gratitude in regards to your body and your health going forward?

I hope these few questions can be a springboard for more reflection and a beginning of an “attitude of gratitude” for your body. That’s certainly my hope and prayer.

LET’S MEET BETH — AN INTERVIEW WITH A TEACHER OF STUDENTS WITH VISUAL IMPAIRMENTS

Today, I’m so happy to welcome Beth to the blog to chat about her career as a Teacher of the Visually Impaired [TVI]. She had a prolific, 33-year career, but what I’m very excited and grateful for is that Beth wasn’t just a TVI… she was my TVI!

I began school in grade two after being diagnosed with cancer and becoming totally blind, and from grade two to grade twelve, Beth was my constant advocate, teacher, and champion. I’m excited to share her perspective today.

Rhianna: Before we chat about your work as a TVI, tell me a bit about you. What are your hobbies? How do you fill your time now that you’re retired?

Beth: I love reading, hiking, traveling, knitting, swimming, listening to live music and exploring birds and photography. I belong to a photography club and to MARS (a rehab centre for birds and animals) and the Rocky Point Bird Observatory. I have been taking zoom classes on birds and wild animals. I also do some artwork, including taking classes with Chinese artist, Richard Wong. I belong to the local Retired Teacher’s Association and meet with them once a month. My family is very important to me and I keep in close touch with my son and his girlfriend in Ottawa and my brothers and sisters and their growing families as well as my deceased partner’s daughter and son and their families. So I’m pretty busy and enjoying retirement!

Rhianna: Why did you decide to go into teaching, and in particular, teaching students with visual impairments?

Beth: When I first started university, I wanted to help people, especially children, so I got my degree in psychology with some education courses. I started out working as a Social Worker in Lillooet and Lytton. I took extra courses in counselling and I think I was good with people, but I felt there wasn’t a lot I could do because of government policy. It was quite sad and stressful at times dealing with abuse, alcoholism, mental illness and poverty. I liked going into the schools so I decided to try elementary school teaching and went back to university. I was hoping to be a counsellor in elementary school because again, I wanted to help individual kids rather than deal with a whole classroom, but the job I got was teaching kindergarten through grade three for emotionally disturbed children which also included family counselling for the Ministry of Health in Burnaby. That was even more stressful, so I looked at the special education programs at UBC [The University of British Columbia] and I felt a connection with the Vision Teacher program. My aunt’s uncle, Charles Crane, was deafblind, and had donated all his braille and audio books to UBC to set up a library for blind students. Also, one of my early babysitting jobs had been with a baby boy who was blind and an amputee and a great little guy. I loved the story of Anne Sullivan and Helen Keller. Anyway I talked to the instructor and she encouraged me to take the training and the rest is history!

I’ve worked in about a dozen communities in BC–Terrace, New Westminster, Prince George and Campbell River, and travelling to nearby small towns, as well as Los Angeles. I’ve never regretted that decision!

Rhianna: What was your favourite part of the job, and what aspects were more challenging?

Beth: My favourite part of the job was getting to follow individual students through the years. I loved getting to know them and have a small part in making their education and development go well. I wanted to try to make sure they had the best chance for success and happiness, and that they developed their full potential. I tried to help make sure they didn’t miss out because of their visual impairment. I also loved getting to know their families and developing a relationship with them. I also loved it when teachers and other school staff felt that they had good support from me and that included the educational assistants and braillists.

The most challenging part was that I was pretty much on my own to figure out how to solve problems that came up, mostly from technology. I liked that though. Sometimes, I just needed to get the answers from SET-BC or from PRCVI [Provincial Resource Centre for the Visually Impaired] from technology staff at the school or district, from an internet search or from other specialists or the companies who sold the technology. And sometimes, I was happy that I figured things out myself. Another challenging aspect was that my bosses kept adding to my job because they figured that I had too few students, as they compared me to a teacher in a regular classroom or a psychologist who just tested students and then moved on to others. I had to travel a lot and in the last year, I was working only 3 days a week for two school districts, so I spent a lot of my own time doing the job. I don’t think there were many people who understood what I did until they had one of my students and gained a bit of an understanding and appreciation.

Rhianna: Why is teaching young students to read Braille important to set them up for success?

Beth: I always felt that it was so important that blind children who couldn’t read print learn to read and write in braille. Listening and speaking are important tools for understanding language but they can not completely replace the written (brailled) word. Spelling and grammar can not be learned auditorily. They can be enhanced but there is no replacement for physical contact with language. Personally, I can’t remember a new word until I see it in print a few times. The latest example for me is the word “cassoulet,” a delicious meal I had to look up in print before I could remember it!

Rhianna: But it’s not all about braille. Can you give us a snapshot of a day in the life of a TVI? Lots of the work is behind the scenes–what did you do?

Beth: There was a lot to learn in Braille to be able to keep a step ahead of my students. This involved learning how to teach Braille and coming up with my own ideas to make it fun, help with any problem areas and Learning formulas in Math, Science and Music as they came up. Later, I learned the changes to the Braille Code with Unified English Braille [UEB]. I learned the technology for producing and reading braille which involved not only producing it myself and helping the Braillist with their production but also learning the devices my students used and keeping up to date with new things. There was a lot of problem solving with the technology, either by myself or finding the right people to help.

But like you said, that was only part of the job. I spent a lot of time meeting with teachers, parents and/or other staff, individually and in teams, answering emails and phone calls. There was a lot of paperwork,–I wrote up assessments and educational plans for every student, interpreted eye reports from eye doctors, wrote up daily school visits, applied for fuel assistance and attended conferences. There was a lot of driving!

I had various roles in the BC Vision Teachers’ Association including being president for quite a few years and I was the Vision Teacher Rep on the PRCVI Advisory Committee for a long time. These all included more report writing! I was involved in organizing four provincial conferences for those in this field of teaching which involved lots of planning, writing funding applications, recruiting speakers and helpers etc. I was also the Set BC Coordinator in Campbell River for many years. I enjoyed doing extracurricular activities such as planning and attending social and recreational activities for my students–Christmas crafts, sports days, Orientation & Mobility with the instructors, going skiing and doing blind hockey and more. I signed on to work at CNIB summer camps and I took students to the National Braille Challenge and Space Camp for the Visually Impaired which were lots of fun. I took low vision students to eye exams and clinics and learned and provided them with technology and devices. I spent a lot of time getting and returning items to PRCVI, applying for special projects and for purchases.

Rhianna: What advice would you give to fellow or up-and-coming TVI’s?

Beth: The main thing is to enjoy the students and laugh with them! Look for their strengths and weaknesses and provide stimulating activities with positive reinforcement for both. Look for their interests but also try to expose them to lots of different things in and out of school. Visit lots so you can provide suggestions and/or advice and support as things come up. Do everything you can to support the Braillists and classroom teachers because they spend the most time with the students, even if that means putting your job on hold while you do the Braillist’s job so they can take a day off, helping in a class so they can produce braille, or going on field trips with a student’s class!

Rhianna: You were my TVI for 10 years. What is a special memory from our time together?

Beth: I have lots of great memories of time with you, Rhianna! You were so much fun to teach braille to. You had a great sense of humour and even laughed at my jokes! You were very athletic and I enjoyed taking you to ski with the Disabled Ski program – I made my colleagues jealous when I could sign in with “Gone Skiing!” instead of listing all the schools for the day. I remember the O and M trips around town, including going for ice crean cones. And I chuckle when I remember assisting you to play tag and you got angry with me whenever you got tagged! But then I helped you tag someone else. All the recreational activities were so much fun, including camps, crafts, a couple of trips to Vancouver for the symphony, workshops, art classes, etc. I remember Ripley, the guide dog in training I organised to visit you in elementary school; He looked so proud walking with you in the halls! And when you graduated from high school I felt so proud of you and I will never forget the lovely dinner, flowers and gift your wonderful family surprised me with!

Rhianna: Thank you for sharing! It’s been wonderful getting to hear about everything that went into being a TVI, and in particular, all the ways that I never knew you were advocating for me and setting me up for life after high school. I didn’t appreciate it then, but I do now, so thank you, thank you, thank you! Those memories bring back lots of fond ones for me as well. Thanks for doing everything you did for all those years, for me and your other students. The impact is tangible and so invaluable to helping me become who I am now.

I’m grateful to Beth for sharing her perspective and wisdom as a TVI with us. I hope you found it enlightening and encouraging. And I’m so grateful to her for being by my side all those years and pushing me to become the best person I could be [even though that “push” was uncomfortable at times!. Thanks, Beth!

Did you learn something new from Beth? Let us know in the comments!

A GIFT FROM MY DISABILITY — THE SIXTH LOVE LANGUAGE

Christmas is now less than two weeks away, and I’m as excited as anyone. But as the chaos of the holiday descends, I’m struck by the odd sense that we are doing it wrong.

“All I Want for Christmas is You” is blaring on shopping mall speakers, advertisements for the latest gadgets are on screens everywhere we turn, and the world is inundated with unabashed consumerism. And with our collective obsession of finding the “perfect gift” for that special someone, have we ever stopped to ask what kind of gift they would appreciate most?

There are five primary love languages: quality time, words of affirmation, acts of service, physical touch and receiving gifts. I am a words of affirmation gal myself, but I’ve come to recognize that my blindness has paved the way for a sixth–braille.

On my refrigerator, there is a photo that takes center stage. It’s of my best friend’s baby girl, taken in the NICU where they stayed for five months. On the bottom of the photo, there is an inscription that reads: “Hand made by God” with her name, weight and date of birth beneath. But what touches me most about this picture is that the inscription is written in braille. Now, when I trail my fingers across those words–the ones my best friend took the time to write in braille and by hand so that I could read it–I am overcome with gratitude.

My love affair with braille began when I became totally blind at the age of six, and it has only deepened. These six dots don’t merely represent a system through which I can communicate by touch. It’s a way of life, of thinking, learning and being.

I never realized how central braille is to my world until I began verbalizing my innermost thoughts to my husband. What I thought was “normal” and “commonplace,” he gravitates to with such fascination that it’s almost unnerving. When I describe the braille word games I play in my mind as I fall asleep, or how letters and numbers are associated with different colours, [called synesthesia], or that I design braille art which I hope to one day bring to life on the page, I’m reminded of how braille is not just a method of reading and writing. For me, it’s part of who I am. It’s my independence, my freedom, my creativity. And if you don’t think there’s creativity in six little dots, check out these instructions for making braille drawings and think again!

In the act of Christmas shopping and trying to find the perfect gift or the best deal, we’ve forgotten that there are other ways of giving and receiving love. And they may not be on the top five. I doubt that braille is on your list of love languages, but to me, it’s the one that touches my heart in a way none other can. Because through a braille greeting card or note, book or letter, I feel seen. I feel understood. Through taking the time to write in braille, you are telling me that I am worth it, that my disability is a valued part of who I am, and that you value all of me enough to show me love in the way that I will never forget.

This Christmas season, take a moment to ask your family and friends how they like to be shown love. You might be surprised by the answer! But what matters most is that you took the time to learn about the people you care about most. It’s time well-spent!

What’s your love language? Do you have one that isn’t one of the five? Let me know in the comments.

WHEN CHRISTMAS WAS SIGHTED — SIX HOLIDAY MEMORIES FROM THE TIME BEFORE I WAS BLIND

As Christmas approaches and the world descends into a frenzy of holiday activity, I take a walk down memory lane, and reflect on the six Christmasses with my family before I became blind. I don’t remember many of them as I was so young, but there are bits and pieces that I recall which form the fondest of memories and the warmest of feelings. And I want to share them with you.

Here are six special childhood memories that I will always hold close to my heart and take with me as I celebrate this and many more Christmas seasons to come.

I. Frosty in Footprints

One winter while my grandparents were visiting, Grandpa and I were playing in the backyard, when Grandpa said “follow me.” He began walking in odd patterns, shuffling his feet in the snow. I followed where he put his feet, and was entirely confused. After he was finished, we went inside and he lead me to the kitchen window which overlooked the backyard. There, in the snow, was the word “Frosty” which had been written out by our footprints.

II. The Snow Mountain

Every year, our side yard became home to the snow mountain. When the handyman came around with his bobcat, he shoveled the snow into a hill and carved out small steps in the side. And every year, my siblings and I spent hours running up the snow mountain and sliding down just as fast as we could!

III. Home from the Hospital… Just in Time

I was fortunate that, for the first year I was battling my cancer, I was able to spend Christmas at home with my family. But it was a close call. I was released on Christmas Eve, and when I walked in the front door, my entire family was waiting for me–my grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and cousins on my mom’s side were there! It was so sweet, being surrounded by family for the holidays. I remember some, but I’m sure not all, of the mischief me and my cousins got into, and as the youngest cousin, I’m sure I got out of all the trouble, too.

IV. The Christmas Eve Tradition

For most people I know, Christmas morning is the pinnacle of the holidays. It’s when stockings are opened along with the presents piled up beneath the tree. For me, it’s opposite: Christmas Eve was the night I awaited with such excitement, and continues to since I’ve brought its tradition into my adulthood.

My family attended the Christmas Eve service at church where we would sing carols, read the story of Jesus’ birth and light candles. Once home, we’d change into pajamas and open every present… almost. Except for our stockings and the gift from Mom and Dad, every other present was torn open and squealed over. Then came the movie, which as tradition dictated, was the classic, Miracle on 34th Street. To this day, I have most of that movie memorized!

V. Into the Wilderness!

The first Saturday of December was the most exciting day–it’s when we got bundled up and headed out into the woods to cut down a Christmas tree! My memories are made up of trudging through the snow, picking out the perfect tree, Dad cutting it down with a saw and dragging it back to the car, and me, exhausted from the day’s events, insisting on being pulled home on the sled. On Sunday after church, we’d decorate it, and my favourite ornaments to hang were always the musical instruments.

VI. The Reindeer

Dad was a forester for 30 years, and as a gift from a coworker one year, he received a uniquely “foresty” gift–a reindeer made of tree trunks and branches! It has survived many a move and still stands proud, albeit a bit wobbly, in my parents’ living room.

Christmas, both when I was sighted and now that I am blind, holds a special place in my heart. There are parts of the season I wish I could see still, but I’ve gained a new appreciation for the holiday as a blind woman. After all, it’s still a celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, and that is something I can celebrate with or without sight.

What do you remember about Christmas and the holiday season when you were a child? Let me know in the comments.

I AM A CHRISTIAN — UNASHAMED, UNAPOLOGETIC AND OUT LOUD

I am a Christian–a follower of Jesus Christ, and I am not ashamed.

Many people see the word Christian and presume many things about me. Christians as a whole are stereotyped, categorized and presumed to be many things that they are not–a few of the more common presumptions being judgmental and close-minded. These are often based on a person’s encounter with a few individual Christians, and that creates their overall perception of the entire group. And as a Christian, I’ve been subjected to my fair share.

I was scrolling through Twitter a few months ago and came upon a tweet that claimed they would not follow anyone who called themselves a Christian in their bio because that meant they were Trump supporters and bigots. In a burst of uncommon boldness, I replied to this tweet, saying that not all Christians should be labelled this way, and simply because certain Christians may be, support, or condone those things, I will not be ashamed to use the word Christian.

Because that is what I am, despite what attributes the world attaches to it.

I am a Christian and I choose to use that word unashamedly because it is not a label indicative of political leanings or any other standard by which we measure ourselves. It means simply that I follow Jesus Christ and try [and fail because of my flawed and sinful humanity] to live according to biblical standards. To some who don’t share the faith, that makes me naive, unloving and a hater, and I have been treated as such and suffer for it.

But that is what living a Christian life is.

Jesus suffered insurmountable hate, pain and rejection while He walked this earth. He said, “and whoever does not take their cross and follow me is not worthy of me.” [Matthew 10:38]. The Apostle Peter writes also that “for this is a gracious thing, when, mindful of God, one endures sorrows while suffering unjustly. / For what credit is it if, when you sin and are beaten for it, you endure? But if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. / For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you might follow in his steps.” [I Peter 2:19-21].

Suffering is not comfortable. It hurts. It hurts when I’m accused of being homophobic. It hurts when I’m called a hater because I disagree with what the world deems acceptable. It hurts when non-Christians use selective Bible verses–without understanding how they fit into the meaning and message of the entire Bible– to dictate how I should treat them, though they themselves do not live by the Bible’s standards. And it hurts when as a Christian, I am held to a pedestal of perfection that can only be met by the God I serve, not me.

This world hurts. And Jesus said it would. And in the moments I’ve already walked through and the many more I know will come, I hold to the truth and the assurance that I have in being a Christian, and that I am following the words of Timothy: “fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses.” [I Timothy 6:12] And I take the most comfort and assurance in the knowledge that I will live forever with Jesus in Heaven where there is no more suffering.

But while I am on this earth, I will do my best to live by the words that are written in the Bible. And while I know the world will be offended by it, I will follow the God of my faith first and be as like Him as I possibly can. I am called to show love to others. I am called to be kind and compassionate. I am commanded to forgive those that wrong me, just as God forgave me.

But I am not called to follow the ways of the world because those ways go against God. So, no, I am not a supporter of lifestyles that contradict God’s Word. I am not “pro-choice” because I believe God chooses life, both for the born and unborn. I am not going to compromise on my values just to make someone comfortable. I am not going to back down or stay quiet. My God and standing up for the truth comes first before anything else. But I will always care and be kind to others who don’t share my beliefs as much as I am able because I am commanded to be Christlike, to bear His image and character in the world.

I will try for my whole life to live out those things. And at times, I will fail. But I am a Christian and I do not live according to a secular worldview. My faith directs and shapes everything I do–my writing, my advocacy work for the disabled community, how I try and treat those I come into contact with. It does not mean that I am perfect, but that I am trying to emulate God’s character in my life. And that includes the parts of the Christian faith that are uncomfortable, that go against the world’s beliefs, and even against other Christians who have differing views. I choose to be a Christian and to be unashamed of the title and be proud of what I stand for. Because these are not self-made standards–they come from the mouth of God, the creator of life and the world, and I am proud to be His.

WHY I’M THANKFUL FOR MY DISABILITY

Growing up around the Thanksgiving dinner table, when asked what I was thankful for this year, my disability was never on the list. I said things like a loving family, friends that support me, Jesus, opportunities at school and church, all of which were true and deserving of a place on the list, but I was missing one big blessing.

My blindness.

The story of how I came to not only accept but embrace my blindness is a long one, and is still ongoing. It changes as I change, it ebbs and flows as I grow and learn more about myself, God, and the world around me. It’s a story that I used to look at through a lens of disgust; I was ashamed of what I was and how I couldn’t let go of my anger and feel freedom and pride in who I was. My adolescent years were spent in a fog, unwilling to change but not knowing how to change at the same time.

I only knew how to feel inferior. My blindness relegated me to a lesser place in the world, and I watched from below as my friends and family lived their lives with an ease and equality that I craved. The life I wanted for myself was a dream I couldn’t reach. So I settled into my place and passed the days and years in an embittered haze.

Being disabled is not easy. At times, it’s awful. The ableism and discrimination disabled people face is staggering, and so often, it takes everything in us to keep going. Sometimes, it feels like it’s us against the world, and the world is winning. It’s a very real part of living in a disabled body, and it can be a trial to find one thing to be thankful for. This is certainly the mindset I adopted as I grew up; surviving was hard enough. What was there to be thankful for?

As it turns out… lots!

My blindness taught me the value of every human life, no matter what abilities a body does or does not have.

It taught me that with God’s strength, I can overcome the challenges I face in a world that wasn’t designed for me.

I learned how to use my determination, stubbornness and voice to advocate for my needs and the needs of others.

I learned that you don’t truly appreciate what you have until you’ve fought for it.

And I’ve learned about love. I’ve learned how to love others, how to love myself, and most importantly, how God loves each one of His children, able or disabled. He made us in His image, and He never gives up on us even when we give up on ourselves.

This is why I’m thankful for my disability. Because it taught me that underneath what we see on the surface, when we look deeper than skin-level, it’s about people, and it’s the people we are inside that count. My blindness shapes who I am and who I will become. It’s a part of me I will never again be ashamed of. It’s a part of me that has made me into the person I am and the person I know I was meant to become. This is why I’m thankful for my disability.

And I’m thankful to be in the middle of this life. With all its challenges and struggles, and all the light and love that comes with it, I am thankful to be who I am because God created me this way. I will love my disabled body because He loves it and will use me and my story to make a difference for Him. And I can’t wait.

What are you thankful for this Thanksgiving? Tell me in the comments. And if you’re American, join in anyway! We should be thankful all year round.

WE LOST MORE THAN A QUEEN TODAY

A woman died today.

She was not a perfect woman. The country she ruled was not a perfect country. Both she and the country made mistakes. She was only human, after all, and her country was only one piece of an imperfect world.

But that should be enough to give her the respect and dignity she deserves, in life and in death.

It’s only been hours since the passing of Queen Elizabeth II, and yet, my social media is filled with commentary about England’s colonization efforts, their victimization of other cultures, their theft of artifacts, and the assertion that, because of this, Queen Elizabeth does not deserve to be mourned. “We have no obligation to mourn the oppressors,” read one post, and there were others, and there will be more.

My heart is breaking. Yes, for Queen Elizabeth, dear, dear Queen Elizabeth. I grieve for her family, who have lost a mother, grandmother, great-grandmother first, and a monarch second. I grieve for those who knew her as a person and not as a crown. For those friends that knew her in a way that only friends can. I grieve for a country who has lost its leader, and a Commonwealth, its figurehead and symbol of togetherness.

But I grieve for the people who are mocked and ridiculed and looked down on for mourning her, too.

My heart is breaking, seeing people’s anger and bitterness come out only after she has passed.; do they think they are brave for speaking up now that she is dead? I cannot understand how people can blame one woman for the mistakes of one country which she did not commit herself but were passed down to her from generations before. Why are people unable to give others the space to mourn a beloved woman and leader, simply because they disagree with her views or beliefs?

Is there no reverence for the dead anymore?

I am not asking you to agree with Queen Elizabeth, England, with each event of her 70-year reign or with those that came before her.

But I am asking you, imploring you, to give others—friends, family, governments, countries—the space and the time and the respect to mourn their loss, heal their hearts the best they can, and figure out a new way forward.

We are only human after all.

Queen Elizabeth has touched my life in a way I can’t articulate yet. And I should not have to justify or defend my broken heart, my sadness and my deep sense of loss, at what has happened today. No one should.

A woman died today.

And more than a country, a monarchy and political entanglements, Queen Elizabeth was a woman, a human and a person of infinite value. If nothing else, let us mourn for that, and give her the least that one human ought to do for another.

Long live the monarchy!

LESSONS I LEARNED FROM MY LEFT HAND

If you were to ask me if I’m right or left-handed, I’ll tell you that I’m both. Not that I’m ambidextrous and have the equal use of both hands, but simply because both of my hands equally share the work.

  • I deal cards with my left hand,
  • and I open doors with my right.
  • I hold Saint’s harness handle with my left hand,
  • but I use my white cane in my right.
  • I read Braille with my left hand,
  • yet I write print with my right hand.

But that being said, I’ve always had a special affection for my left hand. It has many jobs, very important jobs; it holds Saint’s harness handle, it reads books, it bears half my ability to write, it wears my engagement ring, and it explores the world around me.

But as with anything that we hold near and dear, it’s far too easy to take it for granted. So please allow me a moment to issue a public apology to my left hand.

To my left hand:

I’m sorry that I’ve taken you for granted. You do so much for me, and I don’t know if I’ve ever thanked you properly. I’ll do better, I promise.

You can only do better once you know better. That doesn’t make it easy to do, but it does mean that it’s doable. Two weeks ago, I was confronted with this lesson, and even now, as things are returning to normal, I’m working to keep this lesson front and center.

Let me tell you the story:

Two weeks ago, life was running along smoothly—eating, sleeping, pooping, biting hangnails—all was well. But when I awoke the next morning with the fourth finger on my left hand puffy and swollen and virtually useless, all was not well.

I went to work, attempting to sub in my pinkie finger for my ring finger’s responsibilities, but it was slow-going. And by the end of the second day, it was getting worse, and I was worried. I’d had thousands of hangnails, but none had lasted this long nor been this painful.

I felt a little silly walking into the emergency room because of a hangnail during a global pandemic, particularly with the girl behind me in tears. But I didn’t want to take any chances; if left untreated, it can become a serious condition.

So there I sat, with my swollen finger in the ER waiting room. And then in a chair with the numbing cream on my finger. And then in another chair when the doctor stabbed a scalpel into the abscess. And then I sat some more, trying to hold back tears, waiting for the infection to drain. [Apologies to my visually-oriented readers].

And for the next three days, my finger was wrapped up in what I called “finger pantyhose.” I was sent home with antibiotics, a bottle of saline, extra bandages, and two more pairs of pantyhose. My finger was incapable of performing its fingerly duties. I couldn’t type. I had to talk my fiancé through washing my hair in the sink because I couldn’t wet my hand in the shower. Anytime I went to use my left hand as normal, I was sharply reminded that I couldn’t.

It amazed me that something as small as a hangnail could cause a disruption of this magnitude. One little nail, one little nibble, and my finger was out of commission for days. And as I’ve watched my finger heal and return to a semblance of normal, I’ve had a pit of guilt sitting heavy at the bottom of my stomach.

It’s easy to take things like physical and mental health for granted; if you don’t know what it’s like to lose an ability, you can’t fully appreciate how it feels to have it in the first place.

Being sighted until I was six, I know what I’m missing out on as a blind woman. Sunsets, the sea, snow-capped mountains, the faces of my loved ones, and as content as I am with my life, I know there are beautiful things I cannot experience with the same fullness.

And I wonder if people with sight ever think about this, when they’re driving to work, glance out the window and catch a glimpse of the sun glistening off the mountain peak. Do they even notice it when they see it day in and day out?

But aren’t I doing the same thing?

Aren’t I, even after temporarily losing the use of my left ring finger, already returning to “normal” and forgetting how it felt to be without it? Am I forgetting how lost I felt, unable to write and use my left hand as I’d always done without a second thought?

I don’t expect anyone to feel the same way about their left hand as I do about mine. Even other blind and visually impaired people may not hold this deep of affection for this appendage. But there’s the rub: it’s more than a hand to me.

It’s my freedom.

My left hand is a symbol of my independence and freedom. In a world that is speedily losing its freedoms, even in countries which pride themselves on promoting it, my left hand has been my flag. It reads braille and allows me to learn, grow and explore; it holds the harness handle of a dog who helps me feel safe and independent; it wears the ring given to me by my beloved because he saw me for me—disability and all—and said “I love her.”

It’s a reminder, every time I reach for a door, open my Bible or go for a walk with Saint to be thankful. Because even something seemingly small can have a big impact, and I don’t want to live my life taking the small stuff for granted.

Because what my left hand has done for me isn’t small. It’s everything. It’s who I am, who I’m actively becoming, and a part of who God created me to be. And I don’t want to take a gift that God has given me for granted.

Tell me, what experiences have you had that have taught you this lesson? Let me know in the comments.