As we have gathered the impressions of a variety of writers this month about their first jobs, I’m thrilled to introduce you to Amy R. Hunt. She blogs at . A *Rock* for Him, where she gives thanks for her {Grace} full *life* where she writes about how our life stories are all for a purpose.
Working at a local nursing home as my first job meant more than a paycheck.
I loved on residents with Alzheimer’s and dementia when their families struggled to know how to talk with them. It didn’t take long for several people to influence me in unique and powerful ways.
One person in particular imprinted something on my heart that I’ll never forget.
Matilda was her name. And she was blind.
We would often sit and talk together at length. She would ask about my life and I would listen to stories of hers.
I cared about Matilda deeply and she knew it.
Each day she would trace her steps from the chair in her room to her private restroom. A string would be her guide. I would wonder why she would do this over and over again, hundreds of times in a day.
She would tell me that she was frightened she would forget.
I just couldn’t understand Matilda’s fear. Or her vision.
One day we were walking toward her bedroom, her arm wrapped around mine as her guide, and all of a sudden she stopped and touched my face. Her mouth smiled as she felt my features and then she said these words:
“You are so beautiful, Amy.”
I stammered about how she couldn’t see me and dismissed her comment as nonsensical in nature.
As it turned out, it was I who was blind. And quickly I learned that Matilda was quite serious.
She told me about my beauty being something she could see, as evidence of the time I gave her each week–listening. caring. loving.
Life *whirled and twirled* for me in those high school days and I wasn’t at the nursing home for quite a while. At home one weekend morning the phone rang and it was Matilda. To say she was distraught would be an understatement.
“I can’t remember how to get there,” she said.
“I can’t remember how to get back to my bathroom.”
That was it. The moment that Matilda had feared all that time. And finally I realized the enormity of her fear.
She was blind but she could sense the reality she would encounter.
Just because Matilda and the other residents were blind or confused didn’t make them any less worthy of time and love.
Matilda’s acknowledgment of my beauty has stuck with me.
She was blind but she could certainly *See.*
As I served her, she served me with Grace. Dignity. Love. Kindness. Beauty. Truth.
Lessons were endless. Memories abundant.
Please, share with a friend if you feel moved.
Read all past issues at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidrupert
Read all past issues at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/davidrupert
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