A Blind Angel
A Blind Angel
Stephen A. Peterson
The Briscoe Memorial Boy Scout Park benches were deserted as Octavia Harrison, 16, completed her three mile run for fitness on a hot summer morning in Shawnee, Oklahoma. Nearly out of breath, Octavia stopped to rest beneath a large oak tree. As she rested, she began to recall the multitude of problems she and her family had experienced over the past four months—the death of her beloved grandmother, her father’s loss of employment, tornado damage to the only home she has ever known and movement of a childhood friend and her family to a far away state. Octavia became so disillusioned with life that she considered suicide as the only way she could deal with these pressures.
As she was about to get up and leave the park for home, a Native American boy, maybe 5 or 6 years old approached her seemingly exhausted from play. He stood right in front of Octavia as if to block her path.
“Hey, lookie what I found! What I found! I found!” In his hand was a wilted, browning dandelion that he probably picked a few minutes before. “Here, lady! Here, lady! You can have it. It’s yours! You can have it!”
Hoping that the pesky little boy would just go away, Octavia accepted the thing he called a flower. But rather than just go away, the boy seated himself on the same bench right next to her and declared with boyish enthusiasm and a deep breath, “Gosh, it sure is a beautiful day! Aint it, lady!”
“Yeah. Sure it is,” responded Octavia half-heartedly and in a sad, low keyed voice.
“What you think of the flower, lady?”
“I’m glad you like it, lady! It’s the biggest, most beautiful flower in this whole, wide park and I picked just for you because you are nice, pretty and kind!”
Octavia faked a smile as she thanked the boy for his kindness and her gift. Looking at the wild flower, the thing the boy called a flower, it was dying or dead, brown, limp and appeared to have no life left in it. In many ways, like Octavia herself. Pleased with her response, the boy attempted to give Octavia a second flower. Holding the flower high above his head, Octavia moved her hand across his face to notice that he did not blink nor response to the sweeping motion of her hand. Octavia realized that the flower boy was blind. Recognizing his blindness, Octavia’s voice cracked and quivered as tears weld in her eyes. Slowly and reverently she accepted his second flower then thanked him for having picked the dandelions for her.
Octavia sat for a little while longer trying to determine how this little boy managed to see enough to find a teenager on a park bench despairing over her losses. “How was that boy able to find me among the dozens of people in this park? Could it be? No! It
must be that God has specially chosen this boy to tell me that He is with me. Perhaps from his heart and spirit, he had true sight.”
As she pondered upon what had occurred, the little boy was gone. It was as though he vanished. Octavia eyes scanned across the lengths and breadths of the park but could not find the little boy. A blind Angel, she thought—a messenger from God.
From the eyes of a blind child, at last Octavia could see the problems were not with the world but the problems were with her. And for all of those times she was having a pity party with all of her problems, she learned that she had been blind. Octavia learned that regardless of the problem or problems, she needed to go to God with them. She decided to prayfully see beauty and appreciate each moment that God has seen fit to grant her in this life. Octavia then held the two wilted, brown and dying dandelions close to her nose while sitting at that bench to breathe in it fragrance—the fragrance of life, the life of God and His presence and…the smile of that blind little boy who brought a change in the life of an unsuspecting teenage girl.
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Stephen, what a refreshing piece to read. Thanks!