this happened today, Wednesday, August 30, 2006.


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 student.  this was a new program they were trying out
back in the late sixties.  If it worked, they planned on putting
blind students back into public schools all over the country.  Now
this type of integration is commonplace.

     I have to admit, being in a school for the blind is a closed,
and safe, environment.  Every student is like you and every
teacher trained especially 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 had gotten used to 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 e-book 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 full 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 and making much
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.  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 can laying by my
feet.  Gathering my briefcase that carried my small tape recorder
and Braille writing equipment. I walked to where I thought the
door was.  My cane touch, 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. 
That means, 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. Nothing was wrong.  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 walked toward me.  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
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.  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.




He's ready when you are.
www.SafePlaceFellowship.com