It Sounds Like God To Me

© Copyright 2007 by Phil Scovell - All Rights Reserved



                                       9

                                  Body Block


                              By Phil Scovell






          I lost my sight at 11 years of age.  Just before turning 16 years
     old, I left the  school for the blind, where I had  been a student for
     the last  three years,  and enrolled  in a  public high  school in  my
     neighborhood.  I was  going to take my junior and senior years of high
     school in this public school.
          The  public high school I  would be attending  had been built for
     1500 pupils.  They had 2600 students enrolled and I was the only blind
     person.  This was a new experimental program they were trying  back in
     the late sixties with  blind students.  If it worked,  they planned on
     putting blind students back into  public schools all over the country.
     Now this type of integration is common nationwide.
          I  have to  admit, being  in a  school for the  blind is  a safe,
     environment.    Every  student  is  like  you  and  every  teacher  is
     especially trained to work with the blind.  In fact, at the school for
     the blind, we only had one blind teacher; all the others were sighted.
          Once I adjusted to  life at the school for the blind,  I found it
     secure  and shielding  from  the  outside world.    I  went home  most
     weekends and felt happy.  My experiences back in public school weren't
     so pleasant.  In fact, they were right down frightening at times.
          Although  you can  read  about  my story  in  more detail  in  my
     autobiography written in ebook form on my  website, I want to tell you
     about one particular incident which occurred in the public high school
     that has always caused me more than just  embarrassment, but very deep
     pain.
          Since the 3-story high school  building covered a 4 block square,
     sometimes  classes were  literally a  block away.   I  had been  given
     permission to leave class a couple  of minutes early so I could  hurry
     to my next  class.  Sometimes I practically  had to run to  get to the
     next  class  in  time.   If  caught when  classes  changed,  the halls
     immediately were almost impassable.  Making progress as a blind person
     in a sea of shoving pushing bodies was greatly impeded.
          I checked my Braille watch and realized it was time for me to go.
     All of  the chairs in  this classroom had  been made into rows  on the
     opposite side  of the room from the entrance.  Thus, my front row seat
     was half  a room away  from the door.   I had  only been in  classes a
     couple of  days so  was very nervous  and not  100 percent  certain of
     where everything was.
          Getting to my feet,  I picked up my white cane laying by my feet.
     Gathering  up my  briefcase that  carried my  small tape  recorder and
     Braille writing equipment,  I walked to where I thought  the door was.
     My cane touched, what sounded  like, the bottom of the swinging  door.
     Placing my right shoulder against the door, I pushed.  It didn't move.
     I thought I was too  far to the right so I  took a couple of steps  to
     the left.  Again  finding what I thought  was the door, I  leaned into
     it, but it  didn't move either.  I stopped, wondering  what to do when
     the teacher,  a very nice  lady, walked over  and explained how  I had
     missed the door.  As I followed her instructions and found the door, I
     heard two girls who  had been seated behind me in  class, laughing and
     snickering at what they had just seen.
          The door swung wide as I pressed my shoulder against it and I was
     out in  the hallway heading  quickly for my  next class, which  by the
     way, was even more difficult to locate.
          The stinging feeling of the  girl's laughter burned inside like a
     poisonous snake.   No, I didn't cry but I sure felt like something was
     crying  inside and I didn't know what it  was.  I wanted to quit right
     then and there but shoved it violently aside and pushed on.
          Over the years, this memory  has returned, without warning, in my
     thinking hundreds of times.  I'm a trained blind professional, sort of
     speak,  after more than  40 years of  being totally blind,  but let me
     explain.  Through all of my rehabilitation training as a blind person,
     I was  taught how  to control these  feelings by  psychological molded
     responses such as, "You can do anything a sighted  person can do.  You
     are  just as good  as they are  and even better,  too.   You can't let
     things people say and  do get you down,"  and on and  on it went.   If
     what I was  taught, and trained  to think, was  so true, why was  this
     memory, over literally decades, so painful?  This memory, in fact, was
     painful  and so  much so, that  whenever it  came to mind,  and always
     without warning,  I not  only  felt the  pain  but I  often  literally
     groaned  inside softly  due to  the heaviness  of the  embarrassment I
     felt.  I know that  meant the memory had to be fixed by the Lord or it
     would never feel any different.
          I stopped  what I was  doing on the  computer at that  moment and
     focused on  the memory  event.   I saw  myself, the  teacher, and  the
     laughing giggling girls making fun of the new blind  kid in school.  I
     felt the pain; hard, sharp, and penetrating.  It hurt.  I was blind! I
     had done  nothing wrong, except being blind of  course, and that I had
     no control over.
          Suddenly, I saw Jesus standing in the room of my memory event.  I
     rarely see Jesus in  this fashion.  People with  whom I pray, see  him
     all the time, but not me.   I watched.  I wondered.   "Jesus, what are
     you doing here?"   I saw  Him walking  toward me as  I stood near  the
     door.  He stopped.  I wondered what was going on and then I saw it and
     smiled.  Jesus had  walked between me and the two  laughing girls.  He
     body blocked their laughter and it wasn't reaching me at the  door any
     longer.    No words  were spoken  but  I just  as surely  received the
     message loud and clear.  I was free.  This painful embarrassing memory
     of blindness,  as harmless as it was, no  longer could hurt me because
     Jesus stood between me and my offenders.
          Now, how about  you.  Where does  Jesus stand in your  life?  You
     may, or may not, be blind but you hurt in places.  Probably in  places
     that  hurt  so  badly,  you  even groan  when  those  memories  return
     unexpectedly.  I  know how to pray with people but, fortunately, Jesus
     does the healing.  If you need help, please call me.