Good one, Phil.  He surely does stand between those who hurt us and 
ourselves!  I am so glad He showed you that!

--
Carol - Reading, UK

To you, o Lord, I lift up my soul;
In You I trust, o my God.  . . .."  PS25:1-2 NIV.


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Phil Scovell" <[log in to unmask]>
To: <[log in to unmask]>
Sent: Wednesday, August 30, 2006 9:50 PM
Subject: It Hurts Inside


> 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